#Woad Tribe AU

[matymatsu]

Could you do SFW and NSFW headcanons of Woad King Darius and Woad Scout Quinn?

No joke, I forgot the Woad Skins had their own Alternate Universe, so sorry if this comes out real bad LOL

Quinn was Darius' best scout. There was no one who could escape her watch. She was quick to warn her king about any surprise attacks or raids.

The two were practically joined at the hip. Darius always trusted Quinn with private information and attack strategies. Many of their kin gossiped and whispered that they were bloodsworn and chose not to publicize it. When in reality, they had overwhelming respect for one another.

However, Darius has considered it. The clan would thrive if she was given a position of power, as she would do everything her power to see through their enemies weaknesses and prevent any unneeded casualties. Many were also concerned with the fact the tribe may fall if there was no child to take his place when he dies.

He knows she would accept his proposal as well. She's even suggested it a few times. Nothing was holding him back except himself.

When Darius did have the courage to ask Quinn to be his bloodsworn, she agreed in a heartbeat. It was a political marriage, but their relationship did not change. The two were still as close, if not even a little closer.

Quinn would confide in Darius more often, venting her fears of potentially letting their kin down, that any little mistake could cost them their entire tribe. He would always reassure her– She was the smartest scout he's ever met. There was no one else's judgement he trusted more than hers.

A few of Darius' oathsworn have teased that the King has started to grow soft.

NSFW UNDERCUT

The two never really planned to have children. Even with the kin's fear of the tribe losing power, Darius didn't have any interest in producing an heir. Quinn on the other hand wished he would, but didn't want to pressure him.

I can imagine the first night he laid with her would be kinda awkward, at least from Quinn's side. It was embarrassing to say, but she had never slept with another before. She's had a few offers and declined all of them, as she always wanted Darius.

Their first night would consist of a lot of foreplay, mostly to calm Quinn's nerves and make her more comfortable.

Woad King Darius would have a lowkey breeding kink after their first time and you can't convince me otherwise.

Darius before; I don't need kids >:( Darius after; -kicks down the door- I'm here to get you pregnant!

Sex with them involves a lot of biting and bruises. They'd both want to fight for dominance in bed. Darius usually tops, but saying that he's allowed Quinn to take the reigns more times than he'd admit would just be stating facts.

Honestly, I can imagine them becoming closer and more affectionate after discussing having kids together.

[tacitwhisky]

Blood and Sand | AO3 Link | Rome AU where Jon is sold as a gladiator after the Lannisters betray the Starks, and only years later meets Sansa again beneath the shadow of the coliseum.

When Jon meets Sansa again it is in the shadow of the coliseum, below the white marble and red awning and rows of seats, the roar of the crowd that had surged and rolled over the sands ebbed to a low crash in the distance.

Jon had looked for her in the crowd as he stumbled onto the sands beside his fellow gladiators: in the high box reserved for house Lannista he’d looked for the daughter to murdered lord Eddardeus Starki, for the slender and haughty Roman girl whose hair flashed copper in the sun, for the girl he’d been raised beside all his life but who had never seen him as anything more than the barbarian ward of her father’s, the girl who his gaze had been drawn to again and again no matter how he knew it shouldn’t.

But after the dark of the arena underbelly the sun’s gaze was blinding and by the time Jon had blinked it back from his eyes there was a sword in his hand and a man screaming towards him and no time for anything but the clash of steel and spray of blood and roar of the crowd.

That same man’s blood dries and flakes from Jon’s arm as he stands shackled behind the black bars that separate him and the other gladiators that fought on the sands beside him from the milling Romans come to point and gawk and stare at the champions of the arena. Through the crowd a pair of centurions shove their way to the front, hands resting on the pommel of their swords as they eye Jon for a moment before stepping aside.

It is then Jon catches sight of Sansa.

They always said you would be beautiful. The words are silent and sour on Jon’s tongue. Only three years it’s been since he last saw her, but in those three years she’s grown from the girl he remembers into a proper patrician woman: tall and slender and lovely beneath loose silks, a gold choker clasped around her throat and a silver serpent with emerald eyes coiling around one arm, a copper half crown resting in the elegantly piled coils of her red hair. That same red hair that had haunted his childhood, a whisper on the wind that only ever slipped from between his fingers if he reached for it.

