#tangled the series fic

[twotangledsisters]

The Search For The Celestials - Fic Guide

Just published the final chapter of the current fic, next up:

Lots of arcs to this one! I'm hoping some of said arcs are short... it's not my writing experience so far though.

[scottfreed]

Hectors injured. Varian gets a surprising distraction on the road. Meanwhile Hector wanders off like a delirious madman.

Good thing Varian is doing just fine. No really. Totally fine. Really.

[antihero-writings]

The Crownless Prince

Fandom: Tangled the Series

Summary: Edmund is sure baby Horace will grow into a big, strong prince one day. On the day of his and Rapunzel's wedding, he comforts him that that's exactly what he grew up to be.  (My fic for the Wind in my Hair Zine)

He was the most beautiful thing Edmund had ever seen. With those big blue eyes, and that goofy smile. Edmund was sure he’d never seen anything more exquisite in his life. He wanted his son to know that. 

The king knelt down beside the crib, folding his arms along the edge and looking serenely at him. He reached down and picked up a rattle from his son’s feet, jiggling it over him. The baby prince reached for it in vain, smiling all the same, and his father returned the expression.

“Hello Horace.” He said softly, then in an almost joking way, “It’s me, your dad. You know me, don’t you?”

The baby cooed.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” 

Edmund let him have the rattle, looking out the balcony at the darkening sky. 

Once he had the rattle safely in his grasp, the infant prince became disinterested in it, and began reaching with all his might for something else.

Edmund looked around, trying to find what might have caught his eye but, after a moment, realized it was something on his person. His first guess was the shiny, purple pendant around his neck, which he held up between his thumb and forefinger. “Is this what you want?”

This was clearly not his desire; he stared at him, and promptly spit up. 

“Drat, guessed it wrong. Don’t worry, I’ll figure it out!” Edmund paused, thinking hard for a moment. “Ah, I know now! This must be it!”—He reached up and took off his crown. The baby reached more emphatically as he placed it into his hands, and relaxed when it was in his grasp.      “Now be careful with that, Horace, it’s got lots of pointy edges! Wouldn’t want you to get hurt!” 

The baby kicked it in circles with his feet, looking up at him as he did so, as if directly defying his orders. 

Edmund chuckled. “That’s gonna be yours one day. You know that, don’t you?”  

The baby gave a sound that may have been a giggle, or may have been a burp. Edmund picked him up as he tried to gnaw on the aforementioned pointy edges. 

“You’re big aren’t you? That’s right you’re a big, strong boy! But you’re gonna grow up even bigger and stronger one day! Mm hmm!” 

The baby looked up at him with unknowing eyes, his lip hanging limply around the crown as his attention divided.

“You’re gonna be king someday. Just like me. Well…” He paused, and for the first time something sad entered his eyes. “Hopefully not just like me.” 

 A raven sitting on the balcony railing squawked, bringing him back to the moment. 

He bounced the baby up and down. “Yes, I was just getting to that, Hamuel! 

“You’ll be strong enough to take down all the bad guys! With my good looks”—He put his hand to his chin appraisingly—“and your mother’s spirit, you’ll make for a very dashing prince!” His son pulled on his beard, and Edmund laughed. 

He bounced him over to the mantle above the cozy fire, and picked up a book with an example of one such dashing hero on the cover sitting on the edge. 

 “Just like Flynn Rider!” he held up the book so the baby could see.

The prince pointed. “Goo.”

“Yes, that’s right!” Edmund kissed him emphatically on the head, then paused a moment, admiring the cover. 

“Your mother always loved these stories.” His tone shifted from jovial into something more somber. He trailed off, dragging his fingers along the cover, trying to reach something beneath the pages. “She thought he was a handsome, swashbuckling rogue. I never saw it myself; I thought he was a bit of a show off, but, eh.” He shrugged.

He dragged his fingers along the cover as if he could reach something beneath the pages, trying not to let the thing lurking behind his words make its way to the surface. He opened his mouth, intending to change the subject, yet found himself talking about her even so;

“You know what she said about you?” He looked at his son. “When you were in her tummy,” He patted his own stomach for good measure, “You once kicked her so hard you gave her a bruise! Not even born yet and you here you were, already too strong for your own good!” He laughed. “She said: ‘Edmund, he’s a fighter!’” He brandished the book as if spurring soldiers to battle. “You’re going to be a brave prince, I just know it!” 

He held up his son, nuzzling his nose. 

Their son. The last living thing left of her. 

As he trailed off that creeping thing behind his every word made its way to his eyes, and broke through the windows. He found himself standing there, tears tracking down his face, not really sure where he was, or what he was doing there. 

The baby prince cooed again, reminding him of reality. Edmund shook his head. 

“Yes Horace? ...You’re right! Let’s go eat some lunch!”  

*******

When Edmund went to check on his son he found him in a heated debate with a mirror.

 “You can do this Eugene. You can do this.” He chanted and pointed to his reflection. “It’s just a walk through the throne room—You’ve done that before. And you’ll stand in front of the girl you love—you’ve done that before too. And you’ll tell her you love her…in front of the entire kingdom. You’ve even done that before! Except, well…that time you were rejected. But you’re not”—He pointed at the mirror—“gonna get rejected this time! Nope! You just need to tell the woman you love how much you love her and want to be with her. You do that like every day already! ...I mean...right?” 

Lance and Varian couldn’t tell if he was asking them or the mirror.

“I’m not gonna say ‘I do’ and then have her go ‘I don’t’...right? Nah, she wouldn’t do that. She loves me! She was even gonna propose to me!

“Everything will be fine. No one’s like...gonna object.” He scoffed, chuckling, then his face blanched.

