#of what ive posted so far its probably gone through the most rounds of edits which is pretty typical for my more action-oriented scenes

[audliminal]

Survivability Bias Pt 3

Masterpost

Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.

Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.

Wait, no. Those are real sirens.

In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.

I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.

The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.

Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.

He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 

Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.

They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.

Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...

Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.

“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least

“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.

“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.

“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.

“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.

“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 

Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.

“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 

“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-

Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.

He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.

“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”

Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.

“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.

“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.

“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.

Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.

Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.

What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.

He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.

It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.

Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.

“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.

Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.

“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.

“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”

“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...

Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 

“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.

“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”

“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.

“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”

“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.

[littleeyesofpallas]

Was chatting with a coworker the other day and two things crossed my mind...

that I've been at this weeb shit so long that I forget what I just sort of take for granted and what might not be commonly known little factoids, and

that VIZ's attempt at a monthly Shonen Jump magazine has been gone so long most people probably never saw them. (nevermind the old RAIJIN Graphic Novels that tried the same thing)

So, here's some fun little things you might not have known about manga if you've only ever read English publications and/or digital scans...

For one, there's the matter of print formatting... In general, Japan actually uses their own standards for print that tend to differ from those in the US; The JIS(Japanese Industrial Standards) series A and B. Magazines like the typical anthology format manga are printed in JIS B5, which is comparable to the US Letter standard, or the ISO A4.

This was the same format that RAIJIN Comics printed in as well, and although I don't have a copy of the old English Shonen Jump for reference, if memory serves they printed in the same format as well in an attempt to really sell that "authentic" manga feel. Sadly, I don't know that the effort or attention to detail was much appreciated. Neither published a volume comparable to a Japanese weekly or even monthly serial magazine, though --not by a long shot. But this might not be the most practical for comparrison, since there actually just isn't much of an English language equivalent format. (unless you count actual magazines that happen to include comic illustrations or miniscule comic strip segments)

Despite the mammoth size of a serial magazine, Japanese tankoban are actually smaller than the North American equivalent. But notably the Japanese small book format isn't just a matter of contending with nearest print standards... What I believe is the JIS B40(although I could be wrong) tends to be the standard print size of small books in general, not just manga, and it's a print size that is only marginally smaller than VIZ's standard size manga, but with the very particular benefit of being deliberately portable. The small difference in size is the difference between a Japanese manga fitting in my coat pocket where as the English equivalent can't.

(I realize I photographed a copy of Shonen ACE, and not Weekly JUMP, but I measured a copy of Weekly JUMP for the thickness and not the copy of ACE; the copy of JUMP was around 506pg, while the copy of ACE was 570pg. Those are both older though, and the most recent digital copy i have of Weekly JUMP actually had around 520pg)

And I don't think it's always addressed just what a difference there is, culturally, in how Japan approaches the print medium. It's kind of an old cliche by this point, and I don't know how accurate it's remained in the past decade or so, but the quintessential image passed around between comic nerds has always been the Japanese bullet train; A place packed with commuters all passing their transit time with isolated preoccupation with music and/or reading, with manga being the king of this time killing arena. And its not just about sheer popularity driven by interest, American comic vendors have long envied the sheer accessibility of manga in Japan.

Here in the U.S. we used to have a thriving newsstand retail scene for comic books, and a kind of similar ease of grab and go comic purchase, rather than the explicitly niche interest driven "direct market" model that has been slowly but surly strangling the comic market ever since. But in Japan serialized manga has remained in relatively quick, impulse friendly, arm's reach of readers on the go. And what lubricates that business model more than anything is price.

I still remember a time when VIZ dominated the English manga market by offering at $7.95(and am I crazy or am I remembering a time when it got down to $6.99?) but now'days it's settled on a low end of $9.99. You know how much the recent vol.29 of My Hero Academia goes for? ¥484. That's less than $4.50.

You know how much that big ass magazine with 500+ pages and 21 different series goes for? Do you think it's more or less than the little pocket-size tankoban? Did you guess something close to ¥290? That's less than $2.75. But how does something bigger in both page size and page count managed to sell for less???

There are a few secrets to that, but one is that the things are packed to the gills with ads. But that's the boring answer. The other feature contributing to keeping an accessible cost on weekly/monthly manga is something we don't think about much in the U.S.; it's the paper and print quality.

The nice little books are printed in what you might expect as far as starch white paper and clean black inks, but those big honkin' phone book(do people still know what phonebooks look like??) size magazines are printed on cheap recycled pulpy newpaper with typically rough print jobs. This is most noticeable in the quality of solid blacks, and when scanning the texture of "white" space.

