#a living poem of divine light and virile beauty

[everlarkficexchange]

The Raven and The Gods

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 46: Peeta, the Greek god Apollo, hears the most beautiful voice at his temple so he comes down to earth to find this beautiful maiden. Follows how this god falls in love with a mortal and withstand the trials the other gods put them through. [submitted by @animekpopxx​]

  RATING: General (for the foreseeable future)

  TAGS: Greek Mythology AU; Supernatural AU; Apollo!Peeta.

  Author’s note: So this piece is only an introduction of sorts at less than 2500 words. I hope to write the rest in the next few weeks.

  In mythology Apollo is a very busy god. He oversees many aspects of human lives, has many attributes, and has a complexed personality in my opinion. Apollo is one of my favorite Olympians and I’ve always wanted to write something based on him, I just hope this one turns out ok.

KPKPKPKPK

The god of light pulled to a stop in the pristine marble streets of Olympus; his duty to bring the sun to the world finished and weary from his ventures, Apollo dismounted his golden chariot, and allowed the noble Pegasi pulling his transport some rest.

  “Tired my friends?” He asked the two winged horses patting their necks affectionately as the animals nuzzled their master’s arm.

  “Me too.” Apollo smiled softly, then added, “I do not believe ambrosia and nectar will be enough to cure this lethargy that’s taken over me. I am certain it is time I should look at the gathering in my Temple at Delphi, let the restaurative praises of the mortals heal me instead. It’s been a while since I’ve enjoyed the worship of mankind.”

  In a moment, the Pegasi scampered off to feed on Olympian grasses, and the god of light walked to the edge of the Eternal City, where the view of the mortal world shifted under the waning morning. Apollo adjusted his sight, like binoculars focusing on a specific point in the distance. His temple at Delphi rushed at him while the rest of the world resided.

  “Splendid!” Apollo exclaimed when a group of mortals filed through the open doors of the temple.

  The crowd was thick and full, milling about the open space, squeezing by columns and statues depicting a young, beardless youth, viril and strong, showing a variety of Apollo’s many attributes. Half a dozen braziers stood flaming in front of each statue, waiting for people who brought fresh fruit, cereals, laurel wreaths, and even the small sacrificial pray, to burn their offerings to their god. Prayers accompanied the offerings as they fell into the fire, and somewhere in the room a musician played the lyre in a echoing corner.

  Apollo closed his bright blue eyes and took a deep, deep breath. The fragrant odor of the burnt tribute invaded his nostrils and filled his chest, cleansing his aura and renewing his depleted strength with his next exhale. An electric wave crackled around him as the sacrificial smokes ascended coiling rhythmically towards Olympus and the god himself. Every muscle in his body tightened and relaxed in quick succession, giving him another inch or so of mass and strength. His golden hair glistened anew in the glare of the sun while he flexed his fingers, craving the feel of his lyre strings under them.

  Just as he was about to summon the lyre to play along the musician in his shrine, the most beautiful voice he’d heard in millennia cut through the other prayers, the crackling of the consuming fire of offerings, and music previously filling Apollo’s ears.

  It was only a short worship song— one verse sang twice and not a whole stanza at that— but what beautiful voice it was!

  Being the god of music, Apollo’s ears perked up and waited for the rest of the rendition, but nothing else came for two long beats of the heart, and then, the song picked up again, less timid than the first try and even an octave higher.

  Apollo leaned forward on the rail-less edge of his sky high home, and his eyes searched the congregation like hawks seeking prey, but the crowd had thickened out if possible. People pressed against each other, trying to get to the specific braziers they sought out, meanwhile the singing kept gaining strength, and he realized the one he was focused on was merely joining in another two voices that sounded less captivating, but still very charming all the same.

  “Three women,” he gasped, “three women singing, where are they?” But there were hundreds of women singing in various size groups all over the temple.

  With a growl, the god took a step backwards and pushed off the edge of Olympus with the tip of his toes, lunging himself straight down to Earth like a meteor. His arms flushed at his sides at first, suddenly opened at shoulder level and tucking his head down, his whole body shimmered, shrinking and morphing while feathers black as night on a moonless sky replaced sun-kissed, fair skin.