“Oh god.” he put his hands on his face, turning around to his compatriots, saying like they knew the whole time and should have told him, “Someone’s gonna object! I mean, someone’s gotta, right?” He said like this conclusion was inevitable. “People won’t want their princess married off to some lowlife!” He gestured to himself, 

Lance held up a finger, about to object to the idea of an objection, but he stopped to contemplate it. 

Varian stood up, “Eugene—”

Lance’s face changed to match Eugene’s, “You’re right! Someone’s gonna object!” He gasped before Varian could speak, his voice going up multiple octaves. “I mean who would want you to marry the princess?!” He put one hand on his friend's shoulder, and bit his nails with the other one. “I mean, frankly, you’re a hoodlum!”

“I know!” Eugene’s voice cracked. 

“Guys!” Varian tried to shout, almost laughing, “Everything’s going to be fine! No one’s going to object!”

“The whole wedding’s gonna be cancelled!” Eugene was gesturing with his hands now, not even looking at his friends. "We’re gonna have to get a refund on the cake, and the party, and Christmas is gonna be ruined and—!” He slid his hands down his face. 

“Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself, son?” Edmund stepped in.

Eugene shrieked and jumped into Lance’s arms, staring wildly around the room like he had suddenly materialized out of thin air. 

“Dad?! Whja?! Howdid?! How long have you been standing there?!”

Edmund paused in thought. “It seems like he does not want me to have been standing here long, so I will say ‘just a moment, son!’”

Eugene’s eyes lidded, as Lance let him down, the shock giving way to exasperation. “Soooo, the whole time then. Great. That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“Score one for team Edmund!”

Eugene rolled his eyes.    Edmund walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “You seem to be suffering from some pre-wedding jitters. Don’t worry, I had those. I thought this might happen, so I made sure to bring my trusty—” he rummaged in his pockets, ”my trusty—!” He stammered, delving into his bag in more determinedly, “Where is it?”

Hamuel circled above before landing on his Master’s shoulder, and promptly hacking the desired object up into his hands. 

“Ah, thank you for your service, Hamuel.” He said like he was a servant who had handed it to him on a pillow with a low bow. The King cleared his throat and held the unidentifiable, bird-spit-covered object up, exclaiming, “It always brings me good luck!”

Eugene stared at his father with an expression of what can only be described as stark and utter horror. Though he spoke calmly, “No, no, dad…” he waved his hand, backing up, “I’m fine. Really really fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Edmund shrugged, putting it into his pocket. 

Edmund took a look around the room—all of the boys were wearing their best suits for the occasion—then gave a small, knowing chuckle, and walked up to his son, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re going to do wonderfully son. When I was going to marry your mother I was so nervous I threw up on my best man!” 

 “…Was this supposed to be an encouraging pep talk?” 

“You’re right... There was a point to this, I know it…Ah! People don’t like it when you throw up on them! No that can’t be right…Everyone’s nervous on their wedding day! That was it! I venture to guess every man doesn’t think they deserve the woman they’re about to marry. Even I thought that, and I was a king! Speaking of which, you’re not some lowlife or hoodlum!” He clapped him hard on the back. “Did you forget that you’re a prince?!” 

“Yeeaah, it’s kinda hard to remember when I spent most of my life as an orphan thief—but, eh,” He waved with his hand, “water under the bridge.”

“You mother and I knew before you were even born you’d grow up to be a strong, handsome prince someday—Well with my looks was there any doubt?” He put his hand to his chin and grinned. “And you have your mother’s spirit too. Her tenacity, her propensity for running into trouble. She was right.” 

He put his hand on his cheek and leaned down to kiss his head. 

“Thanks, Dad." Eugene smiled.

“Anytime, Son.” Edmund smiled back.

“And you’ve found—not just a princess—but an amazing woman to share your life with!” Edmund proclaimed. 

“Yeah, well, she is pretty great.” Eugene chuckled. “Really—aside from the handsome part“—He gave the same grin—“she’s the only reason I became all those things.”

Edmund clapped him on the back. “Don’t sell yourself too short!”

His son had grown up into the dashing hero his wife had once promised he would. Sure, maybe not in the way he expected. 

But when he saw him standing at the front of the throne room, he knew it was true. It may not be his throne, but it was a throne nonetheless. And it may not be for a coronation, but he would be a prince after all. And they were going to put a golden ring, not on his head, but his hand. 

And this woman he was standing with, she was a bold, spirited hero too. It was because of her they had found each other again.

Individually, they were each the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. How astounding it was, then, how much more beautiful they were together. 

As they stood there—the dark prince, and the sun princess, in a wedding that wasn’t even arranged, both lost and found again—their light outshone the stars. 

He knew his son had found an amazing wife. He knew they would have a wonderful life together, and he hoped it would be a long one, for both of them. 

He hoped they would stand over their children’s cribs one day, telling them how they would be heroes too: how they would be big and strong. …But these two taught him there was something more important than that: that they would be selfless. Just like their parents.

[syrasenturi]

so crazy and cool how they don't talk about this ever at all

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part one

PART II • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  3.2k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

S E T M E F R E E, O H I P R A Y 🎶 cowboy take me away, fireswimmer

You were up with the birds, awake as fingers of sunlight slipped through your window and fanned out over the quilt you’d stitched together during the winter months. Spring was coming to an end and the days were growing warmer, enough to probably not need your quilt any longer, and when you stepped out of bed onto the cobblestone floor you felt a buzz of inspiration zip through you.

Maybe it was the way the sun crept through your window or maybe it was the sound of the waterfall rushing just outside the tower, but you wanted so badly to run your fingers through the grass. Hear the way the breeze blew through the trees. Dip your toes in the water and look at the details of a petal up close and–

“Rapunzel! Let down your hair!”

