“Today’s show day, pets,” you call out with a smile and a clang of keys. With a short rifling through your clipboard, you call out the names of the lucky slaves who will be let out and displayed during this little party you’re throwing. Well, when you say party, it’s really an auction with a bit of fun before and after it.
Several men and women, all naked but for little ornamentations on their nipples and clits/penises, crawl towards you with their collars jingling and jangling around their necks. One in particular comes up to you and rubs his head against your thigh, his body almost guarding you from the rest in the way he’s angled his body. The gag in his mouth prevents him from greeting you or from snapping at the other slaves from getting too close to you, but the coiled muscles of his back says everything his mouth can’t.
“Behave, Ozy.” You pat his soft raven hair and attach his leash to his opulent collar. “I need the rest of them in perfect condition.” Although to be fair, his possessiveness often makes the other slaves even more gregarious, even more desperate to show how desirable they are and how obedient they can be. How they, too, can earn your favour and your bed like the Sun King.
The dusky skinned Pharoah simply rumbles deep in his throat with a smug smile, his knowing eyes already aware of what he’s doing. He sits on his heels, hands on his thighs as he watches you go around clipping leashes to collars, guiding and coaxing all ten of them to get into your dressing room. As the God-King, Ozymandias has the pleasure of being groomed by the Master while the rest of them got prettied up by your many, many servants.
He preens as he’s led to his station, kneeling before you and taking your clipboard from your hands. “Who shall be your prized slave tonight, Master?” He flexes and flicks his hair to the side, beaming right at you with all the force in his chiselled body. Clearly he’s trying to nominate himself.
A prized slave is the main event of your little party. The centre of attention, the highest valued man or woman on display, and the one who will show the rest of your guests exactly how well trained your slaves are.
You hum and lean against the table, picking up a makeup palette and a little brush. “My prize tonight? Mmm I was thinking maybe Drake. My guests do enjoy a busty woman being tortured and pleasured in equal measure. Particularly since she’s so…vocal.” By vocal, you really mean moans, whimpers, cries, screams, the whole lot. Even cursing and swearing when it gets too much. Oh, and not to forget the tears in her wide eyes and the perfect ahegao orgasm face. You’re not entirely sure if that’s just how her face looks during orgasm or if she does it for the visuals.
Ozymandias’ face screws up at the mention of the abrasive yet charming captain. “The pirate, Master? Surely your guests would prefer a more…sophisticated slave. One who shows your prime stock, who radiates power and submission and obedience!” His voice grows louder from his forced ‘indoor voice’, passion firing up his tone until he truly sounds like the king that he is. He opens his mouth to continue, only to have your underwear stuffed in it to stop him from going on and on and on.
You have half a mind to tease him a little bit more, but you’re short on time and patience for his theatrics. “Enough, Ozy. You’re my Prize for tonight, but you won’t be if you keep this up.”
Instantly, he quietens, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the canary under his Master’s nose. Ozy looks to start purring with pleasure, his shoulders pulling back and his perfect posture perking up as he presents his face.
The panties in his mouth keeps him quiet as you work to pretty him up even more, keeping him sedate and just a little bit horny if his perked up cock is any indication. But you’re not fussed, anything that keeps him quiet and still is something you don’t take for granted. Taking the chance for what it is, you give him some gold and blue eyeshadow, dusting glitter and shimmer over his lids, his cheeks, and those perfect cheekbones. Line his eyes in sharp, thick black strokes, bringing out those molten gold irises that seem to gleam in the light. More glitter gets tossed at his body, the shiny bits sticking to his dusky skin easily. With his silver ornaments now exchanged for gold ones, Ozymandias looks like an offering to the gods. Or perhaps a godly offering to the Queen of gods.
“Perfect,” you purr, stepping back and allowing him to stand to admire your handiwork. Even with the lacy panties in his mouth, Ozy looks smug. When they’re removed with a gentle hand, his smirk is so wide it almost looks like one of Gilgamesh’s.
“Am I to your satisfaction, Master?”
Clipping a gold leash to his collar, you give him the side eye and laugh. “Of course you are, slave. Now come along, it’s time.”
Each servant, wearing little more than the slaves, follow behind you in pairs, leading along your slaves like a procession. Your guests, seated on the many couches, chairs, and chaise lounges around your dungeon perk up as your entrance is announced. They clap, cheer, and throw wolf whistles at your many servants and slaves, quieting down when you take your place before your throne and raise a hand for silence.
“Friends, guests,” you begin, “welcome to my Paradise.” Fielding the cheers and applause, you smile and nod. “Thank you. Now, as much as I like hearing the sound of my own voice, I believe everyone’s keen to get their kink on!” A roar from your many guests makes you grin. “Yes, my friends, yes! Then let us begin with my favourite part, the Auction. Today, all proceeds will go to a local charity of the winning bidder’s choice.”
