Konstantin Razumov: The Odalisque
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Horst P. Horst - Odalisque III, New York, 1943
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Morrowind: Uupse Fyr, fourth wife of Lord-Wizard Divayth Fyr, enjoys skooma pipe with apples and shalk resin.
P.S. That is, wife-clone-daughter-benign corprus tumor.
P.P.S. Moon sugar+apples+shalk resin makes a "fortify speed" potion.
Digital painting. Made in Krita (5.1.5).
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Edouard Chimot: Le Odalisque
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Odalisque I & II, by Barry Windsor-Smith.
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Pulling a @hgejfmw-hgejhsf and queuing this to post at midnight! Cause I actually have something to share! I’ve got about 1/4 of my @aroyallybigbangrwrb written, so I may actually hit my deadline! 😊
Without further ado, an excerpt from Odalisque, or where Prince Henry is promised to Prince Alex from birth to serve as his concubine, and spends eight years of his life in seclusion to preserve his virginity. I like to think of this fic as the happy ending spiritual cousin of Rule Britannia.
“You smell different,” Prince Alex declares, apropos of nothing as he sits next to Henry in the sunken garden of Kensington Palace.
Henry is in a foul mood.
The arrival of the Americans for their summer visit is always incredibly disruptive to Henry’s otherwise peaceful existence, and he had little sleep the night before after his Mama’s stern lecture about how Henry ought to conduct himself in front of the American Prince.
It’s not the first time his Mama has made an appeal to the “sweet and obedient creature that must be in there somewhere”. But there had been something particularly unhinged and hurtful about his Mama’s lecture the night before, implying that all the fault for their enmity lay in Henry’s obstinance and not in Prince Alex’s impertinence and general propensity to be an absolute knob. Henry’s Mama pleads for him to grow up, and open his eyes to the possibility that Prince Alexander has matured, and grown into a fine, handsome young man.
His Mama is utterly in denial about the fact that Prince Alex’s appalling manners are incongruous with his external appearance, which even Henry can admit is conventionally – if not strikingly – beautiful. But even more incongruous to his appealing visage is his smell – which Henry wasn’t going to comment on until Prince Alex’s complete lack of self-awareness led him to unfairly question Henry’s own hygiene.
“Yes, and you stink,” Henry declares, pretending to gag as he scoots away . “I heard unemployment is very high in your country – can you not devote the excess labour to the production of deodorant?”
No pressure tags for the greats @sparklepocalypse @priincebutt @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @taste-thewaste @onthewaytosomewhere @orchidscript @piratefalls @bitbybitwrites @sunnysideprince @zwiazdziarka @firenati0n @magicandarchery @thinkof-england @getmehighonmagic @nocoastposts @happiness-of-the-pursuit @wordsofhoneydew @bigassbowlingballhead @itsmaybitheway @suseagull04 @yrsonpurpose @inexplicablymine @ships-to-sail @cha-melodius @leaves-of-laurelin and of course, anyone else who wants to participate!
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Odalisque I by Horst P. Horst, 1943
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A neo-classical painting, showing a thrall revolutionary soldier with spoils.
During the Great Thrall Revolt of 592 AX, many aristocrats were killed or forced to flee their homes. Their possessions were seized by thrall freedom fighters, who took reparations for their years of servitude however they saw fit. The food and booze eventually ran out, but for a period of some weeks thralls ate better than humans anywhere in the Empire, and lived in luxury.
Some of the raided land was later ceded back to the Savic Empire during the peace accord, but thralls helped themselves to anything they liked on the way out. When the mages returned to their homes they found them stripped of valuables, and the buildings themselves burned or defaced with the sign of the coiled snake.
Thrall artisans later reworked the metal of looted silverware. For a while it was fashionable for thrall soldiers to wear trophy necklaces, strung with sigil jewellery from as many different mage clans as possible. Some included teeth and bones from the mages themselves.
You can see more about the world of The Loyal Ones here: https://theloyalones.com/ or in the tag
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Odalisque
A most languid Odalisque
weak as a kitten
He peels oranges and arranges the slices in a circle on a plate,
a tiny sun on her bedside table.
Eat your fruit he demands, it’s good for you.
He plays the guitar for her as ancient as a lute.
He rubs her feet, and let’s his hand move up her leg under the covers.
Ah. You must be feeling better.
He tucks her in.
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