Mother’s voice drifted up from the bottom of the tower and you felt your heart hammer in your chest. You’d never asked her to leave the tower before, hadn’t asked her for much honestly, but with your birthday coming up maybe she would make an exception.

Every year, on the eve of your birthday, lights would illuminate the sky. Dancing and swirling among the stars and drifting beneath the moon. Beautiful and sparkling and it happened every single year. Why? You were dying to find out. They weren’t far from the tower, surely she would entertain your request. After all, it was your birthday.

“Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger down here!”

“Coming, Mother!” you called back and tossed your long, shiny locks up over the hook spun into the roof of the tower. They cascaded down the wall and landed in a spun pile at her feet.

Pulling and pulling and pulling, Mother ascended up to the window inch by inch until she stepped up onto the ledge and into your circular room, “Good morning, dear.”

“Morning, Mother.”

“It’s time to brush your hair dear. I saw on the way up, you’ve got twigs tangled up in the ends. Hardly a way to treat such beautiful locks, my goodness. What do you do all day? Tsk. Just another reason for me to keep you here, you can’t even manage to properly care for yourself.”

A pang of shame hit you square in the chest and you wrapped your arms around your torso, making yourself smaller. Unseen. Unheard.

“Sit,” Mother said pulling up a stool and you did as you were told, sitting on the small surface as she took the chair behind you, brush in hand. “Now sing me our song. You know how much I love it,” she demanded, not asked, and you did as you always did…

Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates' design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.

“That’s my girl,” Mother appraised, running the brush through the ends of your hair and pulling too hard at the end, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Mother…” you started, hesitant, reluctant. Should you ask? She seemed in as good a mood as ever.

“What is it?” she snapped, short. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea, but something in you pushed. Please, please ask. If you don’t ask we won’t ever know. And you had to know.

“I was thinking–”

“Never a good thing,” Mother teased meanly and you bit your bottom lip between your teeth. Nerves swelling in your chest.

“I was just thinking...tomorrow is my birthday and well–well, there’s something I was hoping we might be able to do.”

Mother hummed in her throat, a sharp thing that held irritation, like you were a pest she couldn’t rid herself of. “And? Rapunzel come now, speak up!”

“And–and I was wondering if you might take me to see the lights at the castle. They’re there every year on my birthday! They can’t be stars…I’ve charted them all and I just…I want to see what they are–”

“The lights?” Mother started to laugh. “The lights? Rapunzel you must be joking.”

“No, I’m not…I’m not joking, Mother I really do want–”

“Truly, how could you think I would just take you–”

“Mother, it’s what I really want! I just want to see the lights!” you shouted, but as soon as the words left your lips you clamped your hands over your mouth. Afraid of what you’d just done.

Mother narrowed her eyes at you, lips firmed into a twisted line, angry and her patience evaporated as she took a step toward you and you shrank again.

“You will never raise your voice at me like that again, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Her voice notched up in volume as she stepped closer to you.

“And I don’t ever want to hear about those lights again, is that clear!”

She was closer still, breath heated and harsh against your cheek.

“Yes, Mother.”

Towering over you, Mother took you by the wrist and roughly pulled you up to her face so that you were inches away, the heat of her words spilling and burning and wicked, “And you will absolutely NEVER, EVER be leaving this tower! Is that clear??”

When you spoke for the final time your voice cracked, tears streaming down your cheeks, chest burning with embarrassment and shame and regret. “Yes, Mother.”

Letting go of your wrist, Mother sighed and sank back into her chair, eyes closed and fingers pinching her the bridge of her nose.

“Ugh, now I’m the bad guy.”

You sniffed, wiping your eyes hastily with the backs of your hands, trying and scrambling to regain your composure. Afraid to push her even the tiniest bit further. You wished you’d never asked, wished you kept your thoughts to yourself. The lights, your birthday, all of it. Wished you could take it all back.

Clearing your throat you sat back on your stool, curled into yourself as you peered up at Mother sitting her in chair. Impatient. Bothered. Exasperated.

“Mother…” you started tentatively, “I know what I want for my birthday now.”

“And what’s that?” she sighed.

“New paint? The kind made from the shells you once brought me.”

She fixed you with a look, the way you might regard a dog begging for scraps, “Well, now that is a long journey, Rapunzel.”

“Please? I promise not to ask about the lights again,” pressing your hands together you tried to look sorry, thankful, grateful, please.

Mother sighed again, but you held onto hope. “Oh, alright,” she conceded, standing from her chair to gather her things. Surely you couldn't do much damage over a few days. “I’ll be back in three days time. Are you sure you’ll be able to manage without me?” she asked.

You gave her a small smile, “Yes, mother. I’ll be fine.”

“You know I love you,” your mother said, a tight smile pulling at her lips.

“Yes, mother. I love you too,” you murmured.

“I’ll see you a bit, my flower!”

And with that you watched as she descended the tower, your hair in her hands sliding down, down, down to the grass below and off into the open, free, world you wanted so badly to explore, only to stand at your window while Mother disappeared into the vines draped at the edge of the meadow and into…well, unlike you, where ever she wished to go.

I SAID I WANNA TOUCH THE EARTH, I WANNA BREAK IT IN MY HANDS, I WANNA GROW SOMETHING WILD AND UNRULY.

Unbeknownst to you, the path to your freedom lay in the hands of a man just on the other side of the very vines Mother had just stepped through. Well…technically he was a man, but really more boy in the way he held himself. And carried conversation. And continually found himself in trouble because of his inflated ego, but a man nonetheless, holding your freedom.

Flynn Rider, a rogue, a thief, a ruffian. Just over six feet tall with sweeps of dark brown hair, skin like it held all of summer and the sun beneath it, eyes like burnt sugar and dotted in freckles and apparently much faster than he looked.

“RIDER!”

“Sorry, boys, gotta go!”

