daft prince


What’s up everybody? I decided to give y'all a some more Weeknd/Polaroid-style album covers. These have been very successful for my blog and I gotta thank everyone who has been liking, reblogging, commenting, everything. It is greatly appreciated. Enjoy!


Anime/Rap Mash-up Mix

since the first playlist was a big hit I decided to make a second one! I hope you guys like it!

[listen here]

the return

Ideally, this takes place right after 02x03…all errors in the French language are my own, despite the efforts of many to help me.

He was in Scotland – he was sure of it. Mud, and damp wool, and heather. Far from the rot and foul odors that permeated these Frenchmen – did they not ever wash those damned wigs?

Murtagh stood on the small hill right behind the broch – watching smoke curl up from the chimney at the house – three fresh rabbits hanging beside his sporran. Should make a nice addition to supper –

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck. Someone – something - was watching him. Slowly he reached for his dirk, and whirled to face the intruder…

…only to grab a fistful of bedclothes and elbow the interloper - standing beside the bed - somewhere in the soft parts.

“*Merde!*” Fergus exclaimed, doubling over in pain, clutching his privates.

“*Qu'est ce que c'est, mon petit hérisson?*” Suzette sleepily rolled over to face Murtagh, hair all wild from sleep – and from how they’d spent a few timeless hours in the deep night. “*C'est le voleur?*”

“Eh?” Murtagh sat up, scrubbing at his face, squinting at Fergus, who was still half-stunned by the blow. “What the devil are ye doing in here, ye wee baggage? Does a closed door mean an invitation to ye?”

“It’s late,” the boy gasped. “He - Milord – he’s not awake.”

“*Envoies-lui dehors!*” Suzette’s lovely, calloused hands skimmed Murtagh’s side. “*Á moins que tu veux qu'il nous regarde.*”

Murtagh lay a gentle hand on Suzette’s, but turned to the boy. “What do ye mean he’s no’ awake? It’s past dawn – he’s usually in the sitting room by now.”

Fergus straightened, grimacing. “The door to his and Milady’s bedchamber is locked, and there must be furniture up against it – I picked the lock and still the door will not open. He has not sent for the servants this morning, either.”

Suzette huffed. Murtagh kissed her fingers.

“All right – I’ll see if I can rouse him. Damn fool has probably taken ill, what with all the drinking and carrying on wi’ the daft Prince and these French fops in this filthy, stinking city…”

He continued muttering under his breath as he lay out his plaid, pleated it, rolled himself into it, and buckled it in place – to Fergus’ wide-eyed surprise and giggles from Suzette on the bed. He raised a bushy eyebrow at her in question.

“Can ye no’ cover yerself, *a leannan*?”

She shook her head and wrapped the sheet around her shoulders, still laughing.

“It is all right – I have seen many naked women before,” Fergus said softly, giving Murtagh a helping hand to stand upright.

“Mmphmm.” Murtagh turned once more to face the bed – watched Suzette blow him a kiss – and grinned like a fool all the way down the hall from the servants’ quarters to the master bedroom, Fergus at his side.

It was just as the lad had said – the lock was open, but the door would not budge. He glanced to the clock on the mantle – dripping wi’ cherubs, what the hell had Jared been thinking? – and saw it was already half past eight. Very unusual – on nights when he stayed at home, Jamie was always up and dressed no later than seven.

“Do you think he is unwell?” Fergus asked quietly, nervously rocking back and forth.

“I hope not. He’s due to meet wi’ the prince again this afternoon - outside that damn brothel, for once.”

Murtagh banged on the door. Five hard knocks.

He waited. Looking over at Fergus, he saw the lad holding his breath in anticipation.


Five more knocks. “Jamie!”

Still nothing. Murtagh sighed. “Do ye think the butler is strong enough to break down this door?”

Fergus paused, thinking.

“Perhaps him *and* the coachman? The coachman actually uses his arms to earn his wages. The butler - he just chases the maids.”

Three more bangs. “Jamie, lad! Are ye all right?”