With a flourish of your hand, your servants bring each slave forward, displaying them in a multitude of positions while you describe that slave’s many qualities. Once you’re done, you accept a crop from a reverent servant, using it as a pointer to accept the many bids for each individual slave. Emiya is a crowd favourite, as always, earning you the most out of the whole lineup by far. The lucky leather clad Mistress sashays her way to him and claims his lead from the servant, happily trotting back to her seat with the dusky skinned Archer crawling beside her.
And then finally, it’s Ozy’s turn. No one has forgotten the beautiful slave kneeling by your side, least of all you. “At last, we come to my Prized Slave.” Tugging Ozy to centre stage, you stand him upright. “Ozymandias, the Sun King, and also the father of many, many, many children.” At his preening, you caress his face and grin to your audience, noticing his cock perking up quickly. “Hands behind your back, slave, I want to touch your cock.”
“Yes, Master,” he purrs, standing up straight and wrapping his large hands around his wrists behind his back. Unable to shield himself from view now, not that he ever wanted to, he can only stand and let his lashes flutter as you close your hand around his turgid cock. Light little moans start to slip through his slightly parted lips, his broad chest starting to heave as you stimulate him more.
You work his cock for a little while more, making sure it hardens to full mast and even gets a little bead of precum on its tip. “There we go,” you declare to your audience and straighten up, letting your servants put Ozy in milking stocks. “Ozy is a phenomenal breeder. Perfect cock, heavy balls, excellent stamina.” A female servant, now bare to her skin but devoid of ornaments and jewelry, kneels before starting to suck and lick the Pharoah’s cock. He starts panting and moaning, his brilliant gold eyes clouding over with pleasure as the servant works his cock.
“He’s delightfully sensitive, as you can see, and eager for the touch of your hand or your tongue.” The servant demonstrates this by dragging her tongue up from the base of his cock up to his tip, drawing out a dribble of pale precum. “And his cum, oh his cum. Thick, musky, and ever so potent. Want your bitch or cow bred? Ozy will be the stud to make that bitch yowl in pleasure and sob in overstimulation. He won’t stop until you pull him off, the only thing running through his head being that he must fuck, he must breed.” You circle around the slave, the spotlight following you focusing on him when you give the signal.
That same signal pulls the female servant away from your stud and a blindfolded, female slave is introduced instead. She is locked in a breeding frame, legs wide, arms locked into place by her head, and a ring gag holding her mouth open. Shaking and whimpering in arousal, she shakes in place. In anticipation, in fear, you’re not quite sure. But one thing you know? She’s going to love what happens next.
“And now, a demonstration of his talents.”
You take the reins this time, releasing Ozy from the stocks to lead him over to his offering. The Pharoah seems absolutely starving for pussy, his eyes almost crossing when his cock is carefully guided into the slave’s sopping wet entrance. Instantly he begins to fuck her hard and fast, powerful hips slamming into her for what feels like an age.
Every eye is locked onto his form, entranced by the primal performance before them. They watch as the female slave starts moaning and drooling like a brainless, lust-filled slut, her hips fighting against her bonds to return the thrusts that threaten to overwhelm her senses. They watch her pussy juice leak down onto the floor under her, pooling to join the puddles of drool that have already formed. And all the while you’re encouraging Ozy with crop and whip alike, leaving light marks upon his sweaty back to make him thrust harder. Faster.
“Pain encourages him as much as pleasure,” you say as you come behind him and scratch your nails up his perky ass. “And playing with his asshole, in particular, riles him up like no other.” Raising a hand, you show the hefty remote you hold. “Prior to this party, I put a little e-stim butt plug in this slave arse.” Slapping Ozy’s ass, you tell everyone to take note of how he is now, as opposed to how he is after you’ve pressed a single button.
“Agh!” He snarls, hips jumping but moving harder. More presses of the button causes him to shake harder, his eyes going wide and his hips thrusting faster and faster until he hisses that he’s going to cum. He’s going to cum, does he have permission.
“Ohhh, I don’t know, Ozy. Do you deserve it? Do you deserve to seed her? What do you think, my friends?” You look to the audience for their opinion, and a resounding yes is the answer. “Well, the jury has spoken. Cum for me, Sun King. Flood her with your seed.”
Ozy gasps and curls over the drooling, mindless slave, cumming inside her for what seems like forever. When he is finally pulled off her by three muscular servants, his cum dripping in thick strings from her used, puffy pussy. The exhausted female slave is rolled away quietly as you show off Ozy and his cock, still ready and raring to go.
