#Outlander Inspired

[wardenparker]

Sassenach and the Spaniard

Delirious with sickness and near to death, Pero Tovar finds himself on the doorstep of a village outsider who nurses him back to health just before the winter snows descend. With a black cat for company, a mask on her face, and a biting wit that intrigues him, Pero comes to find out that his new companion is more than what she seems. 

With just a touch of the time traveling magic used in Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series, this story is not a crossover (since it takes place in an entirely different time and place) but inspired by the books and tv show. If you have never read or seen it, don’t worry!

❤ Like or comment on this post to be added to the taglist!  ❤

An Excerpt from chapter 1:

"Your horse," you ask after the pause, as Binx settles comfortably in your lap. "Does he have a name?"

Pero looks up from the bowl, frowning slightly. “Horse.” He tells you, wondering why the hell he would name his horse.

“Right. Of course.” It nearly makes you laugh, the way he looks completely confused by the question, and you scratch your cat’s little head affectionately.

“This is Binx. She will come when she is called. And fetches well. And also hunt is small game occasionally.” The clever feline has graduated from chipmunks and field mice to squirrels and rabbits, and while the notion of skinning and dressing your own animals made you a little sick at first after a lifetime of supermarkets, you have had to adjust. Meat is expensive here, unless you procure it yourself, and you’re not exactly going around with a shotgun looking for big game.

He sends you another confused look and glances at the cat. “Gato.” He mutters to himself, never really paying much attention to the creatures. Why would he ever call one? Calling his horse, yes.  But calling a cat?

“No.” Thank fuck you’re wearing a mask, it muffles the sound of your amused snort perfectly. He seems mildly offended that you would impose a name on the sweet, fluffy girl and it’s the first good laugh you’ve had in ages. “Binx.”

“Gato.” He mutters again, pointing at the feline. “Cat.” He explains, remembering that you don’t speak his tongue.

“You are Pero. I am Sassenach. She is Binx.” It’s probably much funnier to you than it should be, but she’s sitting so proudly and purring so happily in your lap that it just makes you that much more amused.

He’s never heard of a name like that before. He’s heard a lot of names, but it’s making him search for meaning. Instead of asking, he just grunts and shakes his head. A second later, curiosity gets the best of him. “Sassenach?” 

“It means ‘outlander’.” You explain, feeling an odd kind of nostalgia pang for the old way of explaining the word. ”It’s from that new show Outlander!” You used to exclaim to anyone fool hearty enough to ask about the thing that would make you light up from the inside out....“When I arrived in this part of the world, it was the way the villagers referred to me.” The highlanders had been kind in many ways and not at all in others, but when you left them you had taken the name with you as a shield against the unknown. Of course you did not know the customs or the language. You were just a Sassenach. An outsider. No matter where you went.

He mulls that over in his mind and looks around the cottage again with a more critical eye. "Bruja." He decides, figuring that you spooked the religious and simple people in this village. He had learned from his travels that people feared what they did not understand and they did not understand the things they feared. Thank god for the mask hiding your face from his discerning eyes. You know that word as a practicing Wiccan woman...and even though your neighbors never say it with the same kind of derision he just did, it’s very obvious that he now understands exactly what the people in this time think of you.

You don't answer him and again he is reminded that you don't speak his tongue like William did. "They think you are a witch."

[retrollamas]

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone

[the-heartlines]

offering

rhaegon (+ jacenyra if you squint 👀)| [e. 1.1k] dead dove 🪦🕊️

(ughhhh wrote this in a feverish haze when i thought of aegon threatening to kill rhaenyra’s sons if she doesn’t fuck him and give him a son. this is chapter 1/2 most likely {definitely})

“offer yourself up to me, sister, and i shall spare our uncle. provide me with a son and i shall spare your sons my wrath—my fire and blood.”

rhaenyra glances over at the body of her bloody, unconscious husband for a brief moment. his body sprawled, broken, but still breathing—just barely. 

time slows, her heart beats, thundering rapturously inside her chest, when she turns to her precious children, chained up, bound, and gagged. jace, who already has a black eye, and a bloodied, fat lip, struggles against his, trying to fight for her, for his mother—his queen.  

lucerys and joff clutch onto her younger silver haired sons who are all frozen, rooted to the spot, tears streaks and snot staining their faces; desperate to call out for their mother to save them. but there is only one way to surely save them, to spare them from the fiery wrath of sunfyre.

her utmost compliance. obedience. submission.

she has already been forced to kneel, forced to bow to her usurper brother. and now she will either bend to his depravity or break. 

but either way rhaenyra knows she will lose, so she bites her tongue and stares daggers as sharp as their father’s—the one her half-brother is twirling carelessly between his fingers—directly in aegon’s direction, defiant and damning. 

for he can bend her body into any shape, but she will not break. she must remain strong. for her sweet sons.