(I tried to take individual photos of different series chapters to show off the fact that the paper is differently colored... but my phone's camera seems to be smart enough to auto balance that kind of thing when there's no other context to anchor it to. (It doesn't help that it's night and my lights have a harsh yellowing glow to them.) but on th left you can still kind of see the different paper colors; this particular issue alternated every 3 chapters between pink-ish, green/gray, a kind of off-white/gray, and sepia, but I've also seen blue-ish, oranges, and a different shade of yellow different from the sepia-ish one.)

Back in ye olden days when it came to fan scanlations, more slapdash teams and projects would often stumble over levels in photoshop (too much black and the pulpy paper texture shows up as grainy shadows, but too far white and the edges of lineart get crunchy and ugly) but those who had more robust readership and a regular streamlined flow of work, we'd actually go in and touch up the solid blacks and whites by hand. We'd also redraw art to erase overlaid text so the type setters could lay the new English in over top.

(Weekly Jump: Left, Bleach tankoban: Right)

They do however keep a few coveted color pages in better quality paper and ink. In contrast, the standard quality tankoban actually don't include color pages at all, and just print what had been color pages in grayscale. There are also all kind of irregularities between publishers and special editions and such, but on the most basic level this difference in quality both keeps serial prices down, while also incentivizing tankoban purchase.

In the U.S. we might still have the draw of an ad-free reading experience in our TPB, but the print quality between a biweekly issue and a TPB are basically the same. Incidentally, even though manga are generally drafted at a much larger scale than even the serial magazine proportions anyway, the scaled down size of the tankoban also serves to sharpen the image. When put side by side the nice clean tankoban print looks noticeably better than the serial.

Now'days the English scanlation scene seems to be conducted almost entirely through ripped digital releases (at least as far as I can tell with popular, regular weekly titles) which is great for quality, frankly, but it does kind of lack the charm and personal touch of a band of amateurs finding round about solutions to a convoluted bootlegging pipeline. But obviously I'm a little biased.

[edit]: Oops i posted this without really ending it in any sensible ro conclusive way... I feel like ive lost sight of the point since i first drafted this but I guess its mostly just me pining after if we could just get super cheap, disposable quality, bulk manga in that classic Japanese magazine model to work here in the states. I already tend to sell manga in big runs, even at $9.99+, and frequently I'll have customers put volumes back, or clearly want the next volume but just can't afford it and wait to come back. If I could sell these customers more volumes, and more importantly more titles, at the same price, I would love to. I would love to see these things fly off the shelves. I would love to see people keeping up with multiple series. I would love to see someone look at a 44vol long series and actually feel like that's a number of volumes they can afford.

[pinkpoundcake]

DESERT DEVIL

CH. 1 THE HISS

All Might/ Reader as Female OC

NSFW AU ( Yes there’s smut)

4k+ words

Here’s the first chapter of something I’ve been working on during off time at school. I like writing drastically different AUs, because they give me a lot liberties. I intend for this to be a short series, so maybe two or three more chapters after this one. Hope ya enjoy if you read! 

I’m not sure if FF.net will allow second person, so I’m posting it here. I aint got no AO3. I also apologize for any mistakes! I’ll go back an’ fix as I see em. 

EDIT: Went back and fixed some things. Also, I changed the category of this fic. I’m warning the reader that you’re an OC! Kinda like you’re a preset character in a dating sim? If that makes any sense. Those be my only terms of free service. 

I.

Dusk had gone and night finally draped over the still view of the valley. You were a silly girl, really. No one in their right mind would pick now of all times to draw water from one of the wells. Maybe once upon a time they would have. It wasn't impractical to wait until the sun stopped cracking its infernal whip to get things done, but once upon a time, the valley had nothing to fear.

II.

You were walking quickly. You kept your wooly head low as you neared the crudely built structure. Only one bucket of water. No one would mind. You just couldn't go to bed with a clear conscience without finally giving your poor, overworked horse something to drink. You'd take the risk, because glory knows you hated having cottonmouth. It was cottonmouth season...all year round it felt, except for the few praise inducing weeks the sky would show mercy and weep. Dry mouth, dry eyes, dry coat, dry everything. Such is the way of the desert.

You gave your heavy water bag a hard yank to make sure it was sealed before you hightailed it back to your plot. The locust had stopped gossiping in the weeds, and it was making you nervous.

III.

You were the sort of gal who liked to blend in, but your talents made that hard. You had an ability, A Gift, as folks liked to call these sorts of things, that made you incredibly valuable for trade.

You engaged in it as well, because you had to, to get along, but it made you an easy volun-telling target for other croppers and craftsmen and all manners of citizens with business

“Could you chat with this fellow for me? He speaks...sumfin’. The hell if I know. He owes me money.”

“Tell that eastern cheapskate I won't go any lower on price!”