  Apollo swooped inside the temple and flew close to the ceiling, cocking his head here and there, scanning the crowd with tiny black eyes that could still bring into focus a specific section at a time. His bird ears perked up when again the sweet voice he sought lifted above the rest of the singers, and he realized it came from the direction reserved for the healers who worshiped him.

  The bird god flew overhead in a circle, enough times he got the unwanted attention of a priest who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

  “Look!” The priest cried out disrupting the prayers and songs of the other mortals, making Apollo glare in annoyance. “A raven! In the temple!”

  “Is it the wrath of Apollo upon us?” Asked a woman trembling from head to toe.

  The fear picked up like wildfire among the mortals, cowering and accusing one another of imaginary transgressions against their god.

  Knowing keeping his current appearance would hinder his search, Apollo turned the plumage on his body to white, causing the crowd to sigh in relief at the sight of the bird’s new plumage. He flew out a small window at the side of the temple on the opposite wall just as quickly as he’d come in.

  Mortals have the habit of taking omens way too close to heart. Apollo should have known better than to use the form of a creature he’d— for all intents— had cursed by turning its feathers the color of soot, but then again, the raven was his bird, he should be able to use it in whatever circumstance he seemed fit. Instead, he was forced to take on a human form.

  The luminescence of his divine skin muted to a dull glow that simply disappeared the more man-like he appeared. His eyes also lost the light of the sun that filled them, and turned into a bright, cheerful blue. His hair went from golden like the rays of the sun to ashy blond and curly at the ends. He debated whether to grow a beard or stay clean faced as he naturally was… he opted for the latter. Then, he looked down at his robes, still too magnificent to be worn amongst the mortals and remaining incognito. A quick wave of his hand left him wearing a cream color chiton, with a brown chlamys fastened at the shoulder with a small wooden lyre broach. Simple sandals kept his feet properly protected. He could be a traveling peasant and nobody would look at him twice.

  Apollo marched into his temple with a single task in mind: Find the singing woman. He made his way through the crowd still gawking at the ceiling of the temple where the raven had been flying not a minute earlier, others had fallen to their knees with renewed fervor after witnessing how the bird went from bad to good omen with the change of plumage.

  The priest was still standing in the middle of the temple, flapping his arms over his head, chanting loudly some nonsense about Apollo’s power and wisdom. The god made a beeline to the old man, knowing he had to snap him out of the trance so the songs and prayers could resume and he could get back to his search.

  “What an amazing miracle to behold.” Apollo said into the priest’s ear, “The sun is bright, the wind is sweet, call to the lyres, our Lord to please. Music and song is what the gods want, ring out your voices, let your poems fall free.”

  As if hypnotized, the priest stood stock still, his eyes turned glassy, but then he started calling for lyres to carry out a tune, and singers to belt out their praises loudly. His job done, Apollo melted back into the crowd.

  The god of music stuck his arm out and his lyre appeared in his hand out of thin air. It was of course disguised as a common instrument to match its master’s appearance, but it was still the most celestial sound in the place. Soon the voices of the mortals filled the god’s ears and he had to close his eyes to take in all the influx of strength and new life pouring into him. And suddenly, the voice he had momentarily forgotten, hit his senses awake.

  “She’s there!” The god looked to his left, and his feet lead him without stopping. People cleared a path for him with a wave of his fingers until he found himself in the middle of the cluster of healers that followed his cult as patron of medicine and healing.

  Three women holding each other called his attention. One was a downtrodden looking woman who still possessed a certain beauty to herself; the other two were younger, a nervous looking maiden with long, braided hair as dark as Apollo’s ravens and eyes as bright as the full moon; the last one, not much older than a child, blonde and fair as the older woman, with features that resembled both of her companions. The god deduced the three women were kin to one another, and simply inched closer to them, to see if he had found his mystery singer.