aegon’s lips curl into a wicked smile, cruelness dripping from his voice, evilly and equally venomous. “or if you would prefer, sister, i can fuck you in front of them all. make them watch me rape their mother before your sons die one by one.” rhaenyra hears a low and guttural noise, a growl, leave jace’s throat and they both look over at him. he’s shaking his head from side to side, trembling with anger, trepidation and tears now running down his face. 

it takes two of aegon’s kingsguard to hold him back, his hands clenching into tight fists, rage alight in his brown eyes. another tear falls down rhaenyra’s cheek, because her oldest son reminds her so much of his father in this moment. no longer a boy, but a man, strong and resilient, unbroken.

and she must be brave for him, her future heir, be a beacon of hope, an example of how sacrifices must be made for those you love, those you cherish. 

“yes.” rhaenyra hisses through gritted teeth, wanting to shove their father’s dagger into her half-brother’s heart. to eat it. to  slice his throat and spill all of his blood, until there is none left in his veins, but her fire seeping inside, replacing his cold, heartless body with every fiber of it.

“my king.” aegon corrects, mocking her, reminding her of her place, beneath him, at his feet, his beck and call. with just one word uttered from her lips that gives him all the power, everything he’s ever wanted: her.

“yes, my king.” rhaenyra seethes, voice unwaveringly upset, burning with resentment. and it makes aegon’s ego swell and cock harden hearing her say it with such contempt, such malice. her lilac eyes ablaze with enough malevolence to murder him. and he wishes, hopes she will try to. for when he fucks her for the first time, he plans on leaving their dagger near her. just close enough for the temptation, near enough to coax and entice that violence brewing and boiling beneath her skin. 

for once aegon tells her it was he who killed their father, that he suffocated the sick man like it he was suffocated for years, unable to breathe, to think about nothing but her—his sister will want nothing more than to kill him. to tear him to pieces. seek revenge with his blood upon her hands and teeth. and aegon will let her draw his blood eventually, but first he wants to have some fun. 

“you’re a good mother, rhaenyra. choosing your children’s wellbeing above your own.” aegon taunts, climbing from the throne, ascending the steps and moving towards her. “an unselfish and caring queen through and through. on your knees, where you belong. below me.” 

his crotch is eye level with her and rhaenyra can see the outline of his bulge prevalent against his breeches, hard and unyielding. she clenches her hands into fists, wanting to retch, to run. “kiss it.” rhaenyra whips her head up towards him, mouth and eyes wide as a full moon at the implications. but before she can protest with words, he smirks knowingly, extends his hand to her, with a huge ring, as an offering, a truce. 

and kiss the ugly signet she does, with tight pursed lips, not daring to taste the sweat or salt of his oily skin, not daring to let her saliva coat it.

“take her sons back to their bedchambers.” rhaenyra turns her head back to her sons, giving them a small smile, reassuring them that she will be okay. she feels aegon’s heat radiating off of him, and her skin crawls with disgust when he reaches to wrap one of her loose tendrils of silver around his finger, twirling it and twisting it, already tangling her around him. her four youngest freeze in their tracks, but are forced towards the red keep’s entrance by aegon’s soldiers. 

“i will be fine, i promise!” she yells, hoarse, voice cracking, the doors closing as promise echoes off the walls, wondering if her children even heard her. but she must believe they heard her words, because she knows she will not be. but she must be brave for all of them, strong—

“nephew.” aegon says the word haughtily, and now more of his hands are tangling in rhaenyra’s hair, tugging her head backwards harshly. “you will remain.”

jace.

“jace!” rhaenyra cries panicked; his name a plea, a prayer, beckoning her son to her aid, to save her because she’s terrified. and jace, always coming to her rescue, attempts to escape the kingsguard—run towards her. but he’s tangled and twisted into the enemy’s web, unable to escape. an armored fist smashes him in the stomach, making him buckle over, next to daemon, who remains unconscious. “please! no!” rhaenyra begs, trepidation in her voice, and aegon’s other hand encircles around her throat, constricting her oxygen, choking her, further entangling her within his grasp.

“yes.” he growls, anger washing over his face. “your headstrong son,” he pauses spitting the word ‘strong’ out vehemently, “is going to watch his king fuck and breed his mother.” 

and that alone breaks both mother and son, as jace starts uncontrollably sobbing, tears pouring down his handsome face, defeated. and rhaenyra wants to sob, to run to him, hold him close and never let go—but aegon’s hand threatens to choke the life from her. so she closes her eyes instead and tries to picture her son’s boyish face, bright and innocent, held tight in his trueborn father’s embrace. for only those happy memories can save her now as her vision starts to fade and darkness takes hold.