“Hey, goat girl, tell the front counter dame in the Apothecary she's welcome in my bunk any time of day~”

First of all, you were a sheep. Second of all...fine.

IV.

Your Gift was nice for the most part. You had your own upper hand when it came to sale. You could understand anyone, no matter the spoken language. Absolutely essential for such an oddly diverse patch of scorched Earth. You could even help filter a speaker to an entire audience if you held their hand. You didn't like to advertise that though, otherwise the mayor and sheriff and whoever else, would be breathing down your neck even more than they did now.

If no one around knew you, then they usually assumed your appearance was all there was to your Gift. So, what you loved most was eavesdropping. Conversations were mostly mundane in other languages. That's how talking worked, but there were days when you were served some pretty interesting dirt or juicy news by unknowing hosts.

They're going to start rationing water tomorrow. Some serious limits, I reckon.

I didn't think it would be this bad this year?! It rained just enough in the early season, didn't it? I wonder where it all goes.

You wonder the same. It gets worse and worse every year. Every year it's a point of serious tension. They don't call this valley Struggler for nothing. Struggling was this town's first, middle, and last time. Maybe it's old maiden name, too.

The commonality is, is that if you made it halfway through the desert, you stopped in this crowded, little town and clung to it for dear life. You personally knew what it was like. Everyone knew what it was like, to fear that you weren't going to make it to The Oasis at the end of your journey. After the promenade that chewed you up, and spat you out, you don't even try.

We don't have enough water for all the people we keep letting stay here!

But what kind of person could keep a cold heart here? What would it take to let someone waste away elsewhere, or worse, face the beast this desert had to offer.

The Hiss.

More chilling than a rattlesnake's warning.

V.

This broad blue sky. The hard clay and sand beneath his form, the cacti, the dry bones and evaporated watering holes. Every scavenger to circle overhead belonged to him.

The hard, hot wind. The mirages that danced in nauseating ribbons. They were his. He could lift his head, and think about howling to his old lovers, the stars, if he still had the singing voice. But he lost that a long time ago with one of his lungs.  He was getting old, too, but his bloodlust was getting stronger every year, along with a lot of puzzling urges.

He hated that he could only claim his seared kingdom at night, but it couldn't be helped. He was a partial coward who couldn't hope to understand himself. He still had a deep sense of decency. He was a hypocrite, in a sense. He didn't want to be a bother during the day, if he was such a big bother at night. But being a menace at night was to be a nuisance in the day, regardless.

And nuisance was...too light of a word. Far too light. Crows in his sunflowers were nuisances. Locust in his house were nuisances.

Him?

Oh, he was

VI.

“A killer...A fuckin’ killer!”

You watched as the town sheriff swore and covered the body of a, now former, foreman with a bit of canvas. Splotches of blood bloomed in the fabric over the inclines of the older man's face. From what you saw, he was mauled real good. Or...bad. A big bite right out of his jugular, clavicle, and most of his left shoulder. You weren't the only sick one in the crowd. You would have upchucked your breakfast if this wasn't something you were becoming accustomed to.

First it was Mr. Dandy, gnawed out chest, who used to rally up hunting parties with the German twins who could shoot right out of their fingers, no guns needed. Then it was Eclair, you didn't know her last name, who sold pungent perfume from her own sweat out of her tacky little shop. Y'all never found her head. Big Cat Capri from Cameroon, was torn in two. Though he was a menace with a forgettable Gift that wasn't much missed. Then there was another fellow. Japanese you think, but actually he was still limping around somewhere.

The only one to see The Beast and live… The fella's pretty busted up as far as you know.

Anyway, time for another funeral.

VII.

Speaking of that old Japanese fellow…

You didn't give him much of a glance at any given day, but you could see him  out of the corner of your squared pupils, watching you hand off chunks of unwashed wool to craftsmen who were probably going to fashion saddles or boots. It wasn't quite the right time to start plucking from your melon patch, or any of the desert dates, so you were selling off some old stock of your hair. Everyone knew it was your hair, and no one really cared.

God, you couldn't recall his name. You've never actually heard him speak, but the fella always sat at the posts near the trading square and just watched the street; waiting for someone with their hands full to need help lacing up their boots. Or for someone's goat to go astray so he could bring it back to them. Or to help some kid out on errands tether their family horse. You wonder why he would go through those little efforts on a limp. He walked with a cane, bright red like a dragon, with a yellowing cattle horn handle. He wore a big brimmed, leather hat so that he didn't catch perpetual sunburn, thick slacks, a poor fitting button up that used to be white, and strapped riding boots, too, but no spurs.

