Arthur: How come girls can say “girlfriend” to refer to a platonic friend
*Anne literally shoving Cathy into a wall*
Arthur: But I can’t say this is my boy toy twink male wife Caleb
Well... it’s been a long, long while since I made a vid so I thought I’d throw up a teaser of one I started over two years ago (which is why Ray’s in it but no Jeremy or Lindsay). I swear I’ll finish this one day (and fix the audio too, which might be off cause I’ve not got round to messing with it).
Let me know what you think about it since I’ve not done a Minecraft edit before.
so i know that a lot of minecraft kings/mad king ryan aus will make mogar ryan’s loyal warrior and whatnot, but what if that translates to dark god!ryan as well?
nightofstarfallanddreams replied to your post “so i know that a lot of minecraft kings/mad king ryan aus will make...”
So like can we expect a fic of mad king turning into dark god and just eliminates mogar?
Hell hath no fury, one had to think. Months after the Mad King was run out of his own kingdom, escaping with his broken crown and Mogar on his tail, he had returned to exact revenge on the kingdom that tried to force him out. He did not return a man, no, but a full fledged God. One that would reign with darkness and passion.
His warrior, loyal follower, the human who had unquestioningly followed him through the wilderness and his crazed plans to become immortal, walked close beside him, hand on the hilt of his sword as usual. Admittedly, Mogar had no need for it anymore - Ryan knocked down villagers, soldiers, all those traitors alike with a flick of fingers, and crushed them all with the squeeze of his fist, until all that was left were the blood-spattered buildings of a nation he once ruled.
His castle stood tall and proud, the sweet smell of death and metallic tang of blood in the air. Mogar opened the doors for him, and he passed through into the throne room. The banners had changed, and now he and Mogar were the only ones left but it was still his.
“I didn’t expect it to be so easy,” Mogar supplied, examining the throne room’s walls as Ryan made himself comfortable on his throne, adjusting the rusted, broken crown on his head.
“Did you doubt me?”
“Of course not. I overestimated the humans, is all.” Mogar pressed a loose stone of the wall, peering inside the room that appeared with a slow slide of rock. “They have their wine here, I see.”
“Saving it for a celebration?”
Mogar shot him a grin. “We have plenty to celebrate now, don’t you think?” A moment later, the warrior returned, two goblets full of dark wine. He bowed before the throne, just like in days gone by where he would rush in to give Ryan a status report, or tell him of a mission’s success. “The old king is dead, long live the Dark God,” He handed Ryan a goblet, downing his own in a swallow. Ryan watched him, twirling his own cup in his hands. Something... wasn’t right.
Becoming a God was not easy. He had lost his eyes, his heart, perhaps what was left of his mind, to pursue the ultimate power, one that could not be usurped. And he had returned to his kingdom to set right what was wrong - to reinstate himself as its sovereign, and slaughter everyone who had doubted his rule. He had thought the voices, the wrenching feeling in his gut, would subside. But there was something remaining, something that still plucked at random threads of thought in the back of his mind, that whispered to him in a voice he thought he knew. Looking down at Mogar, the only man he could ever trust, his eyes widened in realization.
“Come here,” he ordered, and of course Mogar went, bending on one knee, his head nearly in Ryan’s lap. Ryan couldn’t help but smile when he held out his hand, and Mogar kissed a signet ring there.
“Mogar... my loyal, ferocious warrior,” He held the man’s chin in his hand, “the only human that was ever worthy of my affections.” He pulled back slightly, examining his goblet. “There is something you should know.”
Mogar blinked. “Yes, my God?”
Ryan tossed his goblet to the side, metal clattering and wine splashing onto the floor. “Kings celebrate with wine,” he sneered, before swiping his hand across Mogar’s throat. As a man, the blow may not have even produced a scratch, but with his magic fueling the motion, Mogar’s throat was slit. His hand shot up to keep the wound shut. But it was too deep, and bleeding too profusely to stop.
Mogar looked up at him, dark eyes wide and misty with tears of pain. Ryan paid the expression no mind, instead swiping his thumb carefully over the exposed line of Mogar’s throat, collecting the red on his finger and placing it on his tongue to taste. “Real Gods require blood.” He sat back on his throne, and with a perfunctory kick of his foot, Mogar was sent spiraling onto the stone. He was dead before he hit the ground.
And that strange feeling he had welling inside him? The whispered thoughts that seemed to... idolize that man, single him out as someone special? They had screamed at him as Mogar bled out, but even they faded into nothingness not long after. Ryan sighed, relaxing on his throne.
The remnants of Ryan the man were gone, and only the Dark God remained.
