#King Arthur Legend of the sword

[messmikkelsen]

CHARLIE HUNNAM as Arthur King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

[persephone411]

There is just something about seeing him on his knees

[texaschainsawmascara]

Charlie Hunnam, Papillon

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

King Arthur

You were always there to patch him up after a fight, give him a bit of a home cocked meal or lie to authorities about his whereabouts.

Now, he is a King, he will forget about you, right? Right?

Was home “cocked” meal a typo? Because I took that to mean something else 😂. Enjoy!

Pairing: King Arthur x F! Reader

Warnings: 18 + for smut and language, oral f receiving.

“By order of the King,” the Knight at your doorstep gives you a conspiring wink as he hands you the rolled up note. “You’ve been summoned to the palace.”

“What?” you quickly unroll the parchment, feeling your stomach roll when you see the elegant script. “I can’t go before the King,” you glance up and the Knight smiles, “I have nothing to wear to appear before the court.” You toss your arms up, “I mean look at me!”

“King Arthur sent a gown for you,” the Knight goes back to his horse pulling down a bundle and handing it to you. “He told me to tell you to- and I apologize my lady for the language- but to get your ass in the dress and come before your king before he comes down here and drags you there himself.”

You huff, grabbing the bag from his arms and shutting the door behind you.

If someone had told you this morning that you’d be in a gown worth more than you make in a year, presenting yourself before the man you’ve been in love with your whole life and now King, you would have slapped them in the face.

The man at the entrance to the hall calls your name and you step inside. Courtiers line the sides of the room, and try to get a glimpse as you make your way down the long rich carpet.

Arthur smiles, sitting up on his throne, the crown on his head slightly askew as he brushes away the advisor trying to speak with him, tossing the crown into his awaiting hands. “My lady,” he stands, coming down the steps quickly to stand before you.

“My King,” you lower yourself into an awkward bow. His hand coming to lift your chin and smiling softly.

“You do not bow to me, love,” he says, his voice slipping from a King back into the Arthur you know. “Come,” he laces your hand through his elbow leading you from the gawking eyes behind.

The lack of footsteps behind you give you pause and you quickly glance over your shoulder, “no guards? No royal advisors?”

He chuckles, resting his hand on your own, “I can take care of myself,” he nods down to his hip where Excalibur sits in its holder.

“Yes,” you nod, thinking back to that day at the training house, “yes, I recall.”

“You know you are the only reason I can wield it,” he lowers his voice, opening a door and guiding you into a bedroom. A fire flickers in the hearth and you halt, Arthur having to physically pull you inside and onto the small loveseat.

You’re both silent, watching the flames, allowing it to warm you as you think of what to say. “I was scared,” you mutter, clearing your throat and looking up at him to see his eyes already on your own. “I thought I was going to die. I thought…that I would never see you again.”

“When he pressed that dagger to your throat, I didn’t think.” He clutches Excalibur in his hands, “I allowed the sword to take over, to protect my friends, my family.”

“And where do I fall? Friend or family?”

“You-“ he lowers the sword to the ground and turns to you- “you’re neither.” You frown, pulling away, Arthur reaching towards you frantic before stumbling out, “you’re everything!”

You sit still, watching the emotions play out, “you’re my best friend, my better half,” he grins, “the woman I’ve been in love with for the better part of my whole life. And,” he hesitates for no more than a second, “if you’ll have me…my Queen.”

“Art,” you sigh, feeling the tears slide down your cheek, “I’m nobody. The people deserve a Queen of noble blood.”

“So you don’t deny it?” He interrupts, “you don’t deny that you love me too?”

“Of course I do!” You stand going over to the hearth pacing, “I’ve always loved you, and I’ll continue to love you my whole life-“

All thought ends when he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss. His lips are warm and soft against your own and you sigh into his arms. He presses several kisses to your lips before leaning to press his forehead to your own.

“I’ll renounce the throne,” he whispers and you pull back with shock.

“You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will,” he nods with a smirk, “though I’d prefer not too given the war we just won. But I will to be with you.”

“The people will never accept me as Queen,” you argue but he holds a finger to your lips.

“The people will have to live with it,” he leans forward to kiss you again, his tongue tangling with your own on a groan. “Please say yes,” he begs, his lips moving to your neck, “say yes, my love.”

It only takes a moment for Arthur, the man you love, the fucking King of England begging for you to agree. “Yes,” you sigh breathlessly, “yes, Arthur.”