He was a strange sight, you noted with slight nervousness as he stood, and then made his way over to your shabby booth. He was a tall, tall, tall fella. Tall and skinny, like he didn't fancy eating much. You knew a couple of people who were like that. He had wild, blonde hair, he obviously didn't comb. And honestly, he had the prettiest blue eyes. At least you assumed they were. He was swallow enough that his eyes were sunk deep beneath his brow, but that blue struck out like an aimed double barrel. It made you wonder what he looked like when he was a colt.

“Afternoon, sir,” You cleared your throat. You watched his face to gauge how much he understood you. You didn't want to be rude. “No food. Just some wool today.”

The older man, squinted, seemingly thinking, and then gestured to your freshly sheared head with the handle of his cane.

“It's all mine, yes.” You laughed and scratched one of your horns to release some of your anxiousness.

“How...How much for it?” His accent was somewhat thick, but you were happy you wouldn't have to reach out and grab one of his massive hands to get on some equal ground.

“Five pieces for a small bundle. Ten for the big bundles there.” You watched the fellow consider which size, and then finally he made a decision. Slowly he lifted one of the large cottony wads, and then absentmindedly brought it to his nose. He gently inhaled the intriguing scent there.

You stared, perplexed, and confused. He seemed to pick up on your confusion, and righted himself. He gave you his own awkward smile, almost an apology for…whatever that was. He counted out ten small pieces for you, politely dipped his head with a thank you, and then moseyed along.

Strange…

VIII.

He was drunk. Absolutely drunk, and he'd never had a drop of liquor in his life. Tequila couldn't have been stronger than this. Your scent, your scent was so...He didn't know.

Good.

It made him hungry for things he'd forgotten the name of, forgotten how to describe. He didn't know what he was doing alone in the shack he called his home. Hiding his shame maybe. He'd locked the door with the big expensive chains and padlocks ( that were decor at this point) from the top shelf hours ago as night began to fall. He was paranoid, and feeling ravenous for a completely different, mysterious reason from what he was used to.

He held your wool in one hand, pressing it flush to his nose as he paced from one side of his home to the other. The misaligned floor groaned and weazed beneath his heavy, bare footsteps. His shadow, flickered from a candle or two, and swept the peach papered walls like a dark, lumbering menace.

What was it that he wanted now?!

He didn't understand himself anymore! There was no one to teach him his purpose.

He inhaled again, deep. His exhale emerged with a low rumble.  It rattled the chains strapping the front and back door, and shifted the glass in the kitchen window.

It was happening again much too soon.

There used to be a time when he could command the other half of himself. Where he could be whoever he wanted, whenever, but now he was stripped to nothing but incomprehensible impulses.

His wrath. His hunger. His pride.

Something new. His lust.

IX.

You just finished putting the blanket on Kissy, your horse, when the stars began to rub the long day from their eyes and glint down at you. Though still warm, the wind rolled over your fuzzy scalp and settled in the cooling sweat beneath your dark hide. You rubbed your arms, figuring you could use a blanket, too. Your draft's loud chewing in the stable cover was a calming background noise as it mingled with your thoughts. The flat distance, with it's mountainous levels was a pretty sight, despite being empty.

You've always wanted to roam at night, finally figure out what that fabled Oasis was on the other side of hell. You hoped it was heaven, or something close.  You wanted to explore more than your town, to see what was out there while the sun wasn't scheduling your funeral. You were bored of being too scared. Stressed with not having enough of the bare minimum essentials. Lonely, too. Kissy kept you company, maybe, but he wasn't all that good with conversation or cooking.

He wasn't good at stopping you from taking 'walks’ either. You found all sorts of excuses for yourself to roam at night. Kissy needed more water, or you needed to find some wild aloe for a wound, or you needed to find sand grubs for your greedy gossip of chickens.

Excuses, excuses.

Mr. Aizawa, was another Japanese fellow (you think), who wasn't the sheriff, but probably could have been. He'd tell you you were full of excuses. The town had a curfew of sorts to 'keep people safe’. Under what authority this curfew came from, you had no clue. If you were caught, the runner up sheriff hogg tied you with a lasso and a warning, and dragged your sorry, law breaking ass back home. Or fined you. Something like that.

He had an annoying Gift that kept others from using their Gifts to get away. You didn't know how he did it. Much to what was probably Deputy Aizawa's disdain, he was plucked out of the crowd the day he arrived. He had a scruffy grifter appearance, but the fellow was awfully strict, perfectly bilingual in relation to you, and knew  exactly what your own Gift entailed, so you couldn't pretend you didn't understand any of his honorary demands.

You didn't even give yourself a chance to consider he might be out and about on patrol. You didn't even consider where the hell you were going. All you knew was that you were:

Literally and figuratively hard headed.

And

Dumb as rocks because it was half past night noon, and anywhere beyond the aloe thicket was Hiss county.

The danger zone.

X.