He played his lyre an approached the singing trio, convinced it was the source of the voice he craved. The ladies sang to his tune as if under a spell. Apollo saw two of The Muses— Euterpe, goddess of song and lyric poetry; and Polyhymnia, goddess of hymns— come to dance around the mortal women, and smiled at them gratefully, knowing full well they came to help him draw out the singing for as long as the mortals could stand it.

  Normally, mortals can’t see The Muses. They can only feel their presence and respond to their inspirational nudgings, but the gray eyes of the eldest girl fixed on Euterpe. Startled by the apparition, her eyes widened in fear and apprehension. The maiden wrapped her arms around the younger girl’s lithe body and pulled her closer to her chest. A moment later, and without taking her gaze from the goddess, the mortal maid had taken a protective stance shielding the youngster behind her own slim frame.

  The action peaked Apollo’s curiosity.

  Apollo dismiss his goddesses, grateful for their help, he lifted the mist blinding the mortals to the presence of the deities, and free them from the trance The Muses had put on all the followers of their leader gathered in the temple.

  Apollo’s fingers rang out a few more notes on his lyre, and then stopped playing his enchanted music. As if by magic, The Muses disappeared, leaving the mortals confused for a short moment. But humans are forgetful, fickle creatures, all bewilderment wiped off their minds almost immediately.

  Apollo watched the women closely. The older girl released her grip on the youngest, who beamed up a smile as breathtaking as it was sweet.

  “That was amazing, Katniss! Thank you for helping me sing today. I���m sure our songs brought the blessing of the dove to the temple today. I’ve never seen anything alike before.”

  Apollo snorted. Mortals always saw only what they could explain. They witnessed a raven turn it’s feathers white above their heads, and quickly pronounced it a dove instead.

  The older girl’s facial muscles twitched, her lips pursed for a second but then she schooled her expression into a slight smile. “Maybe it was, little duck. Maybe the gods know it is your thirteenth birthday and sent a blessing just for you. I hardly had anything to do with it.”

  “Oh, that’s not true!” The girl whispered, blushing before tackling the maiden with a hug. “You have the most amazing voice. And the blessing was for everyone who saw the dove, not just me. Right, Mama?” The girl turned to the woman who’s soft blue eyes watched the exchange as if afraid to be shooed away.

  “It’s, true. Katniss has the sweetest voice ever. And the blessing is a welcome and most needed sign from our lord, Apollo.”

  “Thank you, mother.” Said the older girl less warmly than how she spoke to the youngster. “I’m sure Apollo enjoyed all the other offerings we brought for him.”

  “Sure he did!” Exclaimed the younger sister. “Lord Apollo is the wisest, strongest and most approachable of all the gods in Olympus.”

  “Shush, Prim!” Chided the big sister, nervous eyes flitting everywhere at once. “We must never compare deities as such. All gods are great in their own rights and none is highest than Zeus himself. All gods are powerful and amazing.”

  “You don’t sound very convinced.” Said Apollo immediately regretting his faux pas as the raven-haired maid’s blood drain from her thin face. “I apologize for intruding. It is not my place.”

  “It is not!” The maiden scowled mightily. “It will do you well to stick to playing your lyre, minstrel!”

  Apollo felt his heart swell.

  It was a well known fact, Apollo, for all his might and attributes, obsessing over hard-to-get romantic interests was his weakness.

  “Minstrel you call me, like it is a disease.” Said the god smirking, “But our Lord Apollo finds the musicians to be bearers of gifts, like joy and beauty.”

  The maiden rolled her eyes. “Of course Apollo would.” She muttered under her breath.

  “Katniss, remember where you are!” Hissed her mother behind a fan, tired blue eyes nervously shifting around.

  Katniss feigned a smile. “Lord Apollo is most gracious unto us. Alas, I am not of his service.” She looked at her family warily, “Mother, Primrose, if you are think that you’ve satisfied Apollo with out offerings, I believe it is time to seek the the priest to bring forth Prim’s name to be considered to start the healer training now that she’s thirteen.”

  “Allow me to escort you, my lady. I’m sure god Apollo is eager to bless his new healer in the making!” The god smiled at Primrose, whose cheeks turn a sweet pink.