He should look down. The stinging lash of the whip has taught Jon as much over the last three year: to never raise his eyes to citizen or centurion or patrician, but he cannot seem to as he watches Sansa approach the black bars, the silk hem of her skirt whispering over the uneven cobbles, cannot stop his eyes from trying to seek out hers.

“I saw you upon the sands.” A breeze lifts a few strays of Sansa’s hair before her face and she combs them back with a hand, eyes tiltings to meet his as she does: the same piercing blue as he remembers, like some hidden mountain pool. “You fought well,” the merest hesitation in her voice; then, soft and precise, “gladiator.”

Gladiator. Something claws at Jon’s throat, throbbing and ugly. Did you think she would greet you like some long lost brother, a voice in him hisses. Stripped to the waist and filthy with sweat and sand, blood drying and flaking from his shackled hands, black hair slicked and dripping, Jon knows well and truly what he looks. The barbarian he’s never been let forget he is all his life, a feral thing that will never be civilized no matter how long it lives among true Romans, a creature of the wilds beyond the light of Rome.

But she always knew that. Always saw you for the animal you were. What made you think it would be different now?

A dull ache throbs through Jon, but if there is one thing he’s learned the last three years it is pain. “You’re generous to say so,” he bites out, hardening his jaw and forcing himself to meet Sansa’s gaze again, “domina.”

Something flickers in Sansa’s eyes, and for a moment she looks as just as young as she once did. Her lips part as though to speak, but her gaze twitches to the pair of centurion behind her, and whatever she was to say dies unspoken. Jon followers her gaze, for the first time noting the bronze cloak pins stamped with the asiatic lion of house Lannista. Guards from her betrothed no doubt.

Sansa bites her lip. “The mob tells a strange tale of you,” she says carefully. “They say you lived among Romans once.”

“You must be mistaken, domina.” Jon shakes his head, a bitterness he thought stripped from him long ago seeping into his words. “What lord would be foolish enough to ward a barbarian like me?”

Sansa blinks. Her tongue traces her lips, and Jon wishes he could look away, hates himself for the way he can’t. Sansa glances at the centurions, both of whose attention has drifted away, then takes a swift step toward him. “You can tell no one who you are,” she says, voice low and urgent. “Do you hear me, Jon? No one must know you were father’s ward.”

Jon. The name is painful somehow, the dull ache of a rotted tooth. How long has it been since he heard it last? A year? More? An animal has no name. And that’s all you’ve ever been to her. “Of course not,” he grinds out. “I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, domina.”

Sansa draws back from the bars as though slapped, eyes searching his face, jaw settling in a hard line. “Is that what you think of me?”

“What else should I think?” Jon tilts his head to the side, a cold, distant fury welling deep in him. “I was there, Sansa. I saw it, saw the Lannista butcher your house. I felt the life leave your father’s body. And now here you stand- betrothed- ”

“I am. Not all cages are iron.”

Jon laughs, a bitter sound. “A cage with cushions and slaves and grapes. I would know nothing of it, simple barbarian that I am.”

“You have no idea the things I’ve endured.” Sansa’s voice is cold enough to cut. “No idea what I’ve given to stand here today. What I’ve had to swallow down and smile through. Whose hands I’ve let on me. Do you think you are the only one that has suffered, Jon?”

Jon looks away, bitter and tired; of this girl from another world, this girl from a world that he’d so desperately wanted but could never have, a world that had been ripped from him all the same. “Why are you here?” He asks without looking at her. “What do you want from me, Sansa?”

The same looks as before flickers over Sansa’s eyes, and she takes another step toward the bars. “Jon-”

“Take care, domina,” calls out one of the slavemasters down the line. “That one is wild as a wolf.”