A scent was a scent was a scent. Something to follow to a target. His prey were rotten. He caught the next foul stench on the hit list floating on the western wind. It filled his flared nostrils and made his mouth water with anticipation. His long, thick fingers were still raw and full of splinters from clawing his way out from his pathetic attempts at shutting himself in.

The night was a blur. He was unbothered by the grit he kicked up in his full run. Adrenaline pumped in his veins with the incredible accumulation of power that drove him. There was a roar in his ears. Something he rushed by sliced him; thin little scratches in several places, but he didn't notice. His heart thrashed beneath his ribs as he sensed himself drawing closer and closer.

Wait.

Suddenly, he came to a halt, giving the surrounding weeds severe whiplash.

Everything aside from his heart and his laboured breathing were still. Not a sound from any creature. Nothing was brave enough to disturb him.

There was something... something else on the wind he wanted much, much more that seemed to be coming from the same direction.

XI.

The last thing you wanted to hear was a voice while you were trying to be sneaky. You kept your body low and tucked your tail close to the full round of your bottom. It was going so nicely, your 'stroll’. You were going to take some notes in one of your books, maybe stuff some natural souvenirs in your pocket, and then head back home.

You held still for a while and used a few big, healthy stragglers of agave as your cover. You were hearing the voice again, now two voices. You didn't know what dialect they were speaking, so you closed your eyes, and used your Gift.

He's been shelling out a lot for this reroute. Keeping a lot of people's mouths shut. It's gonna be a lot harder to get this done without the foreman.

Yeah, I thought that, too. It's strange. I'm sorta...spooked. Mr. Dandy and now him. You’d think this whole thing was cursed.

Or someone knows…

They looked mauled, couldn't have been some poor bastard with a pistol.  What do they call the thing that's been chewing people up?

Depends on who you talk to. Yok... something. Yokay? Yokai? Chupacabra, though it's not gettin’ goats, that's for sure. Werewolf. Howler. Beast. Plain old monster.

I just hope it's a coincidence. I don't want to be next…

Now...what in the world we're these fellers talking about? You frowned while quietly slinking around to another perch. You watched your footing and hoped they would talk more, but now they were getting further and further away. Headed…somewhere.

Somewhere you kept your eye on. Might want to check it out next time you take a stroll.

XII.

The air pressure flipped like a coin  and cut through your moment of reprieve.

Bullseye.

You were so shocked you couldn't even scream. It was caught in your throat with a pinch of desert sand. Something massive and unyielding and menacing had ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

The sky was spinning round and round as the earth teetered wild on its axis. The moon was mocking you. The stars cackled as they danced, blurry streams trailing like faded candle lights behind them.

There was a black patch of sky that didn’t budge, and it only held two stars far above that didn't move either. Because they weren't stars,

they were vivid blue eyes.

XIII.

This was it. This was how you were going to die.

You were already nauseous from hitting you head, and now you were nauseous from hitting reality. You couldn't make a sound, could hardly breathe. Your throat burned like a shot of fireball. Your eyes were wide as you tried to make out the Beast's form. It was hard, with hot tears in your eyes, now shrouding the moon’s pale light. You could hear him, though, the hiss of death. It was high pitched, akin to the sizzle of a hot brand.

Would it have ripping fangs when it bit you? We're those its claws digging into your ankles as it dragged you elsewhere? You were in a bit of pain, and you could sense the stickiness of blood on your back, but you were mentally preparing yourself for a lot more. Images of the sheriff draping canvas over your mangled body caused you to wretch.

You were so stupid!!!!! SO GODDAMN STUPID. HOW COULD YOU PUT YOURSELF IN THIS SITUATION? NO WEAPON. NO NOTHING.  THIS IS WHAT YOU GET. HOW COULD YOU-

It stopped.

You stopped.

Confusion boxed you good over the ears.

You were staring up into the face of a man now, and he was staring right back at you.

Your confusion subsided into renewed fear. He was just a man, but the most unnaturally large man you had ever seen. Large was the wrong word. He was...immaculate. A threadbare shirt was struggling to hold itself together as his massive chest flexed. He had a heavily shadowed face and unreadable, though somewhat tense expression. His golden hair stood upright on his forehead head, like a red bat's ears or jack rabbit. Pure, wild, chaotic energy wafted from the heat of his skin. He shifted slightly while sizing you, and your eyes darted to the massive, bear paw of a calloused hand on the other side of your head.

He could sneeze and snap your neck. You believed he could tear a man in two. Oh God in heaven, he did! And you were next!

The Beast made a sudden movement, and you shut your eyes. You clenched everything from your horned head, to your cleft, hooven toes, and waited.

You had no choice but to hold your breath as his big, otherworldly body pressed into yours. It felt like being pressed between something more solid than a rock, and a really hard place. His breath, that you realized was rushed, cooly ghosted your forehead. Was he going to take your noggin like Eclair and mount it over his fireplace?