He lifts you from the ground, spinning as you giggle and he lets out a booming laugh. “She said yes!” He shouts and from the other side of the door you hear cheers and shouts of joy. He smirks at your bewildered expression, “the lads have been wanting this to happen for some time.”

You shake your head and lean down to kiss him. The smiles on your faces rivaling the sun in their intensity. “What do we do now?” you whisper, looking around the bedroom.

Arthur arches a brow, smiling, “I got a few ideas.” He takes your hand leading you to the King sized (get it 😂) bed.

“Lay down,” he pushes you back onto the bed, the goose feather pillow soft behind your head. He keeps your eyes until he disappears beneath your skirts. "Shit," he moans, the vibrations sending shivers as he places rough kisses to the skins of your thighs, "where are your underclothes?"

"I didn't have any that would fit under such a fine gown," you whisper, embarrassed, but he'll have none of that.

"As your King I command you never to wear underclothes. I need you accessible at all times." He pushes the dress further up your hips and you look down to see him with a dopey grin, "England needs an heir."

You laugh, "I've only just accepted your marriage proposal, and you're already thinking of little Princes and Princesses running about."

He growls, "fuck I want all of that with you." He licks a strip between your spread lips and you toss your head back. No one has ever done this for you before, and besides a quick fuck in the barn with the stableboy when you were fifteen no man had touched you.

Arthur starts slow, sucking your clit between his lips and teasing the bud with his tongue, flicking back and forth. His shoulders moving as he fucks you with his tongue, not letting a single drop of your arousal go to waste. Slowly, he sits up, lifting one arm from your thigh and sucking his index finger into his mouth. He holds your eyes as he slowly inserts himself and you gasp, the smile spreading across his lips as he lowers himself back down.

It's slow and methodical, bringing you to the brink of pleasure before stopping completely to kiss your thigh. Thrice he does this, and you are so wound up it borders on painful. "Arthur," you groan, grabbing a fistful of his hair, "please."

"Aye," he nods, grinning, "please what, my Queen?"

"Let me cum," you grind down on his face, his facial hair catching on your clit and rubbing deliciously.

"As my lady, commands." Three fingers spear you, deep and hard finding that gummy spot inside you that has stars spreading across your vision when he sucks your clit into his mouth on a moan.

The pleasure is blinding and you don't realize you've got the King of bloody England tight in your hand, bucking against his face until you fall back against the bed boneless. He slowly withdraws his fingers and you feel empty before he sucks them clean, leaning down like a kitten with a bowl of milk to clean you up.

When he's satisfied and you're pushing his head away, he slides into the bed beside you, his chin glistening in the light from the fire. "How are you, my Queen?" he asks, smug and satisfied, pulling you into his arms.

"Happy, my King," you yawn, nuzzling closer, eyes closing, "so happy."

[author-morgan]

Title: Daylight Rating: M Pairing: Arthur x fem!Reader Summary: Arthur always knew you and he would make a fine match. ...hiding all of our sins from the daylight... I've now collected all(?) your husbands for my infinity gauntlets. a late merry christmas and an early valentines for you boo. @mrsragnarlodbrok.

“SORRY,” ARTHUR MUTTERS, “hands are rough.” He noticed how you pulled away from his calloused touch as he pressed the stained damp cloth against the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder—remnants of an arrow after Bedivere and the Mage helped him dig out the bodkin point. It’d likely been meant for him in the heat of the battle and he cursed himself seeing you fall nigh feet from him, pulled away to shelter by his kingsguard. Even with the power of Excalibur, he’d been unable to protect you—an age-old promise broken.

You lift your gaze from the charred stone floor, looking at your reflections in a fogged-over mirror on the opposite side of the room. Focus has his brows furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line. “You always say that,” you tell him, words slurred from the pain, exhaustion, and strongwine, and voice rougher than normal. This isn’t the first time Arthur Pendragon has tended your hurts and woes, and at this rate you doubt it’ll be the last.

Dried blood and sweat washed away, Arthur picks up the piece of tree bark with a salve prepared by the Mage to stave off the pain for a while and keep the wound from festering. Then, Arthur binds the wound with fresh linen and wipes his hands, kneeling in front of you—hands resting on your hips. You lay your hand on his cheek, thumb sweeping across his cheek, marred with dirt and soot. Leaning toward him, he meets you halfway, and you set your lips on his—a soft, fleeting kiss like the touch of butterfly wings.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you tell him, fingertips mindlessly combing through the scruff on his jaw. He straightens to full height but does so with a grimace. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?” You ask again.