“You should listen to him. We’re wild all of us.” Jon jerks his chin at where the other gladiators who fought in the arena stand shackled like him, each separated from the next the better to let the Romans gawk at them. Most are barbarians like him, prisoners of the tribes beyond the light of Rome: Tormund the massive red bearded bear of a man the others name Giantsbane; Ygritte the spearmaid who the crowd cheer as Kissed by Fire; Val the Woad-Maid with her honey dark hair and arms inked with strange and twisting blue knots; Varamyr who wore a cloak sewn of animal pelts and called himself Six-Skins; tall and cunning Mance the Raider with his hard smile.

“I thought myself a Roman too,” Mance had told Jon when first they met chained in the heaving belly of a slave ship. “Like you I was raised as a ward among them. But even a house dog is still only a dog, fit only for scraps, fit only to slake their bloodthirst. And a mighty thirst these Romans have.”

Jon had not wanted to believe it. All his life he’d lived with the uneasy shame in the pit of his gut of his barbarian birth, all his life been told that Rome was the light of civilization. Apart he’d held himself from the other gladiators at first, but that had been beaten out of him bruise by bruise and lash by stinging lash. “You’re one of us,” Ygritte had laughed one night when they were both deep in their cups after a hard fought day in the arena, cheap wine a sting on the tongue, “don’t ever think you’re not just because you lived among them once, kneeler.”

It was the night they’d first taken to bed. The night that Ygritte had straddled his lap and reached beneath his tunic to stroke him stiff as she kissed him, hard and bruising and tongue tart with wine. The night he’d surged up against her and fisted his fingers in her hair, that red hair from another life, jerked back her head to bare her throat and nip and bruise the lines of it like he truly was the wolf the Romans said he was.

He’d tried to lose himself there. Tried to lose himself in the heat of Ygritte, be more beast than man as he took her, tried to forget himself as she panted and moaned and taunted him to ride her harder, tried to forget all that had been taken from him and all those he’d failed, to forget all he’d ever wanted or hoped for, to forget the haughty blue eyed girl whose hair flashed copper in the sun who Ygritte both looked everything and nothing like.

But with Sansa standing only a foot away, just as achingly lovely as he remembers, Jon understands dully, in some part of himself he’d tried to bury, just how truly pointless that was. He looks away, suddenly weary beyond words, all the days exhaustion settling over his shoulders: the cut across his side, the sting of sweat in his eyes, the dull burn of his limbs.

“You should listen to him.” Jon repeats with a weary jerk of his chin at the slavemaster. “That barbarian boy who warded with your father is long gone. He wasn’t worth a proper Roman death when the Lannista found him, but he died all the same. All that’s left is a wolf.”

Sansa bites her lip. He eyes drift down from Jon’s face to the map of muscles and scars across his chest and shoulders in a way that makes Jon feel naked as she traces the long knitted slash along his ribs from a Thracian sword, the small and ugly pucker above his hip where the barbed tine of a trident had been ripped out, the scarred patches pockmarking his shoulder from where he’d scraped the flesh clean to the bone throwing himself back against the sandstone of an arena wall to avoid the swing of an axe that would’ve taken his head.

“You’re no wolf, Jon.” Sansa’s eyes rise to meet his again, and Jon feels even more naked than he had a moment before. “You never were.”

Jon swallows back the bitter laugh bubbling in his chest, the irony of her- of all people- of Sansa- he closes his eyes and shakes his head. “What does it matter?” He asks tiredly. “What do you want, Sansa? Why are you here?”

She doesn’t answer at once. Her eyes drift to the other gladiators, then out to the crowd of citizens gawking at them. “You can tell no one who you truly are, Jon. If Joffreus and the other Lannista knew you were still alive they would have you killed at once, favorite of the mob or no.”

“I wasn’t worth killing three years ago, not worth wasting the handful of denari a barbarian could fetch in the arena. Why bother now?”

“Because things are changing and the Lannista are not as favored as they once were. Not by the city, and not by the mob. I’m sorry as children that I- that we never-” Sansa looks away. The breeze plays with the strays of her hair, and she combs them back. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now. I know you don’t love me, Jon. That there’s always been little love lost between us. And I’m sorry for that.” The eyes she turns to him are hard. “But what comes next won’t take love.”

