Finally posting this omg.

Based on a request on PokAnon, this is the wonderfully bizarre and often confusing but overall adorable story of Rapunzel, as adapted by Disney in that movie they called Tangled for worrying reasons, adapted to fit Pokémon and, more specifically, N.

The singing is included. And this was written before the big reveal about N's true name, so disregard the Natural Harmony of Gropers name please. C: And keep in mind that this fic will feature a lot of lyrics and some lines of dialogue from Tangled, in slightly mangled forms.

Without further delay, here's the first chapter.

One: The Tower

Once upon a time, in the land of Unova, there were two brothers — two heroes. Between them, they had a two-headed Dragon pokémon. With this Dragon pokémon, they ended the war and unified Unova under the messages to seek truth and ideals. However, the brothers started to argue over which was more important — the truth, or ideals. Their argument split their pokémon in two; Reshiram and Zekrom. Seeing what their conflict had wrought, the brothers accepted that ideals and truth were equally important. But upon their deaths, their sons took up their fights and battled Reshiram and Zekrom. Their battles destroyed Unova and so Reshiram and Zekrom were sealed away. Before this happened, as way of apology, they created a magical flower. When sung to with a special song, this flower would glow and its light would heal any who touched it.

This is where Ghetsis come into the story. A bitter, twisted man desperate to leave an impression on the world, he hid the flower from the world and used its powers to keep himself alive for centuries as he planned total takeover of Unova using the powers of Reshiram and Zekrom. However, when he freed them from their dormant states, both pokémon recognised his impure heart and flew away. Enraged, Ghetsis hatched a new plan; breeding a child specially for the purpose of taming Reshiram and/or Zekrom.

From his servants who made up the Cult of Team Plasma, he selected a worthy candidate. But her pregnancy reached trouble; both she and their unborn child/King became gravely ill somehow. To heal them, Giallo created a potion from the magic flower. When the child was born, his hair was longer than he was and when the blood was washed away, it was brightest emerald green. Pokémon from all over flocked to the hair, and when it was sung to, it would glow and heal just as the flower had — unless it was cut. When cut, the hair lost its power and became a pale green, as Ghetsis discovered with a small lock of it.

Due to having no imagination, Ghetsis opened a dictionary randomly and, seeing the letter 'N', decided that would be the child's name. To raise N in solitude and thus fill him with thoughts of liberation to aid his goal, Ghetsis had a tower built and there he kept N locked away to never be released until the time was right.

But the walls of that tower could not hide everything. Far off, in the distance, there was a collection of bright lights. Every night, after Ghetsis had fallen asleep, N would sneak to the window and peer out. In particular, he would watch the elegant circular motions of a wheel or lights, wishing and wanting…

And that was how the boy with magical hair grew up: dreaming of city lights with only a zorua for company.

From one of the few books Ghetsis had given him combined with a simple mathematical equation (geometry, calculating the distance via the angle of depression from his twenty metre or 65.62 foot tower), N figured out that the city of lights on the horizon was Nimbasa City. From the Flying-type pokémon who visited his tower to envy his hair, N heard that people held an annual festival of lights. While Ghetsis ranted his dreams of liberation, of fixing the world and saving pokémon and being King of the New World, N thought he would keep his own dreams simple for the time being. And what he really wanted was to see the festival of lights in the city of lights.

It was just a pity that his hair was 21.3 metres (70 feet) long and everybody in the world was cruel and desperate to use its magical qualities. At least, that was what Ghetsis said, and a lot of the pokémon agreed — in particular, the ones with scars.

Still, the lights were so pretty. And the book said there was a Ferris wheel; the circle of lights turning in elegant circular motions.

Every afternoon, Ghetsis would shout, "N, N, for liberation, let down your hair!" And N would struggle to pull him up. Then Ghetsis would spend some time ranting about liberating pokémon, brush N's hair and make him sing, and remind him why he wasn't allowed to leave the tower unless it involved Reshiram of Zekrom, preferably both.

