Hi, people!

So I just watched Tangled and I looove it! The visual effects, the music, the characters… it was so awesome. :)

I'll stop now before I go into a big long rant about how much I loved it and how the only thing I didn't like was that RAPUNZEL CUT HER HAIR – SHE WAS SO PRETTY IN BLONDE!

Anyway, I'd like to point out that I'm new to this particular section and this is my first Tangled fic, and I've only seen the movie once, so there might be a few errors – in fact, I've compiled a big long list of them. You can check them out after reading.

Okay, I'm done with my author's note. Reviews make my day! If you have criticism to offer, please do so, unless it's a flame. Those who do flame will find a certain chameleon tongue in their ear and a frying pan bruise upside the head…

Spare yourself a concussion and REVIEW! :D

Wanted : Flynn Rider, read one of the many posters plastered all over the giant oak in the middle of the forest. Dead or Alive.

The same message was printed on all the other posters on the oak. The tree was completely covered with the same image of Flynn Rider's face. It would've been the perfect monument to the most charming criminal of all time, except for one thing.

"Okay… now that's just mean," Flynn grumbled, stabbing an irate finger at one of the posters, more specifically, at the horribly deformed nose. It looked like a thick stick. Or even worse, a zucchini.

The kingdom's artists could nail his face dynamics and the texture of his hair. They perfected his killer smile and even his favorite clothing. Oh, but they just had to mess up his perfect nose. Every. Single. Time.

He turned to complain to his unlikely companion/responsibility/captor, the girl with the fifty bazillion feet of golden hair and the frog-thingie asleep on her shoulder.

"I mean, one bad poster is okay," he said, taking down one of the sheets of parchment and shaking it as though it were malfunctioning. "But this many, all with these stupid noses, plastered all over the kingdom?" He snorted. "You'd think those artists would have the decency to fix the nozzle by now."

Rapunzel couldn't help it. She giggled. "Really? I think it's cute."

"What?" Flynn whipped around. "Please, it's anything but cute! Do you have any idea what these guys are doing to my reputation? My honor's being trampled in the mud."

Okay, now he was overreacting. "Well, you are a thief," Rapunzel reasoned. "By now, you probably have no honor at all."

"That's what you think," he replied, his smugness returning. He flipped his hair. "I have a certain status among the nobles. You'd be surprised at how many are willing to buy stolen goods."

"I really don't see the point of so many posters on one post," Rapunzel smirked. "I mean, why torment the poor tree with so many Flynns? One's more than enough."

"What the – hey! Okay, you're even worse than I thought you were," Flynn huffed.

Rapunzel was barely listening. She was studying a poster. An artist must've drawn it, she thought, but there was hardly any feeling in the work. It wasn't like the paintings in her books or even her own work. Those were vivid, lively, and almost real. These posters? They were – well, dull. Tasteless. Not at all pleasing to look at, badly drawn nose or otherwise.

"Hey, Flynn, why don't they put anything else in the picture?"

"Like what? You mean more charm?" This statement was followed by an eyebrow waggle and a grin which Rapunzel could not decipher.

"No, silly," she huffed. "I mean – well, feeling."

This seemed to take him by surprise. "…Feeling?" he sputtered.

Rapunzel nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I've read about artists, and I like to paint, and my art book talks a lot about putting feeling and life into your artwork. No offense, but this poster is really dull."

"None taken," he said with a smirk. "In fact, I agree. Then again, it's been proven impossible to paint an exact likeness of this dashing face," he boasted, tapping his nose with a finger.

"But seriously, though," he went on, "this isn't real art. The people who draw these things are just hired nobodies with talent. The real artists are paid to paint more, shall we say, regal figures." He rolled his eyes. "As if Sir Whatshisname and Lady Suchandsuch really need to be made 'immortal' in a portrait. Besides, the artists are also paid to 'overlook' unflattering details and make the subjects look like they descended from the sky."

"Oh." Rapunzel was fascinated with this new knowledge. She'd always assumed that artists painted for pleasure, that they painted beauty the way it was seen. She'd never known…

"Well, then, Blondie, shall we move on? We have three days, like you said, for me to take you to see the oh-so-fabulous 'floating lights' and back, where you will no longer be in my responsibility. Time flies, doesn't it? It'll fly even faster if we get a move on." Flynn started to stroll away, but he got an uncomfortable feeling that he was being studied. He turned.

Rapunzel was staring at him like he'd fallen from the sky wearing a halo and a pair of wings. Her gaze was penetrating, and she seemed to gaze within, not out. Flynn was the first to admit that it was nice to be admired, even from a distance, but this was just nerve-racking. What was it about those emerald green eyes that made him so… uncomfortable?

"What?" Flynn squirmed.

Rapunzel snapped out of her trance. "Nothing." She was suddenly smiling, all radiant and beaming. "Hey, could you stand here so I can see you better?" She gestured for him to lean against the poster-covered oak. Bewildered at this sudden request, Flynn complied.

"Uh, Blondie…?"