Title: l’ours et le roi
Pairing: Michael/Ryan
Summary: A year after King Haywood’s faithful knight is presumed dead, the only thing that rouses him from his sadness is the strange appearance of a bear he finds while out hunting. A very well behaved bear, at that.
A/N: Based on the medieval French story called ‘Bisclavert’ by Marie de France (this version is only slightly more homoerotic than the original, just so you know). I wanted to write this in the style of a fairy tale, which is why there’s a lot of narration and other stylistic differences. Also - this was done for Myan Week 2017 - Minecraft/Kings! au
-
Once upon a time in a faraway land there lived a loyal knight by the name of Michael Jones. He was considered unparalleled amongst his peers; youthful, fiery, and beloved, especially by the country’s sovereign, King Haywood. The Lord loved his knight dearly, and his affections were clearly displayed; through every acre of land he added to Michael’s home; every jewel encrusted along his sword hilt; every kiss he placed upon his brow, it was no secret that Michael was his favorite.
Some viewed Michael with respect, others fear, and still others envy; but Michael was careful, and any true threat to him was easily exposed to the King. He knew, for example, that a novice knight had been upset with him after accusing Michael of escaping the castle grounds several nights a month; Michael had retaliated by drawing his sword, and the jealous knight had merely fled, cementing his own cowardice to the rest of the castle.
Despite the technical victory, Michael grew worried, because knight’s accusations were founded in truth: he had snuck out of the castle for several days each month. He never revealed the reason why he did this, not even to his precious King. Even worse, his time to flee outside the castle’s walls was fast approaching, and he doubted that disagreeable knight would soon forget Michael’s insult to him.
Still, on the next clear night, Michael crept out of his room. He had gotten exceptionally good at sneaking down the corridors without being spotted, and once he had bypassed the common guards and entered the royal garden, he assumed he was free. However, unbeknownst to him, he was being watched. A dangerous mix of curiosity and spitefulness prodded that jealous knight into following Michael on such an evening. He hid around corners and behind statues until he too had gotten outside. He reached the edge of the garden just as Michael began climbing its tall stone wall, which was covered in thick ivy vines. He went up with the ease of a cat before jumping to the other side. The knight began climbing up himself, not nearly as easily. When he finally reached the top of the wall he looked down to see Michael undressing in the dark. Perhaps he was meeting a lover then, the other knight thought sourly. Michael tucked his pile of clothes beneath a flower bush and walked several paces towards the large forest that acted as a barrier against prospective invaders, or sometimes hunting grounds for royal parties. Now, however, he saw Michael hunch onto the ground, as if wounded by an invisible force.
Michael twitched and rolled, and his form grew exponentially in size and became covered in dark hair. The other knight watched, disgusted and perplexed, until finally the transformation was complete, and where a human man had once been a monstrous brown bear was instead. It moved its head to the left and right before walking into the dense woods, disappearing from sight.
The knight was revolted, truly – to have a beast hiding in their midst! To have stolen the King’s attentions with his skills as a fighter when in reality he had attained everything through magic. He hopped down onto the other side of the wall. Now, as a suspicious man, the knight had always known a bit about transformations, lycanthropes, and so on, and he suspected that as in other cases, Michael needed his human clothes to turn back into a man. So, thinking himself very clever, the knight gathered up the tunic, belt, sword, and shoes into his arms and took them back to the castle. The very next day, the knight bundled up the clothes and gave them to a courier to send to his home in the country to ensure Michael would never find them again.
After three days and three nights with no sign of Michael, King Haywood began to grow distraught. He asked the knights and gentlemen of his court if they had seen the man, but no one had. After a week, a search was called, and every able man and woman searched high and low for Michael – even the knight who had succeeded in banning him. In fact, he searched hardest of all, calling for parties through the woods he knew the beast would go to. And after a month of fruitless searching, the knight was satisfied to report to King Haywood that Michael was missing forever, if not deceased already. With a heavy heart, King Haywood gave the same knight – who seemed nearly as motivated as himself to find Michael – Michael’s own land and home as a reward for his dedication, to which the knight happily retired to, reveling in fortunes he didn’t earn.
As for the King, he found himself to be more depressed and more inconsolable with each passing month. Without his skilled warrior – without his dear friend, Michael, what was he to do? He mourned eccentrically; commissioning a monument of Michael Jones in the town square, and his portrait in the royal gallery, so that the young man’s image could stare across at his own. He locked and boarded up the fallen man’s chambers and hung one of his diamond swords above his own bed. As the year drew on, and the King’s sadness only deepened, his advisers grew worried, and his other knights scared. Something must be done.