Three days before his eighteenth birthday, however, N had spent hours with Zorua rehearsing the question he would ask and the case he would make in support of being allowed to leave for just a few days.

Yet when Ghetsis was standing before him, berating him for taking so long to pull him up, all of N's planning fell away and it came out as, "Father, for my birthday, I want to go on the Ferris wheel!"

"You want to what?" Ghetsis icily demanded.

N swallowed. "I, I want to go to Nimbasa City," he reiterated. Nervous, he clenched his hands before his chest. "The bright lights over at the bearing of 183 degrees, or south 3 degrees to the west, the pokémon say there's a festival and —"

"You want to go outside," Ghetsis realised. He sighed heavily. "Now N, I thought we had agreed the only way you were leaving this tower would be on the back of Reshiram or Zekrom."

"Yes, for greater liberation, but I thought that perhaps if I were to go to Nimbasa City I would be able to liberate a smaller number of pokémon first, with my hair and maybe the circular motions, the mechanics, of the Ferris wheel because Ferris wheels are like a collection of elegant formulas and —"

"N, you're doing the vague existential ranting," Ghetsis growled. "You know how I feel about the vague existential ranting; your make my — I mean, our purpose very unclear."

N bit his lip to keep from pouting, drew in a deep breath and replied, "If you let me go to Nimbasa City, I'm sure my point will be much clearer and perhaps I would be able to find a lead on Reshiram or Zekrom by asking some PokéFriends —"

"No." Ghetsis shook his head and turned away. "Nimbasa isn't even a real city, N. You're imagining things."

"But I see it every ni—"

"Trust me, N. Father knows best."

N struggled not to recoil. "If it is not real, then why do I see it every night?"

"Father knows best," Ghetsis repeated, this time musically. He always sang to make his points clearer to N. "Listen to your daddy, it's an awful world out there. Father knows best. One way or another, something will go wrong I swear." He shoved N back against the table. "Trainers, Professors, beaten trapped pokémon —"

"No!" N cried (literally) in horror.

"Yes!" Ghetsis sing-declared with his teeth bared. "Also Pokémon Centres, PokéEgg omelettes and stop, no more, you'll ruin the liberation."

As N wiped his tears away, Ghetsis pulled him into his arms and stroked his hair. "Father's right here; Father will protect you. My King, here's what I suggest: skip the drama, stay in here, and," abruptly, the singing stopped and Ghetsis growled, "Stick to the plan."

And that was it.

Once again, Ghetsis had very little imagination.

"But…" N swallowed heavily.

"N. Never ask to leave this tower again."

With a sigh, N drooped. "Yes, Father."

He was patted on the head. "Good boy."

N didn't need permission — he was going to be King. Kings didn't need permission ever.

Black was, with full modesty, a criminal mastermind. The only thing faster than his fingers was his brain, or possibly his legs — Elesa and her emolga were having a hard time keeping up, and he'd long since ditched the freaks in the hoods who'd aided his heist. Plasma Grunts, they'd called themselves, and they'd actually thought they'd outsmart Black and steal the treasures away from him. Morons.

Due to the speed of his awesome brain, Black quickly left the well-known routes around Unova, something the average Trainer would consider suicide right along with stealing from a Gym Leader. But Black was by no means an average Trainer; he was a thief, he had ever badge in Unova and he'd even beaten the Elite Four. Black was a super Trainer, which meant he was also a super thief and well worth all the praise he gave himself.

Then Elesa sent her zebstrika after him, so Black decided to stop praising himself and run faster.

Maybe, Black thought, I should send out Seismitoad.

As he reached for the PokéBall in question, Black's foot caught on a tree root and he tumbled through the tall grass. Wild pokémon were either shrieking in terror or laughing at him as he rolled and rolled and rolled and rolled through thickets and shrubs, between trees, off a cliff, through more tall grass filled with more wild pokémon that were either shrieking in terror or laughing at him before coming to a stop in a field full of the calmest pokémon he had ever seen.

"Dammit," Black groaned. At least he still had his bag of stolen goods — and his PokéBalls. He slowly sat up, told the crowding audino that no, he did not need to be healed, and noticed the huge tower by the river.