“Just bruises,” he assures you, and this time, it seems like he’s being truthful, besides the few scratches on his hands and the slim, already scabbed-over, cut on his forehead. 

Arthur sits next to you on the edge of the bed, looking toward the open balcony. You both can hear the joyous shouts and chants. Bedivere and the others will only be able to satiate the men for so long. They will want to hear from the one who led them to victory. From the Born King. “They’ll be waiting for you to give a speech,” you tell him. 

“They’re waiting to go headfirst into the barrels of grog,” he amends, but if the out-of-tune songs are anything to go off of...  

“Sounds like they already have,” you laugh. Tonight, there will be revelries for the victory against Vortigern and his forces. In the following days, there’ll be feasts to honor the fallen and growing lists of preparations for a coronation. But right now, Arthur Pendragon doesn’t want to be a king just yet. Right now, he’s content just to be Arthur the street rat, especially when you lean your head against his shoulder and link your fingers through his—and then he’s certain there’s no one else in all of England for him except you.

“HIDING FROM ME? Or everyone else?” Your head quickly swivels to the side, only to relax at the sight of Arthur approaching. You cannot help but wonder how he isn’t cold. He's not dressed anywhere near as layered or warm as he should be for the winter evening, but somehow, he manages to look cozy even in just a scarlet linen-and-wool doublet. Stepping back, your eyes flit up to the scarlet-tinged leaves, still clinging to the branches of the white-bark birch, before looking beyond to the fresh falling snow. 

He stops at your side and looks up, too. “Was just thinking about what a bad influence you’ve been on my person,” you tell him, a small half-smirk creeping onto your features. Arthur tilts his head back in amused question, then stares up at the leaves and the silver sliver of the moon peeking through the winter clouds. “As I recall, I was an innocent girl before you came along and ruined all that.”

His blue eyes narrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You’ll have to refresh my memory on how I did that, darlin’.” He moves a little closer, and you sense his ploy, twisting and ducking when he moves to grab you. 

You face him with brows raised, smiling. “Such a brute,” you taunt, “grabbing at innocent girls in the castle courtyards at night. Is that any way for the King of England to behave?” 

Arthur only rolls his eyes, trying to smother another smirk, and this time, he catches your arm as you move around him. It takes little strength to move you how he wants—pressing you into the trunk of the great tree at the heart of the courtyard. His hands press against the smooth bark beside your head as he leans in enough to look down at you. The glint in his eyes is mirthful, but there’s something else shining in his gaze too—you’ve seen that look a dozen times now, and you’re almost afeared to think about what it can mean. “Maybe you have a point,” he drawls, wearing that crooked, boyish grin that makes your heart flutter.

Your laugh almost catches him off guard. His hand slips down to run gently along your waist, the other toys with the hair at the side of your head. You lean back into the tree more, relaxing as your hands find his waist to rest on. “My father sends his kind, innocent daughter to study in Londinium, and what does this strong, noble boy do?” Arthur raises his brow. “He shoves her against a wall in an alleyway because he has no reasonable way of expressing his feelings with words.” He was just a street rat orphan and you were the daughter of some fancy lord from far away—opposites in nigh every way but more alike than you ever could have imagined. “I was never the same after that.”

His head dips down into the crook of your neck, nose training across your throat and inhaling the scent of roses and lavender. “No,” he smiles, voice low—more of a muttering husk—lips twitching as he pulls back, glancing to your lips and up, “but you’re more fun now.” Your expression falls flat, and Arthur laughs. It’s nigh impossible not to grin or melt at the sound and how little it seems you’ve heard it of late—and by Merlin’s beard, he’s impossibly handsome with laugh lines crinkling the edges of his eyes and a lopsided smile. Leaning further into him, his breath dances across your cheek, the back of his fingers brushing along your neck. 

You exhale shakily, and Arthur teases you again with light presses of his lips along your jaw and neck—hands smoothing up and down your waist as he does. For a moment, your hands find their way to his chest before you remember how open the courtyard is and that anyone can happen upon the two of you like this. Glancing around, you breathe his name in a flustered whisper, hand pressing against his chest—the last thing a new king needs is rumors to turn into scandal. 