Now he was worrit. What if the lass had taken ill? Or - God forbid - the bairn inside her was having troubles? What if a burglar had pried open the windows overnight and killed them in their beds? What if an assassin had snuck through the house and slit their throats, for aiding the prince? What if -


Murtagh blinked harshly at Fergus’ whisper. Sure enough, there were heavy footsteps on the other side of the door - the sound of chairs being pushed back - and suddenly the door opened.

Jamie Fraser, Lord Broch Tuarach, stood before them, panting, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, naked. Grinning like an idiot.

“Dinna fash, I’m no’ dead. Far from it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Murtagh watched Fergus’ jaw drop in utter awe.

“Are you all right, milord?”

Jamie pushed his wild hair back from his face, scratching the side of his neck. Murtagh counted seven love bites blooming on his fair skin.

“Better than I’ve been in a long time, lad. Is someone asking for me?”

“Ye worrit him sick, sleeping in like one o’ those dandies.” Murtagh tried his best to admonish him - but couldn’t suppress a tiny smile at the thought that perhaps love had finally returned to the Fraser marriage bed. “It isna like ye to no’ be up at the crack o’ dawn, writing out yer letters.”

Jamie crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe. “I had vera good reason this morning, Murtagh. And I’ll ask ye a wee favor.”

“Which is?”

“I need ye to send a letter to Duvernay’s secretary, telling him that I canna meet today. God knows I’ve waited on Charles many times before - I can take today to myself. He can wait on me today.”

“All o’ that? What should I tell him?”

Jamie smiled sweetly - Ellen’s smile. Murtagh was powerless to say no - and Jamie knew it.

“Tell him I’m indisposed.”

Claire suddenly emerged from the shadows, wrapped in Jamie’s plaid. She leaned against him and his arm automatically settled around her shoulders, nestling her against his side. She turned her face into his neck - and Fergus counted five love bites of her own.

“And then I’d like ye to ask the servants to bring us breakfast, but to leave it out in the sitting room. I willna be disturbed today. Can ye do that?”

Murtagh nodded, incredulous. “Anything else, then?”

“Can you please write Mother Hildegard that I won’t be going to l’Hôpital as planned today?” Claire’s voice was muffled against Jamie’s chest as he slowly, gently drew his fingers up and down her bare arm. “The baby - ”

“Aye, I understand. I’ll see to it.”

“Thank ye,” Jamie said quietly. “And take a bath, please, Fergus. I can smell ye from here.”

Fergus’ cheeks pinked, but he said nothing - mesmerized, as was Murtagh, by the simple sight of Milord and Milady so - in tune with each other.

Jamie nodded - and picked up Claire - and kicked the door shut. The heavy oak was not too thick to prevent their laughter from echoing through the sitting room.

“It is so different when the house is happy,” Fergus said quietly, absently tugging at a string on the sleeve of his shirt. “It is true laughter. At Maison Elise - there was a lot of laughter, but it was not - not real. Not from love.”

Murtagh lay a hand on the lad’s shoulder and gently steered him back to the servants’ quarters. “Aye, I understand. Let’s leave them, aye? Looks like we’re all in for a day of rest.”

He shooed Fergus downstairs to bathe with the stable lads - and quietly shut the door to Suzette’s room, watching her doze on the bed.

“*Viens,*” she said softly after a long moment, her long, pale arm extended in welcome.

He took her hand - and he did.


Merde! — Shit!

Qu'est ce que c'est, mon petit hérisson? — What is it, my little hedgehog?

C'est le voleur? — Is it the pickpocket?

Envoies-lui dehors! — Send him out!

Á moins que tu veux qu'il nous regarde — Unless you want him to watch

Viens — Come


CS AU: Princess Emma and Lieutenant Jones have been secretly in love for years, what happens when the princess has to find a husband and King David offers Killian Jones the rank of a Captain. Will their love be stronger than the obstacles?

Surprise Maya!! :D (gracefulswansavior) I’m you Secret Valentine!! :D I need to say it was an amazing experience talking to you almost every day, and I need to say you’re such a sweetheart and I’ll love to be your friend now off the anon! ;) I hope you enjoy this little thing I made and wrote for you! (I tried to mix most of the things you liked ❤) 

Thank you for being so patient with me! I send you tons of hugs and love! 