  “That will not be necessary, minstrel. We can find the priest on our own just fine.”

  “Peeta, my lady, the name is Peeta Mellark, at your services,” said Apollo at once and without putting too much thought into it, took the maiden’s hand to kiss it.

  As soon as his skin made contact with hers, a series of pictures played in the god’s mind’s eye.

  The air thicken, a mystical aura descended into the temple. The priestess Pythia who sat alone in her tripod stool in the Oracle’s chamber rose her eyes from the basin full of water and laurel leaves, the spirit of the Python hissing in her veins.

  Pythia rose from her perch and marched into the public side of the temple, causing an uproar, the high priest rushed to the Oracle, frightened by her presence on a day she was not meant to be consulted, but before the man could inquire what had moved her to the crowd, she spoke, facing in the general direction of the healers section.

  “I am Pythia, Oracle of Delphi, servant of Apollo, hear my voice and heed my warning.”

  The Oracle walked to the cluster of healers with eyes shining and hair flowing. Her white chiton covered her thighs and her feet were bare. She made no sound as she walked a straight line almost in front of Apollo, butat the last second, the woman turned her face to a trembling Katniss.

  “You who fear great losses, will be overcome by hope.

Don’t let the emotions fool you, don’t run away from fear. Embrace your weakness, let go of sorrow. Welcome freedom and hold fast to the rising sun, the dandelion in the spring, the promise of a better dawn. Don’t be fooled by the arrow and the storm. Time is upon you, and the trials ahead will rival the heroes quests. Hold fast to the dandelion in the spring.”

  Pythia stumbled backwards, and Apollo caught her in his arms gently, turning her over to the priests to look after her. When Apollo looked back, the three women were gone.

[toddrogersfl]

Vintage men’s fragrance advertising down the decades

To celebrate National Men’s Grooming Day, we thought we’d share this article by novelist, blogger and columnist Maggie Alderson from ‘The Magic of Mimosa’ edition of The Scented Letter – which looks at men’s scent ads new and old…

Spending an afternoon than researching pictures for a feature about great aftershave advertisements can have quite an effect on you. Holy plumped pectorals! After five minutes browsing muscular torsos and manly gazes, I didn’t know whether to take a cold shower or dance a tango.

But once you really study these images (as opposed to just drooling over them) it becomes clear that there is in fact a lot more to this genre than photographs of ridiculously beautiful men.

In-depth scientific research (ahem…) reveals that they fall into four main categories, which involves said living gods wearing one of four outfits: practically nothing, a suit of superb cut, sporting attire, fancy dress.

But whichever of those it is, the very best aftershave print ads share one thing, in my opinion; they consist of nothing more than the picture and the name and brand of the fragrance. There’s not even a smart tag line – yet these heavenly images create an entire world, telling a story that draws you in wanting to know more. And makes you very keen to lean in and smell that particular man’s neck…

Here are some favourites from the archives – and a few vintage classics that show how not to do it, perhaps.

HOT, HOT, HOT

Giorgio Armani Acqua di Gio

This was a masterstroke of casting, taking all-American blond hunk Jason Morgan and photographing him in moody black and white. Mr. Morgan’s astonishing blue eyes are his calling card, but who knew they’d be even more arresting in greyscale? One of the greatest aftershave photographs of all time, taken by Matthew Brookes, with that serious expression adding dreamy depth. There is also a video… Have your fan ready. And a mint julep.

Chanel Allure Homme Sport

Probably the medal winner in the sporting genre, the series of Spanish super dude Andrès Velencoso Segura – ex-squeeze of Kylie Minogue – with a surf board stopped me in my tracks when I first saw it (and inspired the leading man in my novel ‘Everything Changes But You’). It’s the combination of hunky, yet sensitive, which is so devastating. Senor Velencoso has his mum’s name tattooed over his heart and loves dogs. I’m working on finding out his favourite biscuit.

