#like poor maurice just wants to give a gift to the woman he fancies

[teecupangel]

I just had this hilarious thought

What if Desmond turned into a rat after touching the eye

He could still be in the modern era or he could be sent back in time (could be AltDes-) and he just tries to help anyway he can be it retrieving documents or things or distracting guards because his body is too small for anything else

It might be because I just watched a youtube video talking about favorite Pixar movies but I just imagine Desmond Ratatouille-ing some poor Assassin so he can do more than just retrieve items or be a distraction.

Like, just imagine him Ratatouille-ing Kadar and both Malik and Altaïr knew something is wrong because Kadar is moving a bit weird BUT he is also moving better than he ever did.

It didn’t take long before they learned about the rat that can control Kadar by just grabbing his hair.

And Desmond was just going “fuck it!” when he started piloting Kadar, wondering if he could do something as weird as that one animated movie he watched in a bootleg DVD he bought from the shady dude behind the 7-Eleven near his apartment.

Altaïr gets the idea of experimenting if Desmond could ‘pilot’ anyone while Malik thinks they should bring the rat to Al Mualim. Desmond uses Kadar to tell Malik that:

He’s gonna scutter away and they’d never see him again if they try to bring him to Al Mualim

Oh, and Al Mualim is a Templar.

Anyway, the trio decides to try and find evidence of Al Mualim’s treachery while keeping this supposed Apple (Desmond’s words… using Kadar’s mouth) safe and away from Al Mualim.

So now, we have three rogue Assassins that may or may not ask help from Alamut? Malik stresses they need to find proof first before they request help from Alamut. Desmond didn’t even know Alamut could help in this situation. Altaïr didn’t know that as well and Desmond was just like “aaahh, so that’s why I don’t know.”

But, but, but…

More importantly!

We now have the best setup for Altaïr and Desmond flirting…

Using Kadar as a messenger!

Like, just imagine Malik staring in horror as his little brother and the most annoying man he ever knows flirt and then Kadar would be looking at Malik as if to say “IT’S NOT ME! IT’S THE RAT!” with his expression which gets overridden by Desmon piloting him to flirt back to Altaïr again.

Then Altaïr starts courting Desmond by giving gifts… to Kadar… and Kadar is just like “Oh, Altaïr, I do not see- Oh. These are small… food… Oh! This is for Desmond. Yes. Of course. (sssiigghhh)”

And Altaïr starts using the Apple to figure out how to change Desmond back to being human with Desmond helping then Kadar has to listen to Altaïr say something like “Even if we cannot find a way to return you to your human form… my feelings for you would not change.”

And Kadar is torn between becoming goo from all the fluff and thinking “help, someone please help, just, just tap out, tap out, change player, someone please be Desmond’s new mech!”

Oh, and I guess Abbas can get his ass kicked because he’s been tasked to hunt down the trio with some of Masyaf’s best.

[smartgirlsaremean]

My Heart’s in the Highlands - Chapter 8

Fandom: OUAT, Hamish Macbeth

Pairing: Bellish

Rating: T

Summary: With Rumplestiltskin gone, Belle can't face going back to the Enchanted Forest without him. She leaves Storybrooke forever, travels the world, and ends up in a small village in Scotland, where she meets a constable with a very familiar face.

AO3

Chapter 8: Lonely History

Belle took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door of the caravan, hoping she wasn’t about to make a mistake. The door swung open and TV John blinked at her.

“Miss Belle! This is a surprise.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course!” He pushed the door wider and led her to the table at one end. “You’ll have tae excuse the mess - I’m an auld bachelor and I’ve had no female company in…” His brow contracted as he thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever had female company, in actual fact.”

Belle smiled and shrugged, sitting on one of the chairs.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you with?” John began fussing with a kettle.

“Hamish said something the other night that startled me.” Belle folded her hands and studied them, willing herself to be brave. “He said that you had - the sight. The second sight.”

“Aye, I do.” John lit the stove and sat across from her, placing two teacups on the table. “Why is that startling?”

“Were you born with your gift or was it - given to you by someone?”

“Born, or so I was told. I’ve been seein’ for as long as I can remember.”

“What was your first vision?”

He chuckled. “My poor mother - I warned her about a saucepan on the stove - said to turn the handle in because she was about to knock it off, but she didnae listen and next moment there was soup all over the floor.”

“And your visions...are they always so clear?”

The kettle whistled and John gave her an inscrutable look before getting up to pour. “They’re often nowt but feelings - a twist in my gut, a pain in my head. But sometimes...aye, sometimes the warnin’ couldnae be plainer.” He sat heavily and looked morosely into his teacup.

Belle cradled her own cup in her hands, uncertain of her next question.

“You don’t question my sight,” John said before she could begin, and his gaze was piercing. “Most incomers laugh at me if they hear about it at all. But not you.”

She shrugged uneasily. “I just - I like to learn about things and this - this is new to me.”

“No,” John said slowly. “No, it isn’t. You’ve seen one like me before. In your own land, perhaps.”

Startled, Belle dropped her cup, the tea sloshing out onto the table. “M-my own land?”