I know you don’t love me. Jon wishes it was true. It would be easier if it was. Easier to turn from this girl who has haunted his dreams through years of blood and sand and woe. To become the wolf the Romans say he is, to bury that boy from another life, to be nothing but the ring of a blade and spray of blood and roar of a crowd. It would be easier. But has never been able to turn from her, not when they were children and she would laugh and toss her copper hair and his eyes would follow her despite how they shouldn’t, and not now a woman grown tall and slim and beautiful and cold, and so what he finds himself asking is, “and what comes next?”

“Blood.” The eyes Sansa meets Jon’s with are distant and cold as some windswept peak, voice sharp as the cut of ice. “I’m going to make the Lannista pay, Jon. For what they’ve done. For betraying my family. I’m going to take everything from them they hold dear.” Sansa’s fingers whispers against the iron bars as she steps forward, eyes tilting to meet Jon’s as though there were no bars between them at all. “And when that’s done, when their joy has turned to ash and they see all they love reduced to rubble, then and only then I’ll put a sword in your hand, Jon, and you'll finish our vengeance.”

[blue-mint-winter]

King Arthur (2004)

This modern adaptation of King Arthur legend places the characters in historical setting, in a way trying to reconstruct the real life events that could have inspired the later tales. I’m calling it Roman AU though.

Arthur, or Artorius Castus, is a Roman commander of Sarmatian Knights, indentured to serve the Rome for 15 years as soldiers defending the Hadrian Wall in Britain. They’re fighting Woads, local Britons who oppose the Roman Empire. Merlin is the leader of Woads, but he doesn’t do much in the film. No magic, only realism here :( Guinevere is also a Woad and she plays a role in convincing Arthur to stay and fight for Britain against the Saxon invasion, instead of evacuating with the Romans.

In the beginning, the idea of making the Knights of Round Table Sarmatians endeared the film to me. Polish nobility had this myth that they were descended from the ancient Sarmatians, known for horsmanship and bravery, so in a roundabout way this film makes Arthur’s knights related to Polish (mythically) :))

Arthur, played by Clive Owen, is your typical broody hero. He’s very noble, serious, believes in God, equality and freedom and he never smiles. His goal was to go to Rome and see his priest mentor Pelagius, but the events force him to see that his ideal Rome doesn’t exist, so he chooses Britain for his home. Elements that make him Arthur were translated cleverly into this setting, like pulling out his father’s sword, the round table, his hereditary right to command the knights after his father, and uniting Britain. Sadly we didn’t get to see Camelot.

Speaking of uniting Britain, I thought it was a fine idea to combine it with the romance with Guinevere. Arthur not only is half-Roman and half-Briton (after his mother), but by marrying a woman of the people he’d been fighting with his all life, he completes the unification on a personal level. However, there is no chemistry between Arthur and Guinever and I put all the fault on Clive Owen’s acting.

This is the only face he makes when he talks with Guinevere. They have one abrupt make out scene which gets thankfully interrupted. Their relationship is abysmal, Arthur rescues Guinevere from torture, sets her broken fingers, but he never opens up to her and most of their talks revolve around her convincing him to join the cause. He shows little to no emotion to her, just this same stone face all the time. He doesn’t act like he’s into her at all. He has more emotional reactions when he’s talking to Lancelot.

Keira Knightley was actually pretty damn good as Guinevere and I had to wait around an hour before she appeared in the film. She shows interest in Arthur in a believable way. She’s really good with a bow, quite alright with swords/knives, and she even has a band of her fellow women warriors who together gang up on harder opponents. Hell yeah teamwork! Guinevere is a strong female charatcer that I think works. Also, she has a good chemistry with Lancelot, who unlike Arthur acts like he’s into her, opens up to her about himself and even comes to her rescue in the battle. Seemingly, the only reason she chose Arthur over Lancelot in this film is because Arthur shaves.

Lancelot (Ioan Gruffudd) has an interesting character arc in this film. We see him as a kid, when the Romans take him away from his tribe, then fast forward 15 years and we have this bearded dual-wielding donjuan who openly jokes that he’d sleep with his buddy’s future wife. He’s Arthur’s best friend and second in command, but they’re ideologically different. Lancelot is selfish, didn’t want to rescue Guinevere, and he’s atheist. His only good quality is loyalty to Arthur and his comrades. Throughout the film he changes, decides to fight for Britain of his own free will and rescues Guinevere in battle at the cost of his life. On one hand, I like the noble knight Lancelot takes, but this bad boy Lancelot was a good contrast to the more serious Arthur.