Arthur takes a step back, giving you both room, but then there’s a new glint in his eyes. The playful mirth disappears from his cornflower eyes, replaced by something more serious—kingly, even. It’s something he’s been thinking about for years. Maybe even since the two of you first met by happenstance in the streets of Londinium and struck up an odd friendship. But over the years, Arthur thinks he cannot just call you a friend, not anymore. What he feels runs deeper than that, and given his newfound title and responsibilities...“I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“And does it pay well?” You quip in a poor attempt to lighten the now solemn mood.

He rolls his eyes, exasperated, unable to hide how his lips quirk upwards. “Would you let me finish?” And so you do, unsure what he must say or ask that warrants such a dramatic change in his usual demeanor. Arthur reaches for your hand, the rough pads of his fingers curling around and into your palm. He stoops forward, lips brushing against your knuckles—reverent. “I’d like you to stay,” he breathes, straightening back to full height. Your brows furrow. “Here,” he adds, “with me.”

You know what he is asking of you—marriage—and it should be an easy answer. Yes, of course. You’ve loved Arthur since before you knew what the word truly meant. But given the events of the last few months and the precipitousness of his proposal, you’re left speechless, heart beating in your throat until all you can do is run to the haven of your chambers with tears pricking your eyes.

A LOUD KNOCK on the great wooden door echoes in your bedchambers. You rouse from sleep, righting the oversized tunic hanging off one shoulder in an attempt to appear decent at the late hour. Part of you already knows who will be waiting on the other side, but when you crack open the door, it still surprises you to find him standing before you—wearing only a loose, nigh threadbare tunic and pair of dark britches. “Arthur,” you greet, rubbing the sleep from your eyes before motioning for him to come in.

There’s still an uneasy air between you after the earlier events and conversation in the courtyard—his proposal. “I shouldn’t’ve….” he starts as you do. “I should not...” You both fall silent, eyes searching the other’s face for an indication of who will be the first to speak, the first to act, but there’s only silence. 

“Yes,” you quickly tell him—the shock of his initial proposal has faded, and now you’ve never been more certain about something in your life. You still can’t say what it is that caused you to react in such a way—Arthur’s the only man you’ve ever loved, the only person you could have ever thought of having a life with, even before all this Born King shite. The answer is ‘yes.’ It had always been. 

“Yes?” He repeats with furrowed brows, not sure he’s heard you correctly.  “I’ll stay” —you reach to comb your fingers through his close-shorn beard, and he leans into the touch— “with you.” Forever.

He smiles, and it’s as though a great weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Arthur cradles your face in his hands, thumbs running over your cheekbones. You smile for him, and he leans toward you, closing the distance. His lips are on yours in an instant.

You answer his kiss, slowly at first, then with more fervor when you settle your hands on either side of his neck, drawing yourself closer. Parting, you press your forehead against his and meet his heated stare. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that?” Arthur asks, breathless.

Then he’s kissing you again and again—hands straying to your waist and backside, pulling you closer, tighter. And it fans the embers burning low in your belly to flames. Arthur breaks the kiss with an anguished groan—fighting a losing war with himself. He brushes back the hair falling in front of your face, the rough pad of his thumb running over your lips. “Tell me to stop,” he mutters—it’s almost a plea. And then he’s adrift in your soft and dark gaze, knowing if you do nothing to stop this, he’ll be acting on countless years of love and pent-up desire.

“No,” you breathe, catching his wrist and sliding his hand up from your neck—peppering his fingertips with gentle kisses. He watches you, lips parted and heart aching. Closing your eyes, you draw in a slow breath, and with a final kiss to his palm, you guide his hand to rest on one of your clothed breasts.

“Arthur.” You speak his name as though it is a quiet prayer. “I want you.” He pulls on the string at the neck of your nightshirt, loosening it until the gauzy material falls off your shoulders—puddling around your ankles, 

Though bare, you still hold his clear blue gaze. He goes silent as he draws in a sharp breath—eyes dart over the length of your body. His eyes darken, though, a mix of lust and adoration. “Think this is the longest you’ve been qui–” He cuts you off with a kiss, and one of his hands rises to cradle your cheek—the side of your neck again—and his lips coax yours open.

You sigh into his mouth, hands instinctively dipping under the hem of his roughspun tunic, fingertips trailing over the taut muscles of his abdomen and the scar on his ribs. Arthur breaks the kiss, quickly shrugging off his shirt, and lets the undyed piece of wool fall to the floor.  