Dolce & Gabbana Light Blue

Our very own David Gandy wearing little more than his birthday suit and showing how it is possible for art to improve on nature. Even the azure waters of the Amalfi coast are enhanced by his white Speedo-clad proximity. And how could a fragrance associated with a scene so pleasing to the eye smell anything but divine?

Dior Eau Sauvage

Here’s one that spans the genres – it could equally fit in Famous, because while the ad appeared in 2105, this bearded beauty is none other than French actor Alain Delon, snapped in his youthful glory in 1966, the year this most classic of Colognes was launched.

It would also fit in Story. That little frown…what just happened? Who was she? Is he about to write a poem, jump off a cliff, or sail off into the horizon? We’ll never know, but it’s so easy to imagine that lemon-y herby sillage trailing behind him as he goes.

          STORYTELLING

Dior Eau Sauvage

Could this be the most iconic aftershave advertisement of all time? Part of the wonderful series of works legendary fashion illustrator René Gruau created for the brand, somehow this gorgeous – fictional – man’s entire sophisticated, sexy, city life is conveyed by this cheeky image of a most personal moment, through a half-closed bathroom door. I know I’m not the only person whose entire ideal of what a man should be like was inspired in childhood by seeing these advertisements…

Michael Kors for Men

The American designer is the current master of the atmospheric advertisement, reaching standards set by Martini commercials in the 1960s, conveying the sense of lives of perfect insouciant glamour. It took Martini a couple of minutes of film of ski lifts, helicopters and white horses on beaches, plus an iconic theme tune to achieve it; somehow Mr Kors pulls it off with one picture. Where exactly was this open-shirted hottie last night? Who was he with and where’s he off to now? Is he getting into that seaplane landing behind him? Are his tanned feet bare, below those white jeans? Is that a gun in his pocket or…? Whatever he smells of, we like it.

Givenchy Gentleman

Swoon. That’s the only word to describe this photograph. While the frontal lobe of our brain might try to tell us it’s just beautiful models in a studio doing what they’re told, the imagination immediately has other ideas. You can practically feel the skin on skin. How they managed to convey such passion in one shot is quite miraculous and you just want to know more. Is their embrace illicit? Or are they reunited after a long spell of enforced separation? I’m feeling army (could be those shoulders…). To me this is Prince Andrei and Natasha from War and Peace and oh my lord, do I need to smell him, the most romantic character in literature, ever. Swoonavich.

Guerlain Habit Rouge

As befits the most classic of French perfume houses, this image has a more metaphorical feeling to it – the romance between a man and his horse, rather than that old une femme et un homme storyline. But is it a real horse, or an imaginary one? An expression of his innermost feelings? His essence (said in a French accent). Or, when you consider the meaning of the aftershave’s name Habit Rouge, which is French for a huntsman’s red coat, does it represent the male’s eternal hunt for a mate? Whatever – cor!

Aramis by Aramis

Forget the silly text – which modern advertising has shown really isn’t needed. This brilliant 1980s picture says it all for Aramis. She’s a modern girl and she likes what she smells so much she’s got him pinned up against the fridge. He’s not going anywhere until she’s fully explored all those intriguing wormwood and leather notes. But where have they been in their black tie outfits? Whose kitchen is it? And why does he look a little bit uncomfortable with his hands in his pockets? Might somebody be about to come in and surprise them?

FAMOUS FACES

David Beckham Urban Homme

Aftershave ads featuring famous chaps fall into two types – famous faces modelling for the brands and famous men who are the brand. David Beckham is a classic of the latter with seven aftershaves to his name, plus spins on those – all of them promoted by this sporting living national treasure in different moods. Sometimes casual in a classic T, showing off his tatts (Instinct Sport and Beyond Forever), in a fetchingly undone black tie (Instinct Gold Edition), or here in his full metrosexual glory in an immaculate mohair suit and crisp white shirt, ready for dinner at the coolest restaurant in town.

Jimmy Choo Man

The Jimmy Choo man is dark and brooding, a modern warrior in urban leathers and biker boots, ready to swoop to the aid of a damsel in distress – possibly because she is wearing such very high heels. And who better to pull that off than dark and brooding actor Kit Harington, Game of Thrones’ tortured hero Jon Snow, who looks born to smell of suede and patchouli?