I have to speak of the most badass of the Knights - Tristan played by Mads Mikkelsen. Tristan’s a master archer with some incredible feats to prove it, but when he gets off the horse and fights on the ground, he’s just as amazing. He moves with the sword so smoothly, it’s a joy to watch.

Other good qualities - he has a pet hawk, with attached symbolism of freedom. His personality is also likeable, he’s chill and introverted, a little on the outside, but he’s a valuable part of the team. Tristan was my instant favourite from the Knights.

My second favourite and the only other knight that stood out was Bors (Ray Winstone). He’s not only this strong, loud guy who slashes and smashes his enemies on the battlefield, but also he adds a bit of humour to lighten the serious tone of the film.  On top of that he’s quite a family man. He adores all of his children, even if he’s not sure how many there are (11). Bors’ dynamic with the mother of his children, Vanora, has that spark the main romance completely lacks. Btw, props to Vanora for being a likeable minor character and having a good singing voice.

Bors’ character arc seems to be him deciding to marry Vanora and settle down. The only thing I can criticize about him is that the film doesn’t specify what’s his relationship with Dagonet. I think they might be brothers but it wasn’t very clear.

Other knights, Dagonet, Gawain and Galahad, didn’t stand out to me, and they had the least lines.

The villains provide two sorts of a challenge to Arthur. First was the challenge to his worldview and moral code - Romans abused their position and power, but he had to serve them. Their corruption stood against Arthur’s principles. On the other hand, Saxons were an existential threat for all Britons, as they killed everyone who wasn’t one of them and to defeat them, Arthur needed to set aside his personal feelings and make peace with Woads. Arthur’s leadership, battle prowess, personal convictions and political acumen were all tested then.

All in all, I think King Arthur (2004) was all around a good movie, with well shot and directed battle scenes, a climatic score by Hans Zimmer and good performances by the actors.

[frostcalled-blog]

*coughs* Woad

give me an au for 5+ headcanons! / accepting

points 1, 4 and 5 of this post apply to ashe’s woad verse so i’m not gonna repeat them and expand on them instead! 

also sent by @forvinti thank you bab uvu

As the Watchers were never defeated, the Woad people live in constant fear of enslavement or death. Tribes live a nomadic lifestyle to avoid being tracked, and keep closer to the south lest they are found by agents of the Watchers. It was on a hunt too close to the frontier that Ashe’s mother was taken, the result of which was Ashe’s ascension to leader of her tribe. 

Though Ashe is a master archer, largely unrivaled within her tribe, she does not possess Avarosa’s bow. She is still a descendant, but Avarosa’s bow was reclaimed by the Watchers, along with the rest of the true ice weapons when the rebellion against them failed. As such, she no longer has any level of resistance to cold, nor ability to manipulate true ice. 

Ashe’s regular outfit is much more akin to this though is predominantly made of fur and hide. Her hair is her natural blonde, having never had her unfortunate experience with the Gelid Vortex. 

After allying with Darius and seeking to unite the scattered tribes, Ashe begins a tradition of krigsmaling. This is the donning of the blue tattoos as seen in Ashe, Darius and Quinn’s woad splash arts. It is a symbol of unity and trust between the Woad people under their joint leadership, so that any one person can know with a simple glance whether someone they meet in the wild is friend, or foe. It also serves as a sort of advertisement to the other clans – join with us, and we will keep you safe – we will take back our land. 

The Howling Abyss is in the center of most of the horror stories adults tell their children to stop them from wandering too far, but few have ever actually seen it and lived to tell the tale. The place is riddled with the feel of death and destruction, and serves to many as a harsh reason why any plans to rise against the Watchers for a second time can only end in death. Ashe and Darius will meet a lot of resistance when it comes to the idea of fighting back, but a lot of support too. Especially the longer they spend together, and the longer they prove themselves a very competent, exceptionally balanced leadership team.