"Well," Black said, staggering to his feet, "that looks like a good place to hide."

So he climbed the tower. It was, in full honesty, difficult. But Black felt that he was a manly man, so he did it without complaint. After swinging himself into the tower, Black was in total denial about experiencing anything in the way of jelly-limbs.

"Okay," he panted. Drawing in a deep breath, he reached into his satchel and felt the Light and Dark Stones. "Good." He glanced around the tower. It was covered in bright, feminie paintings, frilled curtains, dresses-in-progress on what looked like male mannequins, and was completely empty. "Good. Alone at last."

Then he was hit on the head with a frying pan.

N shrieked and leapt back as Black fell to the ground. "What is it?!" the distressed king shouted. Slowly, holding the frying pan in front of him, N approached the creature. He prodded the body. "Is it a ditto? No, it couldn't be, it spoke in lies like a human…"

Zorua shrugged. "Maybe you shouldn't've hit him."

"I can always seek the help of an audino friend or —" N's eyes fell on the red and white balls strapped to the man's belt. N shrieked in terror and promptly started to cry. "Those poor pokémon! How frightened they must feel! Oh, I must liberate them."

Inside her ball, Black's samurott's time in the hot tub was ruined by a building sense of dread.

"Perhaps if Father sees that I can liberate Pokémon on my own, he'll let me go ride the Ferris wheel!" N gushed. "Let's lock the Trainer-scum away." N paused, frowning. "He sure is pretty…"

And so, with great difficult and much hair-bondage, N managed to lock the Trainer-scum in his wardrobe after removing several of his dresses (the prettiest ones he didn't want ruined by a Trainer's touch).

"I wonder what kind of friends are trapped within these monster balls?" N asked.

"…why would I know?" Zorua replied.

N held each ball to his ear, but none of them said a thing. The poor Pokémon's voices were suppressed. It made N cry, so he placed the balls in the Trainer's bag. There were already three spheres inside. They were warm and made from what looked to be sapphire, ruby, and jade. Something about them was compelling…

"N, N! For the liberation, let down your hair!"

Quickly, N shoved the spheres and Terrible-Pokémon-Torture-Balls back in the bag and hid it in a giant pot. He gathered his hair, threw it over the hook and down the tower to where Ghetsis impatiently waited. N struggled to pull him up, but like Ghetsis said, he had to be strong to be King.

"I have a surprise for you," Ghetsis said with that toothy grin.

N neatly coiled his hair on the floor. "As do I for you, however I'm quite certain mine is larger."

"I find that rather difficult to believe."

"Well, I —"

"This had better not be about that city," Ghetsis icily said. "I already told you that it will not be happening."

"But Father, I —"

"Drop it."

"If you would listen I would explain that —"

"Silence, N! It will not be happening — you will never leave this tower!" Ghetsis roared.

King status and all, N cowered.

"Oh, great," Ghetsis placed a hand to his forehead and sighed, "now I'm the bad guy." He shook his head. "You understand N, that I merely wish to keep you safe from abominable Trainers, who would use your hair to lure out and trap all your Pokémon friends and then make them battle until near death, at which point they would make you sing them better to repeat the process. You do understand this, correct?"

"Yes Father." But the Trainer in his closet was so pretty… "What I wanted to say was that I have a better idea of what I would like for my birthday."

"Ah, and what would that be?"

N's eyes flickered to the wall for an idea. "New paints," he murmured. "I would like new paints and fabrics. The organic, non-PokéFriend harming kind."

Ghetsis frowned. "Those are only available in — the place to buy them is very far away, N."

N nodded. "Yes, a bearing of eight degrees or north eight degrees east. However, it is what I want, and it is for my eighteenth birthday and I feel that it would aid me in the preparation for liberation of the pokémon."

"…paint?"

N nodded.

"I'm not sure that I understand how that would assist the liberation."

"Pokémon like paint, and they like to be painted," N sighed. "I know this because they are my friends."