Mont Blanc Homme Exceptionnel

A sub-genre of the famous man aftershave advert is the man who is famous for something specific, not acting or modelling, or owning the brand. Brut owns the concept, with their legendary 1970s commercials with Henry Cooper. Other sportsmen featured included tennis player Vitus Gerulatiis, racing driver James Hunt and American footballer Richard Todd. Montblanc run a posher version of this, featuring men exceptional violinist (and hot tottie) Joshua Bell.

Bing Crosby

If you’re going to go famous, why not go pure legend? LA based toiletries outfit Courtley Ltd. did, with a Father’s Day ad for their ‘virile Courtley fragrance’ in 1946. The backdrop photo of His Bingness looks as though it might have been sent out by the publicity department of Paramount Studios which was also promoting his new film Road to Utopia on the ad, but a more personal connection has been shoed in by adding a cunning gift tag to the ‘flagons’ (their word) making the gift set appear to be a gift from four of his six sons. Can’t see David Beckham’s team trying that stunt.

VINTAGE TREASURES

Old Spice

‘Joan Daly says she likes it when men wear Old Spice’. Likes what, exactly? But the finger resting playfully on lips and the position of her right hip ready to move into the twerking position gives a hint. The lower tag line is brilliant in its disingenuous simplicity. ‘Girls like it. Is there a better reason to wear Old Spice?’ Ms Daly was Miss Massachusetts in 1953.

Centaur

‘Are you ready for Centaur?’ Frankly not. If the ads looked like this, what on earth did it smell like? Goat blankets? The image alone is terrifying, but wait til you read the copy. ‘It’s the massage cologne. Half man, half beast, all male!’ proclaims the headline.

And also a little bit sex toy, it would seem: ‘Out of the Wild and Violent days of ancient Greece comes the exciting concept of Massage Cologne… Massage CENTAUR [so manly it always has to be written out in caps] into your arms, legs and loins. CENTAUR [can you hear us at the back?] has no alcohol [their itals] to irritate, so it massages with comfort into sensitive areas.’

SENSITIVE AREAS. [my caps]. But wait! There’s more: ‘CENTAUR adds a delightful new dimension to your body, a low level aroma that hovers close to the skin for hours, transmits its virile message only in moments of close and intimate contact.’

A virile low level aroma, like around hip level… Basically it seems to be perfume for his nether regions.

Brut

His rakish eye patch (not available on the NHS) and general air of nudity are just red herrings. This ad is really all about the way he is grasping the, er, shaft of that Brut bottle. But that really is a very small cigarillo.

Denim

There’s something rather contemporary about this image – and it still has sex appeal. It’s just the name of the fragrance that adds the cheese. But then you get on to the copy, clearly written in the afterglow of a 1970s ad agency creative department expenses lunch.

‘DENIM. For the man who doesn’t have to try too hard. He doesn’t have to. Things come easy for the man who wears DENIM (trademark). Because a man feels better. A man feels cooler.’

Despite seemingly being permanently off their trams on Beaujolais nouveau and Black Forest gateau, this shows what geniuses those copywriters were at subconscious messaging. Read it carefully and you’ll see that this blurb has several key words planted in it: hard, easy, feels and man. Next stop, CENTAUR?

Tabac

‘Peter Wyngarde smells… great’ declares this ad for Tabac. How could we ever have thought otherwise? As the magnificently coiffed, Windsor-knotted and luxuriantly moustached Jason King, his performance was OTT top you could practically smell his aftershave through your TV screen. Really worth checking out on YouTube if you are too young to have witnessed Mr. Wyngarde’s hilarious delivery in this early 70s classic TV show. He makes Austin Powers look demure.

Written by Maggie Alderson maggiealderson.com

The post Vintage men’s fragrance advertising down the decades appeared first on The Perfume Society.

from The Perfume Society https://perfumesociety.org/vintage-mens-fragrance-advertising-down-the-decades/