[saturnville]

nightmare

45. “I had a nightmare about you and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

author’s note: this was a part two that i never realized could be a part two until someone inboxed me and asked for a continuation of “the soldier’s lady.” this sat in my drafts for two years. so thank you to the supporter whose message encouraged me to finish it 🫶🏾 @queen-dk

Alone he was. Alone, frozen, starved, and afraid. Lost between the beautiful, green mazes. Surrounded by thick stumps covered in damp moss, assaulted by crawlers at every direction, destroyed by his enemies.

Voice too coarse, too far gone to utter even a prayer to the Master he served. His hand, covered in blood and gashes filled with dirt and debris, clasped around his throat. His dry lips parted and nothing more than a small gasp dribbled out.

He cleared his throat. A sandpaper-like substance shimmied along the sides of his throat. He spat it out on a pile of crushed leaves and opened his mouth once more, managing to call out. He was greeted with silence.

Painfully, he scrambled to his feet. A string of obscenities passed his lips. His hands patted his waist in search for his sword. He only felt the tattered fabric of his kilt. Through blurred vision, he searched around, circling himself for his sacred weapon.

Loudly, he cried out again. He was answered with the rustling of the leaves and the clapping of a dangerous thunder. His chest heaved as he looked around, stumbling in every which direction.

Alone, he was. Alone, frozen, starved, and afraid.

She awoke suddenly with a gasp. Thin lavender slip damp with sweat, soft skin heated from distress, she sat up slowly. Her eyes darted around the dark room, save for a beam of moonlight against her bed frame.

With a shaking hand, she brushed the stump of her hand across her forehead, sweeping away the perspiration that rested there.

Her non-dominant hand forced the warm covers off her body. Slowly, she swung her slender legs across the edge of the bed. They dangled, her heels jabbing the wooden frame.

A soft breath flew passed her dry lips. Her hands were a net for her head as she buried her face within her palms. Her cardiac muscle beat harder than wooden sticks against the tenor drums she saw a young boy playing weeks ago.

He was back home, yet subconsciously, she still worried for his well-being, for his safety. For almost two weeks, he’d been walking through the halls of the estate, healthy and strong in stature. Her worry was no longer necessary, but it never seemed to subside.

Theo nibbled along the inside of her cheek. Should she do it, she thought to herself. The young woman reached across her pillow and snatched her robe that warmed it, sliding it over her arms.

Her bare feet smoothed the cold floors as she padded around her bed and out of her bedroom. She started straight down the hallway and made a sharp left turn. In front of his bedroom door she stood. Hesitantly, she knocked softly.

A warm light peaked from the bottom of the door and gentle movements could be heard from the other side. She twiddled her fingers around a loose thread on the stomach of her slip.

After a few moments, the door opened. Theo smiled awkwardly, feeling small under his naturally intense gaze. She had trouble lifting her head to meet his.

“Why’re ye up, lass?” His voice was like water on a hot day—clear and crisp. Aila rolled her shoulders then shrugged.

“Had a nightmare about you,” she said quietly, her eyes nowhere near his. “Wanted to make sure you were okay...”

The man cracked a smile. His teeth peeked from behind his pink lips. Such a pretty sight, she thought to herself. He said nothing, only opened the door wider and nodded for her to enter.

She was hesitant. It was the first time she’d been in his room in the wee hours of the night. Theo stood in the middle of his bedroom, eyeing the knickknacks and other articles around. His desk was in the corner and it was littered with papers, some of them smeared with dark ink she assumed he knocked over.

His clothes were folded messily and tossed on a chest to her right. She shook her head. His messiness would never go away, it seemed.

Ahead of her, the flames of the fireplace danced and leapt swiftly.

“Tell me about this nightmare,” he asked of her. He palmed the door and closed it gently. Theo tore her eyes away from the fire and wrapped her arms around herself. Jamie moved to sit on his bed, hands rubbing his covered thighs.

“You were alone,” she started, eyes locked on the dancing flames in front of her. “had spent days alone in an area you did not know. Cold, starved, and afraid. No one could get to you.”

Jamie cocked his head to the side.

“I had nightmares like that all the time when you were gone.” Her voice was so small that he could hardly hear her. “I was scared you’d die out there alone. Hell, I thought you were dead the whole time you were gone.”

“Theo...” he inched towards her. His large hand cupped hers gently. “Ye should know ye canna get rid of me that easily.”

“You say that like you’re made of metal,” Jamie chuckled with a shake of her head. While any other time she would’ve scolded him for joking in a serious matter, she couldn’t help but feel the weight lift from her shoulders. He didn’t think she sounded ridiculous.

“Might as well be...come here, lass.”

With no sense of urgency, Theo’s legs carried her slowly to his bed. The weight was back. His soft demand made her nervous.

Jamie sensed her uneasiness and smiled. “Why’re ye nervous?”

“I...I don’t know,” she mumbled. Again, he ushered her over and she joined him on the bed. It was comfortable, she thought, as the bed dipped just slightly. Jamie laid against the pillow, while Aila sat upright, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap.