Greedily, he was drinking in your scent. So much stronger, so much better right from the source. He had to sample more of you. Sip you. Lap you up.

Where was it?! Where was more?!

You didn't think you could tense beyond how much you were tensed now, but you did as his nose left your head to wedge its way up into your neck. You felt the unnatural rumble of his voice in the hollows of your bones, filling your throat and chest. You prepared for hard, life ending bites, but all you received we're moderately painful nips and what could only be described as sloppy kisses. He received the sensation of kissing your fur with intrigue and almost groomed it with a big, wide tongue.

You didn't know what to say, or what to do. He hadn't said a word. You didn't know if the brute mounting you was really human, or …Something. Was all of this even real? Or were you home, wet dreaming about a good rut in your bunk again?

He needed more! More! More! More! Where was more of you?!

He left you one last bite on your shoulder that you were ashamed made you bellow out like the animal you were similar to. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late, the sound excited him. His nose grazed you, his rapid breaths through his nose like the pumping steam from a piston, a panting dog, frantically looking for more of your tastes and smells. Your clothes were in his way, but he didn't have the patience or current cognition to remove them.

He rubbed his cheeks against your generous chest, nipped your stomach through your tattered apron, and then zipped straight to your crotch. You were shocked as he unashamedly, obliviously, pressed his face there and very audibly inhaled. There was another rumble, loud enough to buzz through your entire body.

“A-Ah!” You cried out. The sharp, pleasurable tingle and sting from his deep voice, the pressure from his cheeks, and the heat of his breath was sudden. You were so…you were…

You could end this year's drought right here, right now.

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to access the situation. To think! To sort out what in the HELL was happening, but he had ripped through your overalls with his teeth and was lapping at your plump pussy through your knickers. He'd sniffed out the wetness that had slickened the fabric and was eager to taste. You moved closer and hissed out a pathetic Yeeessss!

Whimpering, you tried to push yourself up on your elbows. Your shoulders hit some hard, cool clay and the back of your head scraped more of the rough rock there. He was suckling like a thirsty calf, drawing the fabric of your knickers into the heat of his mouth along with your long, throbbing clit beneath. The suction was strong, unrelenting, almost painful.

“H-hey, hey! Easy, partner!” Your thighs  involuntarily snapped around his head, but he was undeterred. You shoved your hands against his brow, trying to get him to release.

“Please!” You were relieved when he finally did, but it was only for some adjustments. The brute drew his hands beneath your legs and dragged you further into the shadow so he could keep his meal all to himself.

His mouth attacked you again and you wriggled and writhed. Your own breath matched his labored huffs. You bit chunks out of your sense of morality while you bit your lip. With a shaking hand, you brought your clawed fingers to your crotch. His thick tongue grazed your knuckles as you worked to tug the fabric aside and reveal your dark, generous lips, and generously engorged clit beneath. He immediately took what you revealed to him, going from hungry to downright glutenous. You couldn't tell if the additional wetness you felt was from your own cyprine or slobber on his chin.

XIV.

“GOD!! Who are you?! What is your name?” Now was not the time to be asking these sorts of questions, but again, you did say you were a silly woman. You gritted your teeth to attempt to contain your cries. He didn't respond at first. The only reply for several deliciously, agonizing moments was the thick, slurping sound of his attention between your legs. This stranger, no demon,  was trying to shove his tongue as far up your womanhood as he could, and at this point, he had your loud, keening permission.

“AH! AHH!” Your slapped the hand that wasn't buried in his hair over your mouth again. You couldn't contain yourself. You'd never felt something like this before. You were a maiden who could only daydream, and you weren't sure if you could consider this that, or a nightmare.

“I said!” Your voice cracked and your back arched from the ground as you racketed up to an orgasm. Your voice was weary and hoarse. You were shrieking “what is your name?!”

He still had yet to respond, but if he chose now, you wouldn't have heard him. You came for the first time in your little life ( bless your heart); your mouth stretched wide open, waiting to catch flies. But all you caught was a big, wet kiss.

You could taste yourself. Taste his breath. Your legs were shaking. You were high like you'd been huffing gasoline, so you didn't put up a fight when he lifted you to his chest.

Someone was coming…

He had to take you elsewhere.

The open night sky. The owl judging you both from the whole it ate out a cactus. The earth beneath his feet. The howl of the wind as he ran and you both became a blur.

And you, clinging to his chest:

Belonged to him.

--

Chapter 1 End

[michams]

VIXX “Scentist” analysis based on “Perfume”, by P. Suskind PART III – The tracklist

“Scentist” is definitely one of my favorite songs/ music videos/ concepts in kpop so last year, when I got to know it was based on a book, I went after and read it. Since then I’ve been wanting to share an analysis focused on more direct references to Suskind’s story.