This time a clear cock milker is rolled in and Ozy locked back into his milking stocks, secured tightly so his powerful struggles won’t result in his escape. The milker picks up where he left off, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of him, and yet Ozymandias doesn’t flag, doesn’t let his trembling knees buckle even when you proudly show off the respectable bottle of cum to the crowd.
“How good is that, my friends?” You hand the bottle over to a servant and approach the panting, sweaty, yet still randy Ozy. His cock bobs as you take off the milker, a thin string of pearly cum stretching out as you put the milker off to the side. “So much cum, so much power, and so much stamina. He can fuck from dusk to dawn, this one, and still be ready to fuck again when you’ve presented a pussy, or an ass, to him. And if you want him to be extra primal, extra horny, denying him for days on end will make him absolutely crazy for you.”
Patting Ozy’s dripping shoulder, you point the crop out at your audience. “Now who wants him for the night?”
Every single guest raises their paddle, all buzzing with barely suppressed energy. You grin and point to the first bidder. At this rate you’re going to have to auction him out for the next couple of days. But he’ll love it, even if he looks like he’s going to kill you right now.
Memories of Ozymandias. A goddess touches the ruins and despairs for the lost world and greatness that was once her home. for she knows that nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away. “Shellley” Best viewed on my artstation site https://www.artstation.com/p/Nmvvq
RIAN JOHNSON: The knife fight itself was actually the easiest part of the scene to shoot. And just in terms of the work on set, it was a fun break from the emotionally grueling scenes of catharsis that fill the rest of Moira’s brilliant script.
The Rapgod, The Harlot, The Narcissist, The Ghostface, The Comedian & The Owl “Who watches the Watchedmen?” . . Just some fun don’t get it twisted… . . #thewatchmen #thewatchedmen #eminem #nickiminaj #kanyewest #ghostfacekillah #childishgambino #drake #characterart #illustration #illustrations #characterdesign #2d #adobeillustrator #madina #design #drmanhattan #silkspectre #ozymandias #rorschach #thecomedian #niteowl #madina #drmichigan #pinkspectre #yeezmandias #wuschach . . . Watch this space… madina.co.uk
So are we just going to ignore the fact that this line in Ozymandias’ 2nd Interlude essentially confirms that Proto-Arthur is the Grand Saber? That his constant wandering has likely been in pursuit of a Beast(s)?
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Lostbelt 2 lately, or I suppose it’d be more accurate to say that I’ve been thinking about its implications regarding the “Age of Gods”. Not Scandinavia’s though. Rather, I was thinking about Egypt’s, and specifically how it ended.
There are two ways that the Egyptian Age of Gods could’ve potentially ended. The first would be the death of the last pharaoh, Cleopatra. I want to say that this is the least likely of the two however, because while it’s still by all means significant factoring in the status of the Pharaoh as a “God-King” and the subsequent end of that title, it doesn’t quite encompass as much as an event like Ragnarok did for Scandinavia; an end to all of them.
This is where things get interesting, and ultimately sad for one Pharaoh in particular, because Egypt did experience something similar to an extent, all due to the actions of one man: Moses.
During a class I took on Old Testament History, my professor talked about how each of the plagues was significant; that each one was meant to demonstrate the authority and superiority that God held over Egypt’s gods. In order:
⁃ The Nile turning to blood for Hapi
⁃ Frogs for Heket
⁃ Lice from dust for Geb
⁃ Flies for Kephri
⁃ Death of livestock for Hathor
⁃ Boils and Sores for Isis
⁃ Hail and fire for Nut
⁃ Locusts for Seth
⁃ Darkness for Ra
⁃ And finally, the death of the firstborn for the authority of the Pharaoh.
If we view these plagues as the surpassing, or even potentially the metaphorical “death” of these gods, then the comparison to something like Scandinavia’s Ragnarok is feasible to a degree.
If this is true, then it begins to explain one or two things regarding Ozymandias and his relationship with Moses. His profile mentions Moses as his sworn friend, yet in his interludes, Ozymandias really only refers to him as a saintly figure, then changes the subject or the topic of the conversation entirely. Why? Because of everything that Moses did to his people.
Yet, we know he’s not angry at him either, because what he did was for his own people, not for his own sake, hence the reverence of a “saint”. In the pharaoh’s eyes, Moses was only ever fulfilling his obligation to his people and his God, but he remained unmoved, because he had his own obligations to his people and his gods.
If we ever get Moses in FGO, I hope we get more regarding these two. Maybe even an opportunity for Ozymandias to see his friend’s side of the story. However, until then, this is my headcanon. That Moses was the catalyst for the end of the Egyptian Age of Gods, and yet Ozymandias didn’t blame him, for neither of them were acting for themselves, but for the sake of their people.
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’ Nothing beside remains. Round the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare The lone and level sands stretch far away.