Then, suddenly, he lifts you off your feet effortlessly. You hastily grip his shoulders for balance until he lays you on the bed—standing back to take off his trousers, and you watch him with a weird mixture of hunger and wistfulness as he strips. Arthur kicks aside his discarded clothes, then crawls onto the bed, making room for himself between your thighs—his clear and cold gaze burning with the warmth of the Sun and never once straying from yours.

You gaze tensely at his face as he studies you. His expression is greedy and appreciative, and the firelight glowing in his eyes just makes him look all the more ardent, and the longer he stares at you without doing anything, the more restless you are for him to act. You want his touch, his cock, his lips on yours, and all he’s giving you is this appreciative greedy stare, and it’s not enough.

Arthur kisses you again, and then he leans away from your lips and kisses the angle of your jaw. His mouth travels to the side of your neck, and your pulse flutters in your throat. His lips are surprisingly soft, and as his mouth trails from your neck to your collarbone, the delicacy of his kisses makes you feel lightheaded —a mix of pleasure and disbelief. 

He nuzzles your collarbone, then places a kiss just above the swell of your breast, and you arch helplessly toward his mouth. The heat of his breath wafting over your breast, making your nipples go taut with anticipation, and when the scruff of Arthur’s beard brushes over your nipple, you jolt and make a helpless little mewling sound. You twine your fingers into his golden hair, trying to hold him in place against you. But Arthur shoots you a quick smile, then shuffles lower on the bed still and kisses your breast —and you twist your hips, hands slipping from his hair to his shoulders.  

A sob leaves your throat—not a crying kind of sob, but an instinctive noise tore from your throat without your permission. He lifts his mouth from your breast and smiles at you, and you stare stupidly at his handsome face—the spark in his clear eyes and the boyish smirk twisting his lips.

Arthur palms your breast and squeezes gently. He shuffles lower still on the bed and places a sweet, open-mouthed kiss on your navel, and your sense of surreal disbelief ratchets to a nearly unbearable degree. His mouth drifts lower now, the scruff of his beard tickling your belly as he presses his lips to the skin below your navel and eases your thighs further apart.

Arthur places a kiss between your legs, and your mind goes blank with pleasure. 

“You alright, darlin’?” He smirks. You stare at him, too stunned by pleasure to find a clever response. Instead, riled by the teasing sparkle in his face, you spread your knees wide. His gaze drops between your legs, and his expression darkens with interest as he places his hands on your knees—stroking up to your thighs. He places another firm, wet kiss between your legs, and a helpless moan leaves your lips, and he hums with approval, a smug, half-growly little hum.  

You gasp in a breath, realizing you haven’t been breathing at all. Arthur lifts his head to look you in the eye. “Relax, love,” he croons, smoothing his palm over your belly as he laps at your cunt with slow hot sweeping strokes of his tongue. It’s not long before a finger presses into you, working you slowly open.

Your hips jerk softly along with his movements, and there’s unspoken interest in his gaze as he stares down at you, relentless in his efforts to see you come undone. His tongue and lips are at your clit, fingers stroking and curling deep within you. You jolt, and then he moves slower, dragging over the sensitive spots he’s discovered inside you and leaving your nerves tingling with every touch.

Pleasure washes over you in waves, making your calves twitch, your fingertips feel numb, and that high-pitched mewling noise leaves your throat. Overwhelmed—enraptured—you buck your hips toward his face and clench your fingers convulsively in his hair, and he keeps licking and kissing you until you can’t take it anymore. You pull on his hair to stop him, and he finally pulls away, lips glistening in the moonlight and fading glow of the firelight. “Enough,” you groan. “Need you.” It’s nigh a broken plea.

You shudder as he moves, situating himself between your thighs, calloused fingers dipping into your cunt to gather your slick and spread on his hard cock as he strokes himself. “Arthur, please,” you whimper, impatient, and he won’t keep you waiting.

He slides his cock through your folds before his angle changes just slightly, and on the next pass, your breath stutters as his cockhead presses just inside you—barely splitting you open. Arthur’s hand grabs your hip and angles you up just a bit so he can slide deeper inside you, and you cling onto his biceps—feeling his scars press into your palms and admiring the way his muscles flex under your touch. 

Arthur hisses through his teeth when he fully seats himself inside your warmth, then releases his breath slowly and smiles at you. “You’re lovely,” he murmurs, twining his fingers through yours, pressing the back of your hands into the mattress. From the moment Arthur first saw you in the Londinium streets, he knew your fates were intertwined—just as your bodies and hands were now. He trembles at this personal heaven, then draws his hips back, starting to move.