-
A year passed. Perhaps spurned by the anniversary, King Haywood announced a hunt should take place; the knights and advisers rejoiced, and so the King and other gentlemen went walking one day through the dense forests behind the castle. The dogs they brought were large and bred for sniffing out animals, and soon they caught trace of a sizeable creature – “A wolf?” a man asked, “A boar?” his friend supposed; suddenly a beast broke out from the underbrush and ran off, dashing through the trees with a line of dogs barking at his heels, the men following afterwards. “A bear!” King Haywood shouted. “I saw it and it’s definitely a bear! The largest I’ve ever seen.” They spent hours following the dogs, this way and that, nearly losing them several times, and every once in a while catching a glimpse of the large beast’s movement through the vegetation.
By the late afternoon, the dogs had trapped the bear, forcing it towards the end of a cliff edge. Without anywhere to go, the men drew their swords and bows, waiting for their King’s call. King Haywood took his place at the front of the crowd, taking in the size of the beast. It peered around desperately, and seemed to lock eyes with the men.
Suddenly it leapt forward, towards the King; before anyone could signal the dogs, the bear reached for the King’s hand, grasping it, the beast kissed his leg, then his foot. It then looked up at him with ink colored eyes; they were glassy and rounded, almost like buttons. And yet, the King saw a spark in the depths of the creature’s gaze; an undeniable human quality within them. He pushed past the fear he felt – for the beast still had a claw curled around his limb – because surely the thing would have decimated him by now, if its plan was to strike out. But it remained still, looking up at Ryan, its face set in what he had to label as a pleading expression.
His knights surrounding him murmured fearfully, as frozen as the King was, and only the bark from one of the hounds snapped King Haywood back to reality.
He put a hand out. “Stop! This is no ordinary animal – look how he kneels, like he’s begging for mercy.” Ryan swallowed, watching the bear carefully. “It would be inhumane, possibly dooming to kill him. Our hunt ends here.” Still anxious for his safety, he placed a hand on the bear’s head; the thing was unbothered, tilting its head upwards, leaning into his touch. The bear’s fur was soft and warm from the beast’s body heat and the sun beams that shone down onto the forest floor. “You have my word, noble… bear, that no harm will come to you.”
“Sir,” one of the knights said. “What shall we do now?” King Haywood glanced at his men, then at the still kneeling beast. After a moment, it moved its face, nuzzling his snout gently into Ryan’s palm. The King laughed out of surprise – the beast was more tempered than he had thought.
“I suppose we shall take the bear and place him in the castle. He hasn’t harmed me, or any of you. Something with such a human demeanor deserves to live like a human.”
The bear seemed to understand the King’s words, and it stood on all fours; it towered over all of the men in the clearing, and dwarfed the hounds, who sniffed him curiously. King Haywood sheathed his sword – the other knights did the same – and they all proceeded in a line out of the forest, the King in front, and the beast to his side.
Imagine the surprise of the rest of court, seeing the King and his knights return with a bear the size of a cottage, walking on all fours in time with his genial captor. The whole scene caused quite a stir, and some members of court wondered if their King had been knocked in the head while hunting; for King Haywood talked to the beast, and let it wander around the castle freely; there were no chains holding it, not even a leash. Luckily, the bear seemed fond of the King, and typically stayed by his side, following dutifully behind like a pup. The most disruptive the creature got was when it would nose at the King’s hand until the man would pet its head, or scratch its chin, and the bear would let out soft growls of contentment.
There were nobles who complained, of course, but even the residual grievances of the kingdom’s nobles were quelled when a pair of children – brought into court one day by their blueblood mother – had shaken themselves from her grip and began to crawl on top of the bear, who had been laying by the King’s throne. Everyone, especially the lady who had brought her children, watched in fear, waiting for the beast to roar and attack. Instead, it merely walked over to the hysterical woman, and let her pick her precious babies from its back before wandering back to where the King sat; from then on, the bear had irreversibly won the hearts of everyone in the castle.
For lack of a name, the King merely referred to him as Bear, or ‘noble beast’; he saw the creature as a treasure to the kingdom, a natural blessing to the country he ruled, and he made a public decree that no harm should befall the bear; it was given the best food, a large tub to be bathed in, and was brushed daily until his fur shined.
The King allowed the bear to roam through the castle grounds, and it followed the King everywhere he went, even to his own bed chambers! Ryan would attempt to talk the beast into leaving his rooms at night – for the bear must have understood human speech to some extent – but it never budged, and no amount of men could push such a large animal somewhere it didn’t want to go, so the King was resigned to keep the bear with him while he slept; he in bed, the beast curled up by the fireplace (though on occasion he would climb into Ryan’s bed while the man was asleep, and the King would wake, nearly falling onto the floor as the beast snored contentedly on top of the covers.)