In PART III, I’ll be giving my interpretation on how the tracks in the album fit the same concept.

*You can check “Part I” for my description of the story (or the book itself) to understand them a little better and also see my thoughts on the lyrics of “Scentist” on “Part II”!

*Sorry again for the long post (I talk too much lol)! :)

Some considerations i. I didn’t originally read the book in English, so I’m using my own translations – wich can differ from other editions.

ii. This is somewhat a personal interpretation; one could read the same book and have different opinions. Feel free to tell me your thoughts about it :^)

iii. Considering that I’m basing this off of a translation and that neither Korean or English are my first languages, it influences in my interpretation.

iv. As referred before, English is not my first language. Feel free to let me know about any mistakes.

v. Mind that this analysis contains SPOILERS of the book.

vi. This post makes reference to sensitive subjects (such as violence), like the book itself.

Intoduction As I’ve explained in Part II, it’s possible to find several references through the lyrics of “Scentist” that contextualize the story of the main character Grenouille, focusing mainly is some of the episodes. But, paying attention to all of the tracks in EAU DE VIXX, we realize all of them add on to work as a complement to the plot.

In my opinion, most of them were made based in themes that can be found as parts of the construction of the book.

I’ll try to explain what’s each of these central points (with exception to “Good Day”, “Navy and Shining Gold” and “Resemble”(닮아)).

◄◄  ▋▋ ►►….NOW PLAYING –VIXX 3rd ALBUM “EAU DE VIXX”….

TRACK 2: ODD SENSE – The title track wannabe

From a starting point, a thought I had about this song is that, if this album was not inspired by a dark story, and “Perfume” was about a sexy relationship based in scents, “Odd Sense” would have been “Scentist”. And this is one of best forms I can describe it! In a way it’s a kind of twin opposite to the title track.

While “Scentist” is focused on the dark side of his fixation, “Odd Sense” is about intense attraction, approaching more a way of satisfying that compulsion – as, in my opinion, the title track is more observative, more of a threatening idealization of his object of fascination.

It could be very well a representation of a closer look into Grenouille’s logic behind his actions or feelings. The way his extremely sensible ability of smelling (that “Odd sense”) causes him to be completely driven by a hopeless desire or passion.

Again, if we compare: “Scentist” is almost about how he suffers from that longing (and it’s methodical), while “Odd Sense” is about how he is delighted by that provocation (it’s impulse).

It is as if his addiction feeds on itself – which we can see through the lyrics, such as: “Shake hard, I just get more addicted”;

“I crave it, it’s fine if I lose my breath I desire it more, I’ll destroy it with you” or

“Fall into the light that only I can see Like an intense addiction keep breathing in”

Both lyrics go deep in the matter of desire.

But that’s also a self consuming way of living for him (just like the story in the book develops itself), the more he approaches his objectives: “Filled with your scent, I just go crazy You come to me, come closer to me Fill me with your scent, it’s fine even if I disappear”

The two tracks share some things: I believe both surround similar episodes of the book – his seclusion at the cave, where he “drinks up” his scent’s memories; his discovery and chase after the special fragrances (and its owner).

Also common to “Scentist”, there are several repetitions to the idea of permeation. There are also associations with color and light.

What’s interesting for me, is how we completely shift the emotion and impression of the songs by changing the melody and tone.

TRACK 3: SILENCE – The hopeless love

In my opinion, all of the songs can be connected to a fantasy inside Grenouille’s imagination motivated by his (longing for) love – even he says it’s only for the sake of getting the scents.

“Silence” seems to address a hopeless love, once the idealized person he desires “cannot” respond. After all, he’s the one obsessed with something they are not even aware of – in a disturbingly intense way. The love and attention he seeks gives of a sort of reflective feeling. Since he does not have a smell for himself, but keeps on being bewitched by these special fragrances, he figures that’s the way to be loved – to be just like them. And we must remember that, for him, what characterized something in the world as despicable or worthy of affection, was the smell. That’s his unique way of understanding the world. So he is lead to believe that’s a solution (which shows to be slightly true and impossible – due to his specific ability – throughout the book).

The lyrics seem to express the frustration in not being able to be part of this connection, as it looks like he’s wishing to worship that feeling but always ends up destroying it, driven by the pressure caused by his impulsiveness. “The silence suffocates me” and “I’m a Medusa there’s only silence left for my ears” (the idea he kills what he “lays his eyes on”, also interesting due to the repetion of “keep an eye on it babe”, during the song).