You laugh breathlessly, mindlessly. “Charmer,” you pant, hooking your legs around his waist. You roll into his thrusts, pulling him deeper. His ragged breaths and grunts mingle with your sighs of pleasure—panting scarcely keeping up with your racing heart. 

He huffs in amusement. “Can’t say that’s something I get called often,” Arthur says as he pumps his hips slowly, teasing you and pleasing you almost more than you can bear. Then he lowers his lips to yours in a kiss—there’s something sweet on his tongue, like honey wine. 

His whole body begins moving, surging, and writhing against yours. One of his hands releases yours and caresses your cheek before he slides it down your body. Without thought, your body arches into his hand as it moves, ripening under his touch—thoughts clouded by lust and love. His fingers find your clit at the same time his mouth latches to your neck.

Another guttural cry bursts from your lips. He’s pounding into you now, and he’s still holding your hand while his other grips your hip. Your breathing is loud, and so is his, and his hand is tightening on your fingers. He drags in a breath, then expels it in a strained groan.

He shudders, then pounds into you hard, twice, thrice, and then he pauses with his cock deep inside of you. His jaw clenches, and his grip on your hip is so tight that it’s almost painful, but you like it—just as much as you like the guttural sound he makes as he shudders in completion. A few long seconds later, he gasps in a breath, then sighs and releases your hand. “Fuck,” he groans, holding his weight above you on shaking arms. 

You beckon him to lie atop you, his golden head pillowed on your breasts as his breathing steadies, sighing when you kiss his hair and whisper a quiet, I love you, for him to relish. He stays sheathed inside your warmth, unwilling to part just yet. “I love you,” he murmurs in turn, never tiring of how you smile when he says the words. Sighing, he rolls to the side, and you whine at the loss of him and the empty feeling between your thighs.

He lays on his side, and you pillow your head on his outstretched arm, nuzzling close against his chest and threading one of your legs through his. Arthur presses his cheek to the crown of your head and strokes your hair as the first dregs of daylight break over the horizon, shining upon England, Camelot, and his future wife and queen.

[Forever taglist: @certifiedlittleshit / @erzsebetrosztoczy / @hereforreadandwrite / @mrsragnarlodbrok / @rigshak ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my forever taglist, or any other character/fandom taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

[thealieninhiding]

Katie McGrath BTS of King Arthur Legend of The Sword

[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

QUALIFYING ROUND: 16th Tilt

King Vortigern, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017): VS. Uther Pendragon, BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012)

Propaganda

King Vortigern, King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017) Portrayed by: Jude Law

“it's Jude Law having the time of his life as a sneering pantomime villain draped in black leather and furs, what more could you ask for???”

Uther Pendragon, BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012) Portrayed by: Anthony Stewart Head

“Pretty much the only dilf in all of Merlin. And even though he isn't a good person, he cares deeply about his children. And what can I say, he's just hot”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For King Vortigern:

For Uther Pendragon:

[Photoset]

[pandalikeelf]

bbc merlin // king arthur: legend of the sword

[ifuckinglovefingerlingpotatoes]

[hotdamnhunnam]

@steviebbboi I think this is the scene you mean?! He’s so hot it’s OBSCEEENE 🔥💦

I’m headed to bed soon but THANK YOUU so much for your lovely reblogs, I’ll reply to them and your DMs tomorrow but wanted to post this for now to bid you goodnight *hugs* 🫂💖

[thisriver1swild]

“it’s my comfort movie” it’s charlie hunnam wearing slutty little outfits.

[sunbelieved]

[Image Description: three gifs from the movie King Arthur: Legend of the Sword in which five different dryad-looking women stand against or lean out from old trees. Both they and the trees are wrapped in gnarled vines and covered in green moss. Their skin is bark and their eyes glow as they look menacingly towards the viewer. The camera's focus gives the shots an almost distorted look to the edges of the forest behind them. End ID]

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword (2017)

[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Thirsty Thursday June 27th, 2024 Masterlist

Thank you so much to everyone that submitted a request. This is the most I've written in a single day in so long. I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog!

Theme: Charlie Hunnam (Raymond Smith, King Arthur, William Ironhead Miller) x Female Reader

William Ironhead Miller

Will reads his girlfriends dirty novel

Desperate Will

Raymond Smith

"Keep your hands where they are or I'll tie them up."