The constant companionship worked wonders on the King’s temperament; while he was a generous and cunning ruler, everyone in the castle knew he had been pushed into a great sadness upon the death of his beloved warrior, Michael. His unexplained disappearance seemed like a crushing weight the King could never rise up from. And yet, in a matter of weeks it was as though the King was back to his old self; his laughter flowed throughout the halls like music; his smiles appeared often and easily; his posture no longer bent anxiously, and his steps took on a renewed confidence. It was only when his cherished bear came to stay with him that everyone could see the King was previously living as a shadow of his former self; and for that alone, the bear became a sacred symbol.
Perhaps the bear was magic, or at least a divine miracle. Even the King himself had noticed his own happiness had been found again. One night, nearly half a year after having found his companion, he sat in a chair by his bedroom window, the bear resting its head in the King’s lap. From where he sat, the King could see the capital’s green, surrounded by stout brick houses, their chimneys letting out gentle wafts of smoke into the sky. “Bear,” he murmured, and the beast lifted its head. Ryan pointed out the window. “You can’t see it from here,” he said, “But down below there’s the statue of our nation’s best warrior, a dear friend of mine. His name was Michael –” The bear moved suddenly, raising itself up on its hind legs to peer out the window. “I said you can’t see it!” Ryan said, laughing, tugging gently at the beast’s fur until it settled again. “In any case, he went missing over a year ago now.” The King sobered, and sunk both hands deep into the bear’s mane. “I don’t know which thought is worse – that he went out into the wilderness and died, or that he ran away for some other reason, instead. We were very close, you know; I knew nearly everything about him. But he would vanish for days at a time, and he would never say why.”
The bear chuffed softly and slid its head off Ryan’s lap. It used its mouth to tug gently at the King’s pant leg, a familiar gesture which told Ryan to stand up. He obeyed, and followed the bear to his bed. He worked his way under the covers, and blew out a candle that was placed by his bedside table. The bear’s dark eyes watched him as he situated himself, before the beast sat down on the floor by Ryan’s side. “I’m a blessed man to have found you, my friend,” he murmured in the darkness. A paw came up and touched the King’s hand, and Ryan let it drop off the mattress. He felt a wet tongue lick at his fingers, then a warm nose against his palm. The King smiled, resolute, and fell asleep with a hand on the noble beast’s head.
Many more months passed, and the King took a ride through the countryside of his kingdom – the bear naturally accompanying him. While the leisurely pace he traveled was like that of a vacation, his true purpose was to visit the various nobles who remained in the country permanently, collecting taxes from the farmers and villagers working on their property. This brought him to a large stretch of property that had once belonged to Michael himself, but was now ruled over by the very knight who condemned him to a life trapped inside a beast’s form.
Michael had since grown used to his new body, and perhaps could have gone on as such for the rest of his life; but when he caught sight of the retired knight’s face, a wave of rage came over him, and he leapt from the behind the carriage where he had been walking beside the King. He gave a roar full of carnivorous animosity and swiped at the human, watching with pleasure as he crumpled to the ground, blood blooming across his face.
There was a flurry of movement – the King jumped from his horse, caught between helping the baron or the bear, while the knight cursed and spat at the beast; “It’s crazed!” he shouted, knights flanking him and pulling him up onto his feet. “It’s going to kill all of us if we don’t strike it down first!” The King paled, watching with fear as what he thought was his tame beast growl dangerously at the baron. “Get it away from me!”
“I don’t understand,” one of the knights said frantically. “He’s lived with humans for more than a year, and he hasn’t even growled!”
“It’s a wild beast!” The baron shouted. “Kill it!”
Thinking frantically, the King spoke: “Could it be… that you offended it?” All the men stared at the King.
“How would I offend this thing?”
“He’s been nothing but polite, as though he were a person all this time. The only reason such a creature would act so out of character must be some sort of offense on your part.” The knight’s face flashed with fear, though he tried to conceal it. But Ryan was shrewd, a necessary component of a King, and he nodded to his guards. “If he won’t admit anything, then we can bring him back to the castle and hold him there until he confesses. I’m not above torture, if necessary.”
“You’re mad! He’s just as insane as that monster!” The baron wriggled in the grip of the knights, to no avail.
“Insulting your King? It’s you who must be crazed. Let’s tie his hands to the horse’s saddle and make him walk back to the castle –” As the baron was pulled, his hands tied at the wrist, he yelped and broke down. Not a strong man in physicality or feeling, he admitted his crimes.
