This was originally going to go through the entire film, but I realized that I really didn't have enough ideas for Flynn/Eugene's thoughts for it to go all the way to the end of the film. So I'm just doing his thoughts at the beginning.
Disclaimer: I don't own Tangled. *sniffle*
NOTE: I know some of you prefer seeing Flynn called by Eugene, and I do, too, most of the time. But I felt that, at the beginning of the film, he really wasn't at all Eugene Fitzherbert, so he should be called by Flynn Rider. In my mind, Flynn Rider is the charming, smoldering, cocky, clever thief, and Eugene Fitzherbert is the more sensitive, romantic, still clever and charming man. But I just thought you should know, since on one of my other fanfictions where I referred to him as "Eugene," someone left a review saying they were glad I had done so. So, that's why he's called Flynn in this.
Frying Pan, Meet Flynn Rider
Flynn Rider was your average thief—he was charming, clever, and his name was not Eugene Fitzherbert, no matter what the orphanage might tell you. He only wanted one thing: fortune. And he was definitely not the sort to take a random girl to the kingdom. In fact, while he was rather good with the ladies, he didn't really prefer any of them. Romance wasn't in the cards for Flynn Rider, the kingdom's most infamous thief.
So, naturally, he was not pleased that, after escaping from the Stabbington Brothers and the palace guards into a tower, he was hit over the head with a frying pan—multiple times.
The first time, he never even caught a glimpse of the person that had attacked him. He was just pulling open his satchel to look at the crown he had stolen, and suddenly there was a horrible pain on the back of his head and everything went black.
The next thing he knew, he woke up, on the floor, the place where he had been hit throbbing painfully.
And, of course, as soon as he opened his eyes, he was hit over the head again.
But, this time, he saw who had hit him—well, sort of. All he could see was a silhouette of what seemed to be either a woman or a short man with long hair . . . .
And, when he finally woke up—his entire body aching this time; what did that person do to him?—he was tied to a chair with some sort of frog's tongue in his ear. He cried out in disgust and tried his best to wipe his ear off on his shoulder, struggling against whatever was binding him. As he struggled fruitlessly, he realized what it was that was holding him so well.
It was hair.
Feet of golden blonde hair, strong and thick, were binding him to that chair.
"Is this . . . hair?" he asked in disbelief.
"Struggling . . . struggling is futile," a female voice called from somewhere in the darkness around him.
When the figure leapt from a rafter above him and landed lithely on her feet, still stammering threats she could obviously not carry out, she was still clothed in the darkness, but soon made her way into the light.
She was beautiful, Flynn supposed. There was something childlike and innocent in her features that made the fact that she was wielding a frying pan seem less menacing. Her large green eyes looked at him suspiciously, and her full lips were pursed as she gazed upon him. His eyes followed the trail of long blonde hair from her head and found that it was her hair that was imprisoning him.
Still shocked at the length of her hair, Flynn did not reply when she growled, "Who are you, and how did you find me?"
When she repeated her question, Flynn found his coherency and spoke.
"I know not who you are, nor how I came to find you," he said smoothly, "but may I just say . . . Hi. How ya doin'? The name's Flynn Rider. How's your day goin'?"
Instead of being properly dazed, like a normal woman would, Blondie just huffed and held the frying pan tightly as she questioned him about his intentions regarding her hair which, frankly, completely confused him. Why would he want her hair?
He told her so, and she looked surprised, her eyes wide.
"You—you don't want my hair?"
He responded vehemently in the negative, and happened to glance around him, wondering how to get out of this mess.
That was when he remembered his satchel.
"Oh no, no, no, no, no, where is my satchel?" he demanded Blondie, who shot him a smug smile, folding her arms across her chest.
"I've hidden it. Somewhere you'll never find it."
Flynn's eyes searched the room and fell on a pot near his chair.
"It's in that pot, isn't it?" he guessed.
He saw Blondie swing her pan at him and winced in anticipation of the pain right before it made impact.
When he came to, the frog's tongue was in his ear again.
"Will you stop that?" he snarled at the thing.
She might as well introduce me to the frying pan, considering how often she's using it! Flynn thought irritably. Frying pan, meet Flynn Rider!
"Now it's hidden somewhere you'll never find it," Blondie amended.
And then he finally learned Blondie's name: Rapunzel. Flynn wondered what parent would name their child Rapunzel, but, then again, what parent would name their son Eugene Fitzherbert? He really wasn't one to talk.
She then went on to "offer him a deal"—take her to see the lanterns and bring her back, and then he'd get his satchel back.
At first, he refused, but she refused to relent—even the smolder didn't work on her! The smolder worked on every woman! What was wrong with Blondie?
He was forced to concede, and, as he climbed down from the top of the tower, his hands gripping the stones tightly as Blondie leapt from the tower and climbed down on her own hair, all he was thinking about was his satchel.
He had no idea what he was getting himself into, or that he would change his life forever.