Flynn crashed through the line of shrubs he’d just hurled himself into and fell out the other side, scrambling to find his footing. He was probably going to regret the decision he’d just made, but that would be a problem for future Flynn Rider.

Patting the satchel at his side he peeked into make sure the contents were still intact and at the sound of thundering hooves picked his pace back up, sprinting through the woods.

It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in sight, rays of sun shining through canopy and dappling the forest floor with warm sunlight. It would have been even more beautiful if Flynn wasn’t being chased by the King’s guard, but he supposed it was the only option when you’d stolen the crown of the missing princess.

Chest heaving with the effort, he pushed his legs to go faster. Sprinting over fallen logs and thick brambles, wincing but not stopping as they pulled and slashed at the thin fabric of his tunic. He had to find cover before he ran out of breath or else he’d face the gallows.

Again.

It wasn’t that he was a bad guy. He wasn’t murderous or wanted for treason or anything. In fact, he wanted to be done with this life on the run and so he hoped this might be his ticket out. Hawk the lost princess’ tiara and hop a boat to somewhere far, far away.

His lungs started to burn as he sucked in air, sidestepping a particularly nasty blackberry bush and earning a scratch across his cheek. “Damn,” he hissed, wincing at the pinch of pain. He could hear the guards closing in behind him, the captain giving orders to his men to split up and Flynn knew his time grew short.

An arrow grazed past his ear as his slammed into a tree, the tip sinking into the bark just inches from his hands.

Too close.

“A promotion to which ever of you idiots catches, Rider!” the captain shouted and it pushed Flynn into another sprint.

Step over step over step, out of the thick stand of trees and into a wide field of wheat. The shhh shhh shhh of the grass against his trousers hissing as he stumbled once on a dirt clod and again on a molehill until the third time he wasn’t so lucky.

The toe of his boot caught on a rock dug into the dirt, sending him flying forward and over the edge of an embankment. Tumbling head over heels down, down, down and hitting the bottom with a heavy THUD!

“Sir! We’ve lost him!”

“What d’you mean you’ve lost him??”

“I–I’m not sure, sir. We–we’ve lost visual.”

“Bloody useless–if you lot can’t find him, then I’ll do it myself!!”

Groaning, Flynn pushed himself up from where he’d landed and blinked away the knock to the head he’d just earned for running through a damn field. Voices carried down the embankment and he could hear the King’s guard scuttling about back up the hill – they didn’t know where he was.

Scrambling back up onto his feet, Flynn quickly checked to make sure the tiara was still in place before frantically looking for an out. He had a moment’s cover while they tried to find him back up at the top, but surely they’d see the bent wheat stalks at some point. The bottom of the gully was more of the same, thick brush and brambles and trees and…vines? All drooping down just above the ground at the same angle and blowing just ever so in the breeze.

Brows knitted together he pushed a hand to them and stumbled forward a bit when his hand fell through them, not solid. So he pushed further still, watching as his arm disappeared further and further until he was completely concealed.

“Sir! We found something!”

Sucking in a gasp, Flynn pressed himself against the rock of the tunnel he’d just discovered and held his breath. The King’s guard tramped down the hill and trotted right past his hiding spot, their shadows dancing across the vines as they concealed him out of sight.

“He’s here somewhere, keep looking!”

The sound of hooves slowly disappeared and when quiet flooded back in, Flynn could hear the sound of a…river? A waterfall? Birds and a soft breeze across his skin…taking a few steps toward the bright light at the other end of the tunnel Flynn shielded his eyes in the crook of his arm and walked out into the most beautiful place he’d ever seen.

A waterfall cascaded down a cliff at the far edge of the little valley he’d wandered into, crashing into the rocks below and fanning out into a river that wound its way through the ground and past his feet. All manner of birds chirped and sang as they flew through the cloudless sky, landing peacefully in the trees. And there, just in the very center, a tower made of brick and cobblestones with a thatched roof, a chimney and windows all around but…no way up?

He knew he couldn’t stay idle, even if he was out of sight for now, surely the King’s guard would find him. Taking one quick loop around the tower, there was still no door in sight, so snatching the pair of daggers from the belt at his waist he stabbed one between the bricks high above his head and pulled to test his weight. When it held he found his footing and drove the second dagger in and arm over arm began to climb up to the largest window.

His biceps were burning, his shoulders on fire. There were a few times Flynn even thought he would surely fall to his death, but slowly he made it up, up, up and when he finally fell through the window gasping for breath, he prayed to whatever gods there may be that he might find a bed at the top of the bloody tower. Stealing a crown, outsmarting two idiot thugs and then running from the King’s guard was no easy feat and he could feel exhaustion in his very bones.

Heaving himself up off the cobblestone floor he loosed a heavy sigh of relief and pushed his hair from his eyes.

“Gods, finally. Alone at last.”

And then with a very loud CLANG! everything went black.

IN THE COMFORT OF YOUR ARMS, ON A PILLOW OF BLUE BONNETS, IN A BLANKET MADE OF STARS, OH, IT SOUNDS GOOD TO ME.

There was a man.

In your tower.

In your room.

AT YOUR FEET.

How he’d made it all the way to the top of the tower without the aide of your hair was beyond you, but as you peeked out at him from behind your mannequin you couldn’t help the tiny pang of guilt in your chest. Maybe you didn’t have to hit him with your frying pan, but it was too late for that now.

You’d never seen one before, only knew what Mother told you: dark, beady eyes and sharp fangs, gnarled hands to snatch you with and kidnap you away into the night.

Stepping out from your hiding place you took a tiny step forward, the smallest step, and poked him with the handle of your pan.

“HEY!” you shouted, but he didn’t move. “Oh, gods…” Did you kill him?