Fancy dinner, fancy toys

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword

Old Friends

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[madamebaggio]

“… and that’s why I believe you should graciously allow me to court you.”

“…”

“…”

“I see.”

“You see? I have just spent the ladt hour talking…”

“It was ten minutes, Arthur.”

“After struggling for months to write…”

“I am actually surprised you know how to write.”

“… for you to say ‘I see’?”

“Well, you didn’t ask me a question, did you?”

“I did!”

“No. You said I should allow you to court me, but you never actually asked me anything.”

“Oh.”

“…”

“Lady Stark, would you do me a great honor and allow me to court you?”

“Yes.”

“That easy?!”

“Yes, Arthur. That easy.”

[queer-ragnelle]

Lady of The Lake || King Arthur: Legend of The Sword 2017

[shy-blue-blossom]

Target

Arthur Pendragon

King Arthur: The Legend of The Sword

The Kingdom of Camelot has been thriving since Arthur had been crowned king all those years ago. The Kingdom was blessed with a queen for 10 years before she was taken from them. Arthur was devastated along with the people. Before the queen met her end she blessed Arthur with a son and daughter. They do not know who could have done it but they suspect some of Vortigern's devoted followers, few as they are, might have done it.  

Prince Duran was now 15 years old. The Princess was 5 years old. Duran was either found in three different places. The first was with his father, King Arthur, the second place was the training grounds with either Sir George, Sir Tristan, Sir Bedivere, Sir William or Sir Percival. The last place is with his younger sister, Princess y/n. there is the odd time you will find him playing with some friends but they are normally at the training grounds. The princess can be found in a few different places but always with the same people. Arthur, Duran, one of the kings at Arthur's round table, one of the ladies who brought him up or Eva the one responsible for looking after y/n. 

It was a nice sunny day in Camelot when the people working in the palace notice something wrong with the individual covering Eva on watching the princess. Arthur and the members of the round table have been getting reports from the staff. someone had even informed Eva, who was resting in bed due to a cold that had made her faint. She got out of bed with help to go and check up on the princess, she knew where the princess would be at any time of the day. She happened to bump into Prince Duran who was going to his sister as well. They both froze when they reached where she was supposed to be. Laying on the floor in their blood was the Princess's sworn protector. 

Duran ran to inform Arthur and the round table while Eva ran over to Danial. He was barely alive. Arthur was signing some paperwork at the round table and talking to George, Bedivere, William, Percival and Wet Stick when Duran barged into the room to tell him what had happened. The fear Arthur had buried had come true. 

6 years after the assassination of the queen, the princess would be the target.

Danial came stumbling into the room with help from Eva. He explained how he was attacked from behind and facked being dead as he knew he would not have been able to protect princess y/n from harm if he resisted. He informed them that the attacker was wearing a blacklegs mask. Arthur turned to Wet Stick and Bedivere. He told them to stay with Duran while he goes with Percival, goosefat Bill and George. They set off once they all got their supplies. 

They tracked them to the old resistance hideout. Goosefat made Arthur wait outside, even if he had an heir, the heir is not ready for the throne. Arthur agree but waited outside with much impatience. Goosefat, Percival and George went in and were met with the remaining blacklegs. Percival went and looked for y/n while George and Goosefat defeated the blacklegs. Percival soon came back with y/n who had tucked her face into his neck and held on tight to him. they left the hideout and Arthur turned when he heard a crunch of leaves. he called her name which made her raise her head to see him coming towards her. Y/n started to cry when she saw him and reached for him. Arthur took her out of Percival's arms into his own and held onto her tightly. 

Duran was the first person y/n let go of Arthur for. Eva was the second as she was the one to get y/n out of the dirty and ruined clothes. She saw that she was covered in bruises and little cuts. Eva soon went to the round table as that is where Arthur had gone while waiting. 

Everyone noticed the injuries now y/n was clean. Danial had come into the room and was nearly thrown off balance when y/n hugged him. He was thanked by them all because if he did not fake being dead, they would have never known if was the blacklegs. 

Danial was kept as y/n's sworne protector and would resume the position once he was healed. Eva was told that if she is ever ill just let Arthur or one of the knights know and they will find someone to watch y/n. Eva was just relieved that y/n had no major injuries. 

Y/n was happy that she was back with her family and protectors. 

The end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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