“You’re kind of intimidating,” Theo said after some moments. She turned her head and saw an amused grin on his beautiful lips.

“Is that so?”

Theo nodded. She scooted closer to him, finding it easier to relax. She shimmied onto her back and stared at the ceiling. Jamie turned his head to look at her. “Yeah. Maybe it’s your eyes. They’re pretty but intense. Or the scowl you always wear. You’re gonna mess around and lock your features into place.”

A hearty laugh fell from his lips which pulled a giggle from hers. “You truly believe me that?” Theo nodded . “Indeed, I do.”

“I thought about ye all the time,” Jamie said after some time. The portraits on the wall seemed to be less important as her attention was pulled from them. She met his eyes, “what?”

“I’m convinced,” he started. “that if I hadn’t thought of ye the way I did, I wouldn’t have survived. Ye were the one thing I held onto, Theo. I ken I had to come back to ye.”

“You’re just saying that,” she blew off bashfully. She moved to turn her head to face the ceiling but his hand grazing her skin halted the movement.

“No,” he said lowly. “Ye were the only thing I had to hold onto. And...ye mean a lot to me, lass.”

Theo found herself smiling. It was awkward and her lips quivered as they curled upwards, but nevertheless, she smiled a smile he found beautiful.

Jamie’s eyes fell from his eyes to her lips, tempting to pull her head close to his face and just taste them. He wondered if she tasted like the tea she drank twice a day—once in the morning and once a night.

“Can I...”

“...please,” she breathed.

He wasted no time in bringing his mouth to hers. She released a mewl of satisfaction. Her hands found his hair, and she gripped his frizzed curls tightly. He groaned softly into her mouth and she swallowed his sounds like a delicious meal.

His hands shook as they took place on her thighs. His fingers dug into the flesh and she whimpered softly. Theo’s fingers raked through his hair and massaged his scalp. Achaius felt his insides twist like a freshly wrung towel.

He'd never thought the day would come where he'd confess his feelings for her, let alone have her rocking on his lap like a ship on water and assaulting his neck. He enjoyed it more than words could explain.

"Jamie," she whimpered when it became too heated. She wanted him, but she couldn't put herself in such a position at the given moment. If they continued on, she was convinced things would've escalated in a manner she was unaware if she was ready for. “Can we just—“

Jamie sensed her growing anxiousness and tore his lips off of hers, and placed his hands on her middle back. His ocean eyes bore into hers and she was convinced if she stared long enough, they’d turn into a whirlpool and suck her in. Jamie brought her hand to kiss lips and kissed it gently. “Rest. And when you wake up, I’ll still be here. I promise.”

Theo nodded and rolled over to her side. She didn’t make it too far, as Jamie’s arm bracketed her to his side. She giggled softly, but accepted his closeness nonetheless.

“Good night, Theo.”

“Good night, Jamie.”

[marshmallsy]

this was another super fun zine i participated in for @d20zinejam! i drew my bestest girl primsy for the acoc couture zine (which looks AMAZING btw)

[the-eldritch-it-gay]

My favourite image sequences are Majexatli at the Waning Moon, outdrinking Thisobald Thorm in a way they Will Regret Later. Especially the last 2 images, it looks like a meme template lskdfsñlfsdfñsdñsdfk

They passed all the constitution saving throws and performance checks but at what cost.

[fraserstanclub]

“I am a chief. God has made me what I am. He has given me the duty—and I must do it, whatever the cost.” [insp.]

[rivilu]

Is this what it feels like to win at videogames?

[athxnacrossing]

Lily’s Outlander inspired conservatory. 🐸♥️🌷

[scotland]

Hidden Glen 🍃

📷 Robert Greinacher

📍 #DevilsPulpit, #FinnichGlen 

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 scotland.co

[cocolacola]

i dont need more illidari i dont need it Here's my first crack at an oc demon hunter :) this will probably be expanded upon later

[loveinstreams]

me when I hear La vie en rose in a show about 16th century pirates

[stevethehairington]

NOT ME TURNING ON EP 4 OF THE NEW DOCTOR WHO SEASON FOR THE DOCTOR TO BE SINGING BASICALLY THE OUTLANDED THEME

[artsyjesseblue]

Here’s some Bedtime Lotura.

Sweet dreams!

[suzystuff]

When I was young I saw no path before me, I simply took a step and then another.

Ever forward, ever onward, rushing toward someplace I knew not where. And one day I turned around and looked back and saw that each step I'd taken was a choice, to go left, to go right, to go forward or even to not go at all.

Every day people have a choice between right and wrong, between love and hate, and sometimes between life and death and the sum of those choices becomes your life.

The day I realized that is the day that I became a better human.

[love-little-lotte]

this concept came to me in a dream.