"Hold still," she instructed as she smoothed out the poster she'd taken down. She flipped it over on the clean side and laid it on a flat rock that could have passed for a table. "Good thing I always keep my paints handy," she bubbled, face aglow with the thrill of conspiracy. She reached into – what the heck? – a hidden pocket in her skirt that held a rainbow of little earthen paint jars.

"Paints? Blondie, will you mind telling me what you're doing?"

She ignored him and arranged the paints on the rock, taking off each lid so that the smell of artwork and inspiration filled the air. Rapunzel reached into her pocket again and pulled out her favorite brush, the one with the softest bristles and polished handle.

She looked up at Flynn once more and tipped her head to one side, squinting. "Could you turn a little more to the right?" she said.

Even as he did so, he asked, "Why?"

"Because your hair will reflect the light better at an angle," she explained, dipping her brush into the black paint.

"My hair will reflect the…?" He stared at her paper.

Like a graceful, curving river, a black outline began to appear from Rapunzel's brush, flowing smoothly wherever she willed. Every so often she looked back at him before moving the brush in a way so it perfectly captured the dynamics of a face…

Flynn's mouth fell open.

She paused, studied her drawing, and breathed out in satisfaction. Then she dipped her brush into a chestnut brown paint that was carefully smoothed onto the parchment, mirroring the waves of well-kept hair that fell slightly across the brow and was tinted with lighter shades so it added texture – and reflected the light with a soft sheen. Slowly, her painting was taking on an almost lifelike appearance.

The brush swirled across the page with a peach color, which was then layered with a soft tan. Instead of paint, there was skin darkened with years of living amongst forest trees and sun-soaked meadows but still soft in appearance, with rosy color staining the cheeks as though the figure in the painting had been running. If you didn't look too closely, you would almost see a faint beating in the cheek and the life that was blended in with the colors.

A deep amber paint caught the light even as it was brushed onto the parchment. Layered with golden and black and flecked with white, they became eyes. Even though they were reflecting mischief, there was something deeper concealed within. Something meaningful . . . a soul behind those eyes.

Details small enough to be looked over were added – stray hairs brushing the face, the small brass studs on worn green clothing, even the firm line of the nose and long lashes of the eyes. What was once paint now began to become a human who lived and laughed and felt sorrows, a person who had experienced the world and was off no worse from it. This was a person who was truly free inside, a person who was never meant to be kept in a box because of his spirit.

Now Rapunzel paused, tapping the handle of her brush on her forehead and staring back up at her subject. She smiled slightly and carefully added pink to the lips, which were turned up at the corners in a light, crooked, self-assured smile. His smile.

"Wha… ?" was all that came out when Blondie held the finished painting up so he could see.

To keep it short and sweet: it was remarkable. It was stunning. It was him. In Rapunzel's paint-splattered hands was his mirror – more than a mirror, in fact. For the first time in years, he could see himself and all his struggles that were plainly written on his painted face, and he flashed back to the orphanage so long ago…

Rapunzel had painted him as she saw him, and she saw that for all his attitude and thievery, he was not completely bad. She could see something in him, something he'd spent years trying to hide from the world.

This was not the face of a thief. It was someone else.

Rapunzel smiled at his reaction. Then she dipped her brush into the red paint and wrote at the top of the page. Wanted : Flynn Rider – Dead or Alive. She hung it up on the oak, the newly painted poster fluttering in the breeze.

"Okay, now we can go," she beamed, already skipping away through a patch of dandelions. Even though he was still completely shocked at how she'd read him like a book, he managed to catch up to her.

"Um, Blondie…" he began.

"Yeah?"

"You're good. I mean… really good."

"Thank you."

Silence.

"So, you like it?" Her hopeful green eyes turned up toward him. The girl had no idea…

"Sure I like it." He flashed her a smile – a playful, genuine smile. "How could I not? You're the only person in the entire world who has artistic talent…you got my nose right."

THE END

Hiya!

Okay, I know what y'all are thinking. NOBODY (not even Rapunzel) could paint such a lifelike portrait of someone in such a short period of time. Even my buddy on this site read it and was like, "WHAT! Dude, that's one speedy paintbrush!"

Lol, I forgive you, SR. ;)

Actually, I knew from the beginning that there was no way Punzi could make a detailed, almost ALIVE painting that sparks something in our beloved thief in under, like, thirty minutes. But I broke all abstract laws and wrote this fic anyway.

Forgive me? ^.^

Second complaint - Flynn sounds so completely out of character. I mean, seriously! I spent days trying to make him sound the way he does in the movie, but nooo, he's just too AWESOME for that!

Pfft. .

Next – what the heck happened to Pascal? Well, I did write that he was sleeping on Punzi's shoulder, but there's no mention of him after that. Pretend he's hidden behind a curtain of luxurious hair and is therefore beneath our notice – for now. (I wuv you, Pascal!)

And we're all wondering how exactly Rapunzel managed to get Flynn's nose right with her limited resources. Um, let's assume she's remarkably…talented…and…she's, um…

I give up.

Just let me know what you think.

*Peace!*

Silverbells