Happy Valentine’s day! ❤

I will always look at you - Lieutenant Duckling one-shot

(Thanks to Lim (well-thats-much-better) for editing this and all her support!)

Rated: K+

You can read it on ff.net

“You can’t keep avoiding her, little brother” Liam said while fixing his uniform.

“Younger brother.” Killian rolled his eyes. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m not avoiding her.”

“Yes, you are.” Liam turned to fix his gaze on his brother. “The entire court meeting I felt the glances she kept throwing at you and I’ve seen your miserable attempts to avoid them.” He chuckled. “You both are so fun to watch.”

“I really have no idea what you’re talking about Liam.” Killian sighed and avoided Liam’s eyes.

The truth was that ever since Killian Jones met Princess Emma for the first time, five years ago, he had been secretly in love with her. He was mesmerized with the princess, not only because of her good looks and charms, but also because of her strong, passionate and brave personality.

Keep reading

due south by way of middle earth

So the first thing one needs to remember is that this mess is really all Legolas and Gimli’s fault.

Beren had his Luthien, Tuor had his Idril, Aragorn had his Arwen …. you had all that romantic, epic, sweeping tragic, star-crossed romances that bards will warble happily over.  

Of course, epic romance kind of goes out the window when one has to deal with a scruffy, hopelessly adorable Ranger who will steal his Queen away for what was supposed to be a romantic picnic near the waterfalls of Ithilien but ends up on a wild adventure involving Corsairs and pirates and said pirates now shuddering with terror at the name of Arwen Evenstar and how perilous she was with the sword Hadhafang gleaming bright in her hands…. no, wait, that’s still fairly epic.  Aragorn was insufferable with his pride and adoration of his beloved Queen for months.

But we digress.

Legolas.  Gimli.  An equally epic romance that caused an Elven-king to have kittens, a near bloodbath in the Halls of Erebor because a Dwarf-lord also had kittens at the prospect of an Elven son-in-law and one Ranger-turned-King who will still down practically a barrel of the best Shire ale when he recalls the wedding.  Because, of course, he would be the long-suffering Best Man for both his dearest friends.

Yes. It was during the wedding of Legolas and Gimli that an Idea was born. 

An Idea that would lead to the legendary partnership of a Ranger and a Hobbit and that same Ranger partnering with a Wood-Elf pretending to be a Hobbit. 

It’s a long story that takes two hours to tell. 

The best teller of this tale is Harding Welsh, Dwarf of Erebor and current Chief of the Rangers of the North, who are currently now composed of the Dunedain, the Rohirrim, Wood-Elves who are as daft as their Prince Legolas, Hobbits and Dwarves, Elrond’s Twins and of course, Legolas and Gimli as well, because “Aragorn-laddie, it’s not as if my ghivashele and I wouldn’t enjoy an adventure hewing orc-heads now and then.”

It was the whole romance that gave rise to the Idea in the first place.  Why couldn’t the Free Peoples of Middle-earth continue to work together in much the same way when they united in order to overthrow the Shadow of Mordor?  It wasn’t as if evil was going away forever with Sauron gone.  It wasn’t as if they all didn’t learn how much stronger they all were when they’d set aside their differences and opened their hearts  and learned that the best sight in all of creation would be Thranduil somehow succumbing to an alcoholic beverage more potent than Dorwinion wine and happily nattering to Gloin about baby Legolas’ escapades.

This would be during the second wedding feast for the happy couple, upon their return to their respective homes and families.

It begins this way (as soon as Welsh has downed at least a pint of the best ale from Dale-town and smoked a pipe of Longbottom Leaf.)

The Ranger Benton Fraser first came to the Shire on the trail of the killers of his father…

- tbc -

Look, @determamfidd updated Sansukh and it finally gave a much needed kick in the head to my crackfic plot bunnies.  Plus, it’s a tradition in the Blanket Fort that when she gives us more Sansukh, I end up cracking liek whoa.