"Very well," Ghetsis sighed. "Will you be fine on your own?"

"Yes," N said. "I'm safe up here and my friends will help me if I need it."

"…yes," Ghetsis agreed with a glance out the window. "Very well. Do take care."

N glanced to his closet. "I will."

A king always gets his way.

Black woke up with a tongue in his ear. It was rough, like sandpaper, so naturally, he screamed. Something dark and furry scurried down his chest and off into the shadows — something that looked like a zorua. But how could that be? Zorua had been hunted to near extinction for their fur, as it was freakishly soft and made such great scarves the Pokémon had developed one of its own, and —

And Black was tied to a chair by thick coils of emerald green. It was shiny, smooth around his wrists, and really quite nice as far as ropes could go. Which made Black all too aware that it couldn't be ropes at all. "Is this… hair?"

"There's no sense in resistance," a voice from the shadows called.

Black sighed. "I know. I'm tied up, after all. But seriously, is this hair?"

Out of the shadows stepped the owner of the shiny emerald hair. It was a man in a pink and purple dress, with no shoes, a frying pan clutched in his hands, a zorua on his shoulder, and far too much hair and oh yeah, he was in a dress.

"Who are you, and how did you find me?" the man demanded.

The man in the dress was by far the strangest thing Black had ever seen. So strange that he had broken Black's brain. It didn't help that he was tall and pretty.

"I said, who are you and how did you find me?"

"Oh, right." Black shook his head to clear it. "Well. I, uh. I dunno." No, this wouldn't do. He was Black, master thief, and he was smooth. In a voice like honey being drizzled onto pancakes, he purred, "I didn't come here searching for you, but let me just say, you're really hot."

The man frowned. "I don't see how you'd know about the temperature of my body."

"…uh." Why wasn't he putty yet?! "I mean that you're very attractive."

"Oh. Yes, I know."

Black immediately felt like punching him, but smiled. "My name's Black. It's an honour to meet you…?"

The man just stared.

"…what's your name?"

"N."

"What?"

"My name is N."

Black must have fallen over and become concussed. He tried shaking his head again, but N didn't vanish. "Okay. N."

"What are you doing here?" N demanded.

"I'm hiding. I didn't know anybody was up here."

For a moment, N stared. Then he snorted. "Of course. Like all humans, you speak in lies. What is it you want with my hair?"

Baffled, Black followed the huge trail of hair from N's head to his own body. Again, he shook his head, but it appeared this was reality. "To get out of it."

"You don't want to sell it? Or cut it?"

"No!" Black cried. "What would I want with your hair?"

"As I said, cut it or sell it."

"Well, yes, it's ridiculously long but — but that's none of my business. I don't want your hair. I was being chased, I saw a tower, I climbed it, so please can you let me go?"

Without any word to excuse himself, N turned away and started muttering to the zorua. Since he was beyond feeling any surprise at this point, Black tried to squirm his hips so the hair might brush the button of a PokéBall…

"Shit!" he shouted. "What did you do to my pokémon?!"

"I liberated them," N declared. "They're still in their trapping containers, but they will be free soon unless you co-operate with my desires. You'll never find them without my assistance."

Black glanced around. "They're in that pot, aren't they?"

He was beaten around the head. Everything went dark and once again, he woke up with Zorua's tongue in his ear.

"QUIT THAT!" Black shouted.

Zorua bit him, then scurried back to N.

"Now you'll never find them without my assistance," N confidently replied, twirling the frying pan. "So. You don't want my hair, except to get out of it, and you know your way around Unova quite well, correct?"

"Yeah, I am a Trainer."

N stared at him, wide-eyed and clearly terrified. Black swore there were tears forming in his eyes, so he quickly added a correction:

"Well, I was a Trainer. I quit."

"Ah, you saw sense and do have potential, then," N observed. "Very good. I'm sure you'll do nicely." He started to walk past Black, and his hair pulled the chair around smoothly. "Look this way." N pulled some curtains apart to reveal a very good painting of what was clearly Nimbasa City at night. "Do you know what this is?"