Another few steps and your bare toes nearly brushed his arm. Slowly extending the pan again you turned his head with the handle and nudged his lip, but in place of scary fangs were teeth. Just like yours. Bending down carefully you lifted a hand to his face and hesitated, waiting for something to happen, but his steady breaths continued to fall and his eyes remained shut.

A cut chased across his cheek, the tiniest streak of blood along with it, and your brow furrowed with worry. Did it hurt?

You ghosted your hand over his, just as normal as ever though a bit rough and maybe a little dirty, but wide and warm. Not gnarled. Not scary. You wondered at what it would feel like to hold it, yours so small and his so big.

Slowly, gently, your fingers trailed through the sweep of brown hair covering his face and brushed it aside to reveal mole dotted skin, warm and golden like summer and he’s beautiful. The most wonderful thing you’ve ever laid eyes on and you want to see more and–

“Unghh…”

CLANG!

You instantly regretted hitting him again, but what were you supposed to do? He opened his eyes and began to stir and what if he’d jumped up to grab you?

A groan escapes your lips and you rough your hands over your face, you still have a man in your tower. What to do, what to do. As you took stock of your modest surroundings there wasn't much to work with. Your mannequin, a small stove, things for baking and sewing and painting, your bed, your closet–

Your closet!

Blowing a puff of air between your lips, you bent down and grabbed hold of his feet and pulled a little. When he didn't stir you pulled again. A little more, a little further, a little further and further and straining, struggling almost dropping him, you shoved him into the wardrobe and slammed the doors shut, propping the handles closed with a chair.

“Oh! Oh! I did it!” you squealed, sweat clinging to your brow, giving a little jump of excitement. “I did it!! I’ve got a person in my closet. I’ve got a person in my closet…I’ve got a person in my closet! Mother thinks I’m too weak to handle myself, huh? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

And as you took a victory lap around the room your eyes caught something on the floor. A bag you hadn’t seen before and as it fell open, the contents inside flickered in the light as it came through the cracks in the roof.

Picking up the satchel you pulled back the flap and found something even more beautiful than the man you’d just shoved into your closet.

Gold. Purples and pinks and turquoises and glittering in the sunlight and as you carefully picked it up, you were surprised at how heavy it was. Eyes narrowing, you hold it closer to look at the intricate way the gold pieces twist around the jewels and gems, securing them in place and creating little flowers along the sides.

A smile flickers at the corners of your lips. It looks just like the pictures from your fairytale books. The kind of thing only a princess would wear. Laughing softly you step in front of your mirror and hesitantly hold it up over your head. Just for a moment. Just to see what it would look like…

Slowly, softly you lowered it and let it settle upon your head and a flash of light strikes you. A memory, bright and sharp and vivid. A spinning sun hanging overhead. The most lovely laughter, like music, like a song. A warm embrace. A lullaby.

BANG!

Sounds from the closet and you nearly fling the crown to the ground. How foolish of you to let you guard down. How could you forget? You could hear Mother scolding you, telling you how stupid you were, how you could have been kidnapped or killed.

Heart hammering against your ribs your eyes settle back on the closet as it bangs again.

Your guest was awake.

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[vigcup]

my take on juice box au! varigo <3

[no bg + no body vers under the cut]

[vexanillion]

Fourteen years old, and all alone in the world.

this fic RUINED ME HOLY CRAP. Read it now 🙏

[cassandra-tangled]

y'all want to know what always makes me emotional? thinking about how arianna and frederic took cassandra in at the worst point in their entire life. i think about arianna particularly, i believe she had to convince frederic to let her stay. where he, at least at first, likely saw a bitter and painful reminder of his missing daughter, arianna saw a sweet and innocent child.

i mean really think about it for a sec--it wasn't long at all after rapunzel's disappearance, that cap must have gotten the official 'yes' to take cass as his ward. of course i feel bad for frederic in that time period, but i feel even moreso for arianna. carrying a baby for 9 months, almost dying to birth her, and then having her kidnapped is something i wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. the pain she felt must have been utterly unbearable. think of how much grace and compassion she must have had to, immediately after losing her child, allow the captain of her guard to take on and raise an adopted daughter. even setting aside cass' lineage.

to be honest i think it largely speaks to the way they govern corona. sure cough frederic cough has his...moments, but generally they both act with benevolent intentions. cass is their subject but it'd have been easier in every sense of the word to cart her off to some orphanage. let's be real, king trevor would have done it in a heartbeat. but they allowed her to stay, they gave her a home. and that in and of itself, the fact that cass is a character in tangled the series and not just gothel's forgotten daughter, makes me oh so emotional. :')

[allwaysalady]

So you know that one scene form the first HTTYD movie where you first see Astrid and there's that explosion behind her and it's all very dramatic? And Hiccup looks suitably, ridiculously whipped?

............yeah. @chamiryokuroi and @that-one-girl-behind-you have positively destroyed me with "Like the moon" and I couldn't not.

[the-reverse-mermaid]

VARIGO WING AU!!!

it’s not an exact match because i drew these almost a year ago, but if you like wing AUs and Varigo then i highly recommend (s)wing and a miss by battybatzgirl / @aziraphalesbookkeeper

[teecupangel]

Yknow what, fuckin crossover time. Desmond crossover with Tangled The Series (or whichever name you wanna use). He’s a bartender so he’d get in great with Varian and his alchemy. The moonstone and black rocks are some Isu fuckery and it reacts to Des cause…sun? Zahn Tiri gets bitch slapped cause this jackass got nothing on Juno. Just…I think it’d be fun and I really want Varian to have more friends. #justiceforvarian

Does it have any other title? I only know it as Tangled the Series XD

I kinda like the idea of him owning the bar in the movie but, since we’re focusing on the series here, let’s say he owns the tavern in the castletown.