Wish me luck!

londonerbecky  asked:

Hiya! I was wondering if there could be any Murtagh POV from first book/season? Related to either Jamie’s, Claire’s or both’s actions or circumstances? Thanks!

I kind of combined elements of the original prompt with a plot bunny that popped into my head after this past week’s episode (02x03) and so this is set the following morning. - Lenny

Claire slipped away to bed shortly after the toast and so was able to avoid Murtagh until the following morning after Jamie had already left for Jared’s warehouse to conduct an inventory before the chaos of the next shipment’s arrival. Electing to indulge in breakfast in bed, she had managed to put off the confrontation until they were in the carriage on their way to L’Hôpital des Anges.

“Ye should ha’ told the lad last night,” Murtagh said simply.

“I couldn’t take that away from him,” Claire insisted with a sigh. “He needed it too badly.”

“I ken I’m the one that told ye no to tell him before, but if he has to know, better sooner than later,” Murtagh ignored her excuse though his tone was softer. It had been good to see the lad so excited about something again, not to mention the tenderness he’d shown Claire—the cares the lad bore had been sharpening and hardening his edges, wearing away the softness Claire needed in her condition. “He’ll no thank ye if ye let the Duke catch him off guard wi’ that bit o’ information.”

“I know. It’s just… how? How am I supposed to tell him that his nightmares…” but she broke off, shaking her head and blinking back tears. “He can’t kill Randall.”

“No from here, no,” Murtagh said with narrowed eyes; more secrets—too many secrets. If they were to have a hope of succeeding in stopping the blundering prince it would take all their efforts pulling together, but with so many secrets floating about, he couldn’t help but feel they might as well be blind horses pulling a cart in different directions. “The progress we’ve made can work in yer favor,” he continued, trying a different tack. “He’ll be upset but wi’ so much here to serve as distraction… I’ll be wi’ ye when ye tell him lass—if tha’s what ye’d prefer.” If the news did send Jamie into some sort of rage, it might be best—not that Murtagh though Jamie capable of lashing out at Claire in such a way…

“Thank you, Murtagh,” Claire said quietly to his proposal. “I’ll consider it but… I think perhaps it would be best if I told Jamie privately. He’d hate for anyone to see him… like that.”

“Aye,” Murtagh assented, dropping the matter. The Fraser stubbornness mixed with the MacKenzie pride; he kent well enough how that could be.

He helped Claire down from the carriage at the steps of l’hôpital. The stench of sickness and filth made the hairs in his nose curl but it seemed to give Claire strength.

He suspected that was part of why she couldn’t bring herself to tell Jamie about Black Jack Randall—it wasn’t in her nature to inflict pain but rather to cure it. His mind flew back to the woodland trail where he came upon Claire and Jenny with the British messenger. It was clear from the lass’ face that she didn’t need Jenny lecturing her about how they couldn’t let the man live—she understood the fact of the matter—but she wasn’t quite ready to cross the line between knowing that truth and acting on it, ending the man’s life with her healer’s hands. So he’d done it for her.

He couldn’t do this for her, though—however sorely he was tempted. There was clearly more to it all than what he’d been able to put together from Jamie’s injuries and the state he and the others had found him in. Jamie’s turn at the abbey had only come after some sort of interference on Claire’s part—he’d shared with her what he couldn’t share with anyone else—and so it must be from Claire that the news of Randall’s continued existence reached him.

But the lass would get there. She might shy from inflicting pain but when the pain must be got through in order for healing to occur, she would rise to the occasion as she had before. The focus with which she had tended the lad’s hand… To this day he didn’t think she realized how much of that process he’d witnessed. She paid no notice to anyone or anything that wasn’t directly related to un-mangling the mess of Jamie’s hand.

Claire vanished into the shadows at the top of the stairs and Murtagh turned back to the carriage to give the driver his instructions for the day. Murtagh had to meet Fergus to replace the letters he and Jamie had stayed up late copying the previous evening before they could be missed and hopefully later that day or the next Fergus would acquire a response from the daft prince to add to their collection of his intercepted correspondence.