"Nimbasa," Black replied. "The nearest city. What about it?"

"You will take me there," N declared. "For the festival in three days' time. You'll escort me there, then escort me safely back to my tower. Then, I will return your bag with the peculiar and attractive but ultimately no doubt pointless gem-orbs to you."

"And my pokémon?" Black demanded.

N sighed. "I suppose. If they agree."

"They will."

Black had no idea how he was going to sneak around the Festival of Lights without running into Elesa, any other Gym Leaders, Alder, or heaven forbid, Cheren, but he was brilliant. He'd find a way.

"Okay!" N was suddenly bright and cheerful. "I'm going to let you go now. But if you touch me, I won't hesitate to strike you with the frying pan."

N tugged on his hair and, like magic, it uncoiled. The chair spun, tilted, and fell. Black happened to break the fall with his face.

"…well, that would be karma for imprisoning my friends," N said.

"Crap," Black groaned. He hauled himself to his feet. "You know, we could get there really really quickly if you let me have my pokémon. In fact, I wouldn't even have to go with you."

N gasped and actually did start crying. "No! How dare you use pokémon as tools! They're not tools, they're my friends, and despicable people like you are precisely why they must be saved!"

Black stared. "Uh. Okay then."

Awkwardly, N continued to cry.

"Let's go?" Black suggested, edging towards the tower's window. "You know, get this over with."

"Stop being so mean to the pokémon, they're my friends," N sobbed. "They're not tools, they're my friends."

"I'm not mean to pokémon!" Black snapped. "They like me, okay?"

"No, it's not okay, you're lying. Nothing likes to be contained. Nothing. And you imprison them, therefore the only conclusion that can be reached is that you have imprisoned those poor pokémon for such a lengthy period that they have developed Stockholm Syndrome due to their naturally kind-hearted manner and I suppose your ignorance could simply come from your blatant lack of intelligence, evident from your hiding in the only building for miles, and —"

"Shut up," Black groaned. "It's going to be a very long trip if you don't start moving."

Being a king, N has no trouble wiping his eyes, glaring, and throwing his hair around the hook. As he stood on the window-sill, staring at the field of Pokémon below, Zorua on his shoulder staring mournfully into the distance, N was overwhelmed with emotions in need of immediate release — and so, he started to sing:

"Look at the world, so close, and I'm halfway to it. Look at my friends, so close, do I even dare? All it's going to take is one step to permit my guilt dismissed and my adventure's start. All it's going to take is one step, knowing way deep in my heart, it'll be worth it in the end."

From behind him, Black asked, "Are… are you singing?"

N sighed. "Yes."

"Why?"

With more theatrics, N sighed again. "Because I'm in turmoil." Stupid Trainers didn't know anything; they probably didn't even have emotions. N continued to sing, "All it's going to take is one step, if only I can do it…"

"Seriously, quit it. It's weird."

Hands clenching around his hair, N said, "You're disrupting me." He turned back to the window, stared back down to the pokémon, and opened his mouth to resume singing.

Black pushed him.

At first, N shrieked. But feeling the trajectory of the wind as he slid down his hair, being better able to hear his friends chatter, N soon started to laugh. Then he recalled he was having a life-crisis and tightened his grip on his hair until he came to a stop centimetres from the ground.

"Just one step," N softly crooned. "All it'll take is one step."

"So just do it!" Black shouted.

Trainers, N concluded, were crude creatures with no understanding of style. They would all learn a lot from Father, no doubt.

But when N's feet settled on the grass he lost all sense of style and dignity himself; it wasn't as soft as he expected but it was warm and wonderful. Singing completely slipped from N's mind; all he wanted was to frolic. So he did — through the grass, a stream, with a group of singing audino and towards the hidden entrance of his field. It didn't matter that Father would be enraged, or that N tripped over his own hair three times, or that his feet were getting cut. N had never felt so much that he couldn't sing about it, so he scrambled up a tree and shouted about how awesome not-tower-land was.

"…what is my life," Black groaned.