He’s been… ‘unintentionally’ adopting street urchins by letting them do errands for him while providing them with food and a room on the second floor of his tavern.

(It was meant to be for guests but his tavern’s customers are mostly local. The most use those rooms had were too drunk patrons he let sleep there instead of trying to walk out of the tavern.

His best sellers are cocktail drinks he invented himself (remembered from his old world) and that made him earn the name ‘Concoction Meister’.

… from a very drunk regular who got the entire tavern shouting it.

It kinda stuck later on.

It’s because of this that Varian checked the tavern out because he mistook the name as something connected to alchemy.

It wasn’t but Desmond let him have a mocktail (“No alcohol for you, kid”) and he became a regular there who liked to talk to Desmond about his ideas because Desmond can keep up (thanks to his Bleeds, most of the time) and even has ideas of his own at times.

Then Rapunzel was found and things happened…

Desmond wasn’t really planning on getting in the middle of any of these.

For one, he was find just chilling as a tavern owner.

The kingdom was peaceful and he was cool thinking of this kinda like his retirement.

Then…

He started to see Varian change…

And something inside him just keeps sending alarms all over.

Like something big was going to happen.

And he didn’t know what yet.

.

Unorganized Notes:

So in this one, Desmond is a sorta morality pet of Varian (a morally ambigious morality pet XD). He might even become one for Cass if you want but the main point is that he and Varian are close enough that, when shit hits the fan, Varian would confide on Desmond because he believed Desmond would understand him. That’s where Varian’s arc would change.

Desmond doesn’t make a Brotherhood in this one but he does have an information network that lets him know things a commoner should not know.

That information network (which includes kids Desmond sorta adopted) are gonna be Varian’s support group because they see Varian as part of their family of misfits. The kids even call him ‘big bro’ at times and think of him as one of them.

(Not that Varian and Desmond think that any adopting was happening).

So you wanted the moonstone to be an Isu related bs. This does mean that the Sundrop flower will also become an Isu related bs XD

And, no, we are not making Desmond be influenced by the Sundrop flower.

But he does react to it and the moonstone.

Because he was brought back from the dead using the same ‘mechanics’ that created the sundrop flower back in his world.

His darkened arm with golden circuitry that he hides is actually evidence. Because the light of his arm?

It’s the same golden glow that Rapunzel’s hair had when she still had the power of the sundrop flower.

And it was by punching Zahn Tiri with said arm that he kinda… skipped a few ‘episodes’ and just finished the big boss fight XD

[twotangledsisters]

Always By Your Side  - Fic Guide

Fic guide for my newest fic which started uploading a few days ago and will have weekly updates every Saturday.

The most common question I get on any fic where there's a coming of age element is how old are they in any given chapter as it's easy to lose track. So even though it's a year each chapter, I thought I'd make this to help!

Chapter 19 onwards is pretty much a separate arc so that's why I just did the 19 chapter guide!

Also... for some reason Canva refuses to export in the same font I was working in which means of course the sizes are messed up and... I need to stop using canva. It's easy but recently it's just not working...

Regardless of formatting, I hope this helps and can't wait for you all to see the adventures these two get into!

[tangledrewrite]

Tangled the (Rewritten) Series - Script, Part Three

Open on Rapunzel and Cass in Rapunzel’s room. She’s pacing back and forth, frustrated and angry, while Cass looks guilty.

CASS: Look, Rapunzel, I didn’t mean to -

Rapunzel turns to face her. She’s pissed.

RAPUNZEL: Didn’t mean to what? Lie to my face? You had so many moments where you could have told me! Is that why you didn’t want to be friends? 

CASS: I didn’t know, okay! I was just cleaning - doing my job - and he burst into the room, and last I’d heard he was supposed to be captured at any cost! It’s not like I did this to spite you, I had no idea you were even alive right then! [sighs] He stole the crown, Rapunzel. That’s not just theft, that’s treason. That crown was all your parents had of you for eighteen years.

For a moment Rapunzel looks conflicted.

RAPUNZEL: Well - isn’t having the actual me an improvement? Doesn’t that matter?

CASS: I’m sure it does. But it doesn’t erase what he did. And - besides, I’m not supposed to be your friend. I’m a handmaiden. There’s a difference.

There’s a knock on the door, and Frederick enters. He looks incredibly awkward.

FREDERICK: I, ah…heard you were found down in the dungeons. Rapunzel, you really shouldn’t be down there. It’s not safe. 

Rapunzel is quiet. She looks upset, but doesn’t say anything, arms folded and shoulders hunched. 

CASS: [hesitant] Your Majesty, if I may?

Frederick and Rapunzel both look surprised.

FREDERICK: …Yes, Cassandra?

CASS: I, um….Has Eugene had a trial yet?

-

Continued on AO3!!!

[luckystar1327]

edit number…four??? I think???

[eboyloser]

would anyone be interested in hearing about my ward/prince Varian au

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part two

PART I • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  2.7k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

I N T O T H E W I L D B L U E 🎶 strawberries for two, tinyumbrellas

I said, cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue. Set me free, oh, I pray, closer to heaven above and closer to you, closer to you.

Flynn’s head hurt, my gods it hurt, like it’d been cleaved in two and a groan rumbled in his chest, his brow furrowed tightly as he slowly opened his eyes.

The last thing he remembered was climbing up that bloody tower hoping to find respite, but instead found whoever the hell had clobbered him over the head with something awfully heavy and, well, awful.

Blinking the room into view, everything swam into focus. An odd little room full of the necessities: a stove, a wardrobe, a table and chairs, plates and cups and silverware and the like, but there were other items too. Paint and brushes and discarded canvas, a basket full of sewing things and a tiny pottery wheel with a half finished pitcher sitting atop it and…

“Is this…hair?”