He also indicates a belief that he needs that girl to be set free from that prison – and that he’ll for sure accomplish that. “I wait for you While turning round and round in this quietness”

“It seems like you have something too It seems like I’ll have it”

And, at the same time, he’s scared of showing the “imcomplete” and imperfect Grenouille he is without it: “Don’t look at me locked in darkness Imprisoned in silence”

TRACK 4 and 5: MY VALENTINE and CIRCLE – The idealistic love

As we must have realized by now, our main character has some serious problems discerning limits between wanting and getting.

I believe these two tracks stress the idea of how he thinks of these scents (and consequently, in a way, their owners) as complements to his existence. When brought in line with everything worked, that turns into a delusion for an idealistic love. It also revolves to his conception of making them/the girls eternal through a perfume, and his own temporal pace – which seems to operate a little differently, like “true love”.

Like shown in “My Valentine”: “Alone I’m incomplete, emptiness becomes routine”

“Say it one more time That I am everything, that you’ve never stayed In forever like this”

It’s also indifferent for him if they are real or kept in his inner kingdom, as memories (even more connected to idealization): “Whether my eyes are closed or open As long as you are somewhere in my world, it’s fine”

And, once again, that self consumption, that goes along with a similar line in “Odd Sense”, ans points, after all, to and absence of self love; which completes that cycle of needing something to reflect on – the girls: “It’s fine if I disappear while chasing after you”

“Circle” adds up to that conviction that they are a perfect match: “There’s no error when you add us together” and “I want to believe it It’s u and me”

It’s nice to note that the circle symbolism makes reference to perfection, totality, eternity, cycles and even God – which it’s a sort of image the boy had of himself.

TRACK 7: ESCAPE – Grenouille, the runaway by excellence

If we pay attention, Grenouille was, somehow, always on the run. He was getting away from the people who didn’t want him around (and the people he didn’t want around). And most of the book is based of on the story of his journey.

Some of the most remarking ways we see that are: when he goes on a trip in search for learning but, amidst his desperation to get rid of the suffocating human smell, self-isolates in a far mountain. After a long time in there, a need for running away from himself is evoked and he begins a new search in order to, ultimately, transform who he was. When he is targeted as the culprit and, at the end, again drowned is his own thoughts, from his existence.

The lyrics also brings us to think that the internal weight he was constantly under caused a desire to escape. A side of him that wants to get away from that domination he couldn’t control – which was still his inner persona as well. Grenouille’s biggest battle was against himself and the conflicts between his desires, his actions and sudden clashes with reality. The practical importance of his goal versus the limit he can endure.

“The memories we’ve gone through Have no special meaning to me But I’m not saying the time that I loved you Was a lie”

It also reveals his fear of showing himself and of failure – so it’s better to give up and flee: “But if you saw me like this, you would probably have left me”

TRACK 8: TRIGGER – The lack of self control

Lastly, “Trigger” also touches on the topic of the struggle with self. In this track, he assumes he is not the one in charge of taking choices. He’s guided to act by a foreign sort of force (or so he believes).

It also resonates with the concept of playing with desire, but also expecting for it to hit you. He wants to be “shot”, he challenges that force to provide him the feeling the keeps him focused on his objective, like a dangerous game, that requires a proper timing (because, once more, this is a self sufficient obsession). “Like when you have only one shot to hit a target I’m just waiting for you”

In another way, it’s about finding a motive that comes from outside to justify something that’s actually internal. “You stole me in one short moment I even helplessly surrendered”

and “Your focus on me, your choice of me”

Again, if we reflect on the notion of time in this work, “Trigger” strangely looks like, deep inside, in a fraction of second (maybe when he first started detecting the first fragrance in the streets of Paris), there was a part of Grenouille that foresaw what was coming in his way. This song sounds like a prevision of the future and an expectation of “destiny”.

This could have been caused by his unconsciousness, since that was one of the things he expressed aspire – a deeper meaning to being alive. “Our beginning is up to you” and “Shoot accurately at me, leave a trace of yourself So that it can’t be undone, so that I can’t deny it”

Concluding... In my opinion, EAU DE VIXX is a really impressing album when we stop to look at how everything was constructed and put together to form unity around the concept “Perfume” presents.

The lyrics and the vibe the songs express are always in sync with Grenouille’s dark mind, his inner conflict; but also the elegance, detail, nuances or intensity involving the world of perfumes and scents.

Thank you so much for reading! I plan on continuing with this and analyze the other aspects related to “EAU de VIXX”, so please wait for it!

References used: - Book: Perfume, the story of a murderer; by P. Suskind (2007 ed., Editora Record). - 빅스(VIXX) - ‘향 (Scentist)’ Official M/V (YouTube). - Film: Perfume, the story of a murderer (2006). - Translations by TRANSLATED VIXX team (translatedvixx.tumblr.com/lyrics).