“I see more than the future, Miss Belle,” he said sternly. “I can see ye’re not ay this world. There’s a glow about you - an aura - that’s different from any I’ve seen. And I’ll answer no more o’ yer questions until I’ve had the truth frae ye.”

Belle swallowed sudden tears and looked down at her tea. This had been a mistake. How he could know that she was different she had no idea - but that was magic. Once it touched you, it never let you go, and she, and possibly John as well if he wasn’t a native son, had been drawn here because of it. Her life had been so inextricably linked with magic, both Rumple’s and Regina’s, that she might never escape it.

She could run. She could leave this caravan, gather together what she could carry, and leave Lochdubh immediately and never look back. She could find another village somewhere that needed a librarian or record keeper, a village without a seer and a physical double of her dead true love.

But she didn’t want to. She loved Lochdubh now, the place and the people, and she had told Rumplestiltskin once that when you found something worth fighting for, you didn’t give up. She had built a life here, with a job worth doing, friends worth keeping and, if she were brave enough, perhaps a new relationship worth exploring. And even if that last didn’t work out, the other two were incentive enough to stay. She set the cup down and took a breath to steady her voice.

“If I tell you - If I tell you, will you promise to keep it secret - at least for now?”

“As long as I’m able. There’s others as are bound to grow suspicious, mind.”

Nodding, Belle took a deep breath. “Alright. To begin with, my name isn’t Belle French. I have no real surname. I was called Lady Belle, and my father was Sir Maurice, the lord of Avonlea.”

“Avonlea. I’ve never heard of the place.”

“You wouldn’t have,” she smiled shakily. “It’s not of your world.”

John studied her through narrowed eyes. “And how did you come to be in this world, Lady Belle?”

Oh, gods, where to begin?

At the beginning, she supposed.

She smiled mischievously. “Have you ever heard the tale of Snow White and the seven dwarves?”

It was a rare occasion that Hamish was awake and ready for work before John came to the station. Preparing his own breakfast was no chore, but Jock was growing hungry and, like Wee Jock before him, would only take his food from TV John. Hamish tried to feed the whining pup, but when Jock would have nothing to do with the food placed in front of him, Hamish determined that he’d best go and see what was keeping John.

As he drew near to the trailer park and his deputy’s caravan, the door swung open and Hamish stopped abruptly, wishing there was somewhere he could hide. A woman’s voice was talking and then Belle French was descending the caravan steps, smiling over her shoulder at John and...was he seeing things, or was she wearing the same dress that she’d worn the day before?

He clamped down on the thought before he could get carried away. Belle and John? Preposterous. For one thing he was old enough to be her grandfather. For another, he wasn’t even sure John fancied women. He’d never had a sweetheart in all the time that Hamish had known him. Or a beau for that matter. Not that anyone knew of, anyway. For all anyone knew John wasn’t interested in sex or relationships full stop, and Hamish really needed to stop wondering what Belle would have been doing spending the night in John’s caravan because the two of them were almost upon him and he needed to act naturally.

“I was worried about you,” he said to John, hoping his voice wasn’t too cheerful. “Thought you might’ve been spirited away or summat.”

“Oh, I was just distracted by good company,” John said, giving Belle an avuncular pat on the hand.

Belle smiled and stretched up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Thanks for hearing me out,” she said seriously. “It was good to talk to someone.”

“Anytime, my lady,” TV John said, and Belle blushed.

“Mornin’, Belle.” Hamish felt distinctly disgruntled. He wasn’t used to her not acknowledging his presence. He was glad that he knew - was fairly certain - he had nothing to fear from TV John as a romantic rival, or else he might be tempted to be jealous.

Only tempted, mind.

“Good morning, Hamish,” she said, and when she turned a bright smile on him, all was right once again with the world. “I’ll be a little late opening the library this morning, but I’ll still see you, won’t I?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good.” She bent to give Jock’s ears a scratch and then hurried away.

Hamish watched her go and then turned to TV John, raising an eyebrow. “Well, well. Look at you, entertain’ young ladies in your home until the wee hours of the mornin’.”

“Miss Belle needed a friendly chat. She’s had a rough time of it, and not many sympathetic ears to listen.”

“I’m sympathetic,” Hamish protested.

“Aye.”

He offered no further explanation of why Belle had gone to him and not Hamish, and Hamish floundered silently as they headed to the station.

“Must’ve been quite the talk,” he said at last.

“Aye.”

“To keep her there all night, I mean.”

“Aye.”

“John, for God’s sake, what…”

“I’ll not be tellin’ you, young Hamish,” John said sternly. “The lady asked me to hold my tongue, and I never break a promise to a lady.”

Hamish sighed irritably. “You never break a promise full stop.”

“True.”

“Fine, have your secrets.” Hamish dropped into a chair at the kitchen table and folded his arms petulantly.

TV John’s mouth quivered as he tried to hold back a smile. “Don’t pout, Mr. Macbeth. It’s not behavior fitting a police constable.”

“’m not pouting,” Hamish mumbled, but when he caught sight of himself in the reflection of one of the windows, there was really no other way of describing his expression. He saw TV John’s shoulders begin to shake. “Ah, just feed the damn dog,” he muttered, storming into the bathroom for a shave.