Eyes growing wider by the second, Flynn saw long locks looped over the rafters above and diving down to the floor. Over the table and around an ottoman and slipping up the leg of the chair he sat in and holding him tightly, very tightly, to the hard wood at his back.

“Is this hair??” he asked again to no one until a voice sounded from the shadows just ahead of him.

“Struggling is pointless! I know why you’re here, and I’m not afraid of you.”

Flynn shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and properly process the situation he found himself in. Held captive. In a chair. Bound to it with hair and, oh, bloody hell.

“I’m sorry–what?” he half scoffed, confusion melting into frustration.

Something shifted in the shadows and he sat back, waiting, anticipating, heart hammering in his chest until you stepped out into the sliver of sunlight falling in from the window above.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you worked hard to keep your voice level, frying pan still held in your hands, wanting to make damn sure this man knew who he was dealing with.

But this man. Oh, this man was in trouble now.

Mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ his brows softened and the tiniest breath pushed from his lungs. Yes, it was an absolutely impossible amount of hair, but gods. You were unlike anyone he’d ever seen. In fact looking at you felt like getting hit over the head for a third time.

The soft slope of your cupid’s bow and the way it firmed around the tiny scowl on your lips, the long sweep of your lashes across your cheeks, hell, even the way you handled that frying pan.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you demanded again and it shook him from his stupor as he flicked on the charm. That would certainly get him out of this.

“Forgive me,” he said, head dipping in a small nod, “I know not who you are or how I came to find you, but might I just say…hi. How are you? Name’s Flynn Rider.”

Your scowl shifted, confused, then irritated. What was he doing? Maybe you hit him a little too hard. Pointing the pan back at him you took a step forward and prodded him in the chest. Unimpressed.

“Okay, Flynn Rider, if that’s even your name,” you fixed him with a look, one you hoped conveyed you weren’t going to be tolerating any bullshit. “Who else knows my location?”

A huff of protest fell from his lips, brows pinching together and exasperated as he shifted in his chair. How did that not work? That always worked, especially with the ladies. Flynn rolled his eyes and dropped the act, struggling against his restraints. “Alright, princess–”

“Rapunzel.”

“Sure, whatever, I was running through the forest and came across your tower and–” Flynn stopped. Where was the tiara? That was his ticket out here if he didn’t have that…”Oh. Oh, gods. Where’s my satchel? Where’s my satchel??”

A most pleased look came over you and you crossed your arms over your chest, swinging the pan back and forth a little too casually and dropping it to the floor with a loud CLANG! Cheeks flushed you quickly bent down to grab it and pointed it back at him.

“It’s hidden. Where you’ll never find it,” you insisted.

“What?” Flynn grumbled under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pulling a steadying breath into his lungs. Soft. Kind. Maybe you’d let him go. “Please? C’mon, princess.”

“No. I’m not telling you where it is until you tell me what you want with my hair! Cut it? Sell it? What d’you want!”

That could be the only reason he was here, for your hair. It was why you were in this tower, protected and safely tucked away from all of the ruffians who wanted to steal your hair. Your precious, magic, hair. The hair your Mother swore to never let anyone lay a finger on and made you promise to never let anyone else touch.

“Your hair? Gods, no! What’s wrong with you? The only thing I want with your hair is to get out of it. Literally.”

He didn’t want your hair? Surely that was a lie. Mother told you it was all anyone ever wanted from you. It was all they’d ever want from you and nothing else and the only person you could trust was Mother.

Right?

You narrowed your eyes at him and stepped up to him, “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The look on his face was earnest enough and he certainly seemed desperate to get his satchel back. The one with the sparkly gold tiara in it. The one that most definitely meant he was a thief, but you needed someone to take you to see the lights and well, you didn’t have much choice. This was it. Your one chance.

“Alright, Flynn Rider. I have a deal for you,” you said, taking a step back pulling aside the long drape of fabric on the far wall to reveal a beautifully painted mural of the night sky full of brightly shining dots. “Do you know what these are?”

It was beautiful. A masterpiece. Artfully crafted and coming to life through an incredible use of color and movement and brushstrokes of–

“Of course I know what those are,” Flynn huffed, shaking the look of astonishment from his features, “Those are the lanterns they release once a year for the lost princess.”

Lost princess?

You tried to keep your expression neutral, ignoring the images the tiara had pulled forth in your mind, and straightened up tall, walking back to Flynn’s chair.

“Yes. The lost princess, everyone knows,” you didn’t, but he didn’t need to know. “You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns and then return me home safely. Only then will you get your precious satchel back.”

Flynn tipped his head back and barked a laugh. “Sorry, princess. No can do,” he said through a few last little chuckles, “The kingdom and I are sort of…at odds with one another, so that won’t be happening.”

A flicker of anger simmered in your chest, being treated again like you didn’t know the half of it. Like you were an idiot. Like no matter what you did it was never going to be good enough.

Folding your arms over your chest you fixed him with a look, lips twisted around a frown, “Listen. Something brought you here, Flynn Rider. Call it what you will, fate, destiny, whatever you might believe in, but we are at an impasse and I think we can help each other.”

The smug look on his face melted the longer he looked at you and it shook the firm stance you’d taken. Those striking hazel eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way his gaze held yours. You sucked in a breath, steady.

“And–and I’ve made the decision to trust you–”

“A horrible decision–”

“But trust me when I tell you this…” You leaned down to press your hands to the tops of the chair arms and tried your best at intimidation, “You can tear this tower apart, but without my help you will never find your precious satchel.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes for a beat, his breath warming over your cheek with how close you’d pushed into him and your pulse fluttered in your neck. A warning, curiosity, something a little more until he broke.

“Okay, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected. Again.

“Sure–lemme get this straight. I take you to see the lights and you give me my satchel back?”