“Alright, I’ll tell you! Just let me go.” Hesitantly, the knights stepped away from him. The King watched him warily. “The truth is, that beast used to be a man. A man you all knew very well. A man you thought was dead!” The King paled, and sent a horrified look at the bear, who was intent on watching the knight, its dark eyes flashing.
“Do you mean, Michael?” The King asked.
“He humiliated me!” The baron roared, fighting his binds. “He was a nuisance! Disappearing all the time to turn into that – that beast and back again! And yet you still admired him the most. Oh, I wish I could have killed him, but I thought I’d never see him, as a man or a bear, ever again.”
“Then… he can be turned back into a man?” The King asked.
“Is that your only concern?” The baron spat, making the bear – Michael – growl again and step protectively in front of the King.
“Michael, whether a man or a beast, has been more useful to me than you have ever been.” The King straightened his stance and squared his shoulders. “I hereby ban you from your kingdom, for your crimes against a fellow knight.” He directed two of his men to hoist the baron onto a horse, and take him far outside the kingdom’s borders with no regard as to where he was left. The man could go to a new land or starve for all he cared, he just knew he wanted the man far away from him, or from Michael.
The baron attempted to fight, to curse the King and his knights, all while travelling down the road and slowly out of sight. Ryan turned his attention back to the bear. “Well, surely you must know how to change back?” he asked hopefully. Michael dipped his head, and began walking towards the house that had once been his.
Ryan opened the doors, and Michael walked through, snout high in the air as he sniffed. Passing from room to room, the King’s hopes slowly dimmed like a dying candle – whatever Michael was searching for, could he find it? What if that baron had already gotten rid of whatever it was Michael needed to turn back to a man? He fretted and frowned, dutifully following Michael and opening any closed doors the creature wished to inspect.
Eventually, they found the baron’s own bedchambers. Michael nosed around, focusing on the man’s wardrobe and pawing at the door. Ryan opened it, staring into its contents. Once again, Michael began to paw at something, and Ryan took out a wooden box that sat on the bottom of the wardrobe. Opening it, he found now musty pair of nightclothes. “Are these… yours?” Michael nodded, the gesture looking quite strange on him. “Well! Put them back on and we can take you home a man!” Michael merely stared at him, and sat back on his haunches. “Michael?” The bear let out a huff, and ducked down, delicately taking the clothes into his mouth and wandering out of the room, and out of the house entirely. He deposited the clothes in a knight’s arms and began walking down the road, the way they had come. The knights asked what the King’s orders were, and though he had no idea what Michael was waiting for, or what he was meant to do, he declared that they were going back to the castle in order for Michael to transform into himself properly.
When they reached the castle, Michael took the clothes back into his mouth and found his boarded up bedchamber. The King ordered for it to be opened and prepared, desperately wishing that his guesses were correct.
Once the bedchamber was in a clean state, Michael wandered inside, and, before the King or any curious servants or knights could follow, he nosed the door shut.
“Does he want privacy, perhaps?” One of the knights supposed.
“Why would a bear need privacy?” Another asked.
“I suppose Michael always had some secrets,” The King said. “I will check on him in a few hours. And, God willing, he will be a man by then.”
Hours passed at a torturous pace, and the poor King thought he would go mad before the end of it. Michael, dear Michael, alive and living under their nose for so long! Would he even be able to transform back? He took a seat by the window in his chambers overlooking the town. He watched the sun crest, then fall, and sink beyond the sky. Then he finally rose and found his way to Michael’s room.
He quietly opened the door and nearly shouted in surprise – for there wasn’t a beast on the floor, but a man asleep in his bed!
The King quickly ran to his side and held him close, pressing a dozen kisses to his beloved knight’s face to wake him up, then another dozen more when he saw the familiar brown eyes open, and the fondly remembered mouth turn up into a smile.
“It’s you,” the King said, unable to catch his breath or still his heart. Michael did not speak at first, instead wiping the tears from his King’s eyes, and pressing a kiss to his lips.
“It is,” Michael replied, voice faint and raspy from so little use. “I’ve returned to you, my King, and this time I won’t be leaving so easily.” They shared a grin, and Ryan held Michael even tighter, promising the return of all his land, and treasures, and more gifts that could be named.
“Does this mean we’ll have to remove my statue in the town square?” Michael kidded.
“My dear,” the King said, “not only will we keep it, but we shall have entire days of celebration to honor you – and your beastly form.”
And so with the King and his knight happily reunited, the kingdom prospered, and moreover, Michael never had to hide his beastly nature from the kingdom again, and no matter what form he took on, he was always regarded as a joy for all to see.