“That’s the deal.”

He held your gaze a moment longer, waiting, anticipating you breaking under the long, drawn out silence that was stretching thinner and thinner through the air, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“Gods, fine!” he cracked, chin dipping to his chest in defeat as he grumbled a string of curses under his breath. “I’ll take you to see the stupid lanterns, but if I don’t get my satchel back–”

“You will!”

“I better.”

“You will,” you said again and his features softened a touch at the earnest sound of your voice.

He guessed he trusted you too. Somehow.

I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall, I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall.

“You comin’, princess?”

Looking down out the window to the ground made you dizzy. Made you second-guess everything. Made you scared. It was so far down. Much further than it had ever looked before, further than every other time you’d tossed your hair down to Mother.

“Of course I’m coming!” you shouted back, your frustration fizzling out with the distance to the grass below.

Swallowing down the nerves that had bumped up into your throat you tossed your hair over the hook like you always did and held tight, feet perched at the edge of the windowsill.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You can do this. You can do this.

You pulled air into your lungs, deeply, closed your eyes and pictured the way the ground would feel under you. The way you could dip your fingers in the river. The wind in your hair and the sun on your skin and when you leapt from the tower you left your stomach somewhere with your paints and pottery wheel and sewing.

A squeal pitched high in your ear and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from you and when your feet finally hit the meadow floor, the force of it tripped you forward into something solid.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–” Flynn dashed forward to meet you, catching you before you hit hard and his heart stuttered at the way you felt pressed close to him.

Clinging onto two fistfuls of leather vest and tunic like your life depended on it, you suddenly realized – you’d done it. You made it. Out of the tower, out from under Mother’s ever-watchful gaze, out into the world.

Free.

Heart hammering in your chest, you were sure it would crack your ribs as the world swam back in around you. The birds in the trees, the burble of the river, the softness of the breeze against your cheek and the warmth of Flynn’s hands wide at your waist–

“Wait–what–I’m fine, I’m fine,” you insisted pushing against him, pushing away from him, “–I’m fine.”

“Oh–o–okay. Sure, sorry,” Flynn stuttered, confused at your sudden protest to his helping you and held his hands up in defense.

Your eyes watered at the bright rays of sunlight falling on you, your arm moving to shield the view with the crook of your elbow, and when you finally acclimated a rush of colors struck you.

Brilliant, green grass beneath your feet, flowers yellow and orange and pink swaying and waving hello, slips of blue water flowing swiftly between the riverbanks and glittering in the afternoon sun. The corner of your mouth tugged up into a small smile, wiggling your toes against the cool dirt, the feel of it lifting your smile bigger and bigger until an astonished laugh fell from your lips.

“I did it…” you marveled, clasping your hands over your mouth. “I did it!” you shouted again, flinging your arms out and spinning, hair fanning out behind you in waves. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

And for the first time in a long time, Flynn felt something bloom deep in his chest. A feeling he thought wasn’t possible anymore. A feeling that split a crack in the wall he’d worked so hard to build, the one that was supposed to keep things out. Things like you. Pure, joyful, beautiful things like you.

“Alright, alright. There’s plenty of time to frolic, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected for the millionth time.

“We got a long way to go, c’mon,” Flynn waved an arm toward a small gap in the cliff, the one Mother always snuck through, and dread pooled at the pit of your stomach.

A long way to go. As in, out there. As in, away from your tower, your home, everything you owned with only a frying pan in your hand and panic pinched in your chest.

As he reached the way out, Flynn turned back to make sure you were still following, but instead saw you standing frozen just a few yards away. His brows knitted together. “You coming?”

“I’m a horrible daughter, I have to go back,” came out just above a whisper and Flynn took a few steps toward you.

“What?”

“I can’t go.”

“Sure you can, just use your feet,” Flynn teased a little, but tears were welling up against your lashes and that feeling hit him again, but he steeled against it. He didn’t owe you anything and the only thing holding him back from getting out of this place was the fact you still had his satchel – the one you promised you’d give him once he took you to the lanterns.

Your tears fell freely now and Flynn’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to sweep them softly from your cheeks, his feet betraying him and pushing him a few steps closer. He pulled in a breath, No, Rider. Not now.

“You know,” he started, tutting at you gently, “I can’t help but notice you seem a little at war with yourself here. Protective mother, roguish stranger taking you from your tower, but trust me. You’re way over thinking this. Will this disappoint your mother? Yes! Will you break her heart? Definitely.”

“What?” you gasped, break her heart??

“Yes, a horrible thing to do. Just horrible,” he tutted at you, folded his arms over his chest and let out a sigh of resignation. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m letting you out of the deal. Alright? Let’s get you home. I get my stachel back and you get to please Mother dearest.”

“Wait–no, no no,” you shook your head, “That wasn’t the deal. How do you know she’ll be disappointed??”

The words were tumbling from your mouth, stuttering and fighting against yourself as you buried your head in your hands. Quieted your mind and tried to calm down. And then it hit you.

“No! I’m seeing those lanterns!” you looked right up at Flynn and gave him the most decided look you’d ever mustered and he let out the loudest groan.

“Oh, c’mon!” flinging his hands up in defeat he gave you the most pathetic, pleading look, “What’s it gonna take to get my satchel back??”

“The lanterns, Flynn!!” you walked right up to him and poked a finger into his chest, hard.

Expression faded from his face, brows and mouth firm lines, unimpressed, stuck and all but conquered.

“I’m not doing this for you. You know that right?” he said, aiming to at least knock you down a peg, but the triumphant look you gave him was enough to tell him he had no idea what he was dealing with.

“I know. Now scoot,” you shoved at his arm, pushed him toward the hanging vines over the secret path out and he begrudgingly picked up his pace again.

“Don’t ever tell me to scoot again.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️