devil at my heels

Françoise Hardy | Sami Frey

Jean-Daniel Pollet - Une balle au coeur (Devil at My Heels), 1966

via Erik Doorme

причём на этой дурацкой планете этого фильма нигде нет! чем там занимаются французское правительство и институт французского кино - вообще непонятно

“This figure doesn’t come easy, you know. I feel pretty and awfully lucky today!”

Him Cosplay is by me
Claws are made by my friend Andy
Photo taken by my Old Man who is just as normal as Professor Utonium, haha!


I ran like mad. My loot thumped against my thigh. It was the biggest haul I’d ever nabbed, taken straight from the hands of that toff-copper on his way into the station. And now If I didn’t run like the devil were on my heels, I’d lose more than just the take.

The alleys and back warrens of Whitechapel stank of sweat, piss, and worse. Opium-addled men, scantily clad women, and fagan-owned urchins watched me run. I bared my teeth in a fierce grin. I was unstoppable.

Until… I stopped. I crashed into the broad chest of the toff. He smelled of fine tobacco, and his plaid waistcoat prolly cost more money than I’d ever seen. Damn, he must’ve gone ’round some other way. He grabbed my forearm.

“Give it.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was commanding.

“What?” I asked, trying to sound cool and aloof instead of petulant. It kind of worked.

“The bag. On your hip. Don’t make me take it from you.”

“Why? ‘Snot yours anymore than it is mine,” I snapped, free hand going to shield the bag from him.

“What you’ve just taken is evidence in a murder,” the toff said. “Vital evidence.”

I peered up at him. His face was hidden in the shadows of the dark, tunnel-like alley. “And that’s supposed to make me want to give it back why?”

“I know you,” he said.

“And the Queen picks her nose and eats it,” I muttered.

“You’re quite the prolific robber.”

“You flatter me,sir,” I drawled. I worked hard to free my arm. Everyone else in the alley had mysteriously vanished. It was just him and me.

“You make devices, don’t you?” he asked. “Clever little things to help you thieve.”

“Aww, you think I’m clever!”

“Come back with me, to the stationhouse.”

“Why? So you can throw me in a hole with the drunks and the nutters? D’you take me for a ninny?”

“Hardly. In fact, just the opposite. You have my word, you will not be arrested.”

“Oh, well. That changes everything!” I tried my very hardest to shower him with sarcasm like it was spittle. “I feel all safe now.”

“I think you could help this investigation very much,” the toff murmured. “If you do, I would be prepared to turn a blind eye to some of your… less detrimental exploits. If you do not… well. I can just as easily lock you up for thievery as release you.”

I chewed over his words. I’d known exactly no coppers what were as good as their promises, but… he could literally twist my arm to make me give him what he wanted. “Fine,” I sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“The gold and cut gems in that bag were being used for some kind of infernal invention. I want you to figure out what it was, and what it was for.”

I put my hand protectively over my loot. “If I help I walk?”

The toff-copper nodded.

“Can I keep the kit?”

“That,” he said, “Depends entirely on just how helpful you are.”

I mulled it over. “… Fine,” I said again, putting out my hand to shake. “When do we start?”

Have you ever had experiences like this? 

Okay so I was telling Alafiya some ghost stories the other night and she was so spooked by the stories I told her I thought I’d share this because, hey when are ghost stories not entertaining? I’ve known this story ever since I was a kid. It wasn’t specifically meant for me, since it’s not a bedtime story, lol. I learned about this because my dad loved evening chats whilst playing cards with his siblings, and I liked to eavesdrop. This one account like. Is still vivid in my adult mind, because?? What the fuck happened??

 My dad is a very fun-loving guy. I know I already mentioned this, but dad is obsessed with the paranormal. But he’s also a big scaredy-cat. He lived in a small island in the northeast Philippines. You know the Philippines, we were a colony, and the country has plantations scattered everywhere, known locally as Haciendas.

Well. Dad grew up a lower-middle class kid with his other 12 siblings (yes, THAT many, haha.) 

So, in order to earn some extra cash, dad offered to clean up some haciendas that were uninhabited. Rich folk lived in the city, in Manila, and not in some big old plantation on some lonely island. I think dad was with his brother, and they were joking around, when suddenly?? They heard really, heavy footsteps?? Like giant feet bound with cuffs and chains??

 And mind you, they were in a hacienda, which means the floor wasn’t creaky or anything. They were polished granite tiles. At first, dad thought it was his imagination and they went on cleaning and waxing the floors, when they heard it again, but this time closer. This time, you best believe dad and my uncle ran like the devil himself was on their heels, and dad?? He looked back because of god knows what, and he saw behind him a very crooked figure of something that looked like a hobbled old lady, despite the bent back, she was still unnaturally.. large? And she had a face like a leper’s, or something. It’s just so? Weird?? I still ask dad about it but he won’t elaborate for me. I don’t know what dad did after that, or if they ever went back to the plantation. Or if the owners ever offered an explanation. Who knows.

Immortal pleasure (part 2)

Originally posted by synthbin

Jin - Poseidon

Part 1: Namjoon - Zeus
Part 3: Yoongi - Hypnos
Part 4: Jimin - Eros
Part 5: Hoseok - Dionysus
Part 6: Taehyung - Apollo
Part 7: Jungkook - Ares

Warnings: Sea shore sex. Skinny dipping. Fingering.

I strip myself from the little ivory cocktail dress that the sun has been obsessed with all morning. I stand there, scan through my suitcase until I find the perfect string bikini with the light shade of flamingo. It fits the curve of my body perfect, showing my solid thighs and round ass cheeks. Looking at the mirror, I see a satisfied girl, ready to get herself some souvenirs from the sun.

There isn’t a particular adjective to describe Greek oceans, since none of them are completely precised and accurate. The water is a little bit of everything: a little bit of blue, a little bit of green, a little bit of turquoise. Sometimes you see freshness in it, dazzling under the sky as if someone spread diamonds on it. Other times it’s transparent and subtle, like a piece of glass with no capability to reflect. It changes with the rhythm of time and the tempo of seasons. I dip my body into the water, head to toes. As I emerge from the quiet ocean, my skin twinkle like glitters. The ocean takes away every stressful cells on me, leaving me mesmerized with the feeling of being refreshed. Drops of water slide from my shoulders down to the tips of my fingers. Crests of waves form shields around me, ripple outward and expand their magnitude. Out of a sudden, water seems to wrap tightly around my body. Or maybe it’s just my imagination…




I manage to escape myself from the wild singing and dancing. People started to drink more than they should and I was sure that I would not allow myself to hop on that train. My bare feet wander aimlessly on the sand, leaving footprints behind so that tides can bring them back to the ocean. It was hard to see but hearing the symphony of wind mating with the water isn’t an obstacle. Under the moonlight, my footprints find their companions. They aren’t lonely anymore but it takes me a while to recognize someone has been walking besides me for a long time. Loud but subtle, as if he is the ocean himself.

“What brings your footsteps to the ocean?” He says. I can barely figure out his features but his silhouette is large, especially his shoulders. The strong built body shape catches my curiosity. He doesn’t scare me, not even a little. However, my guards are up and my senses become more sensitive.

“Escaping. You?” I reply shortly without any emotions added, securing the invisible wall between us.

“The ocean just calls me out here…” His answer mixes with an exhale. Somehow, the movement of his Adam’s Apple shoots an arrow straight to the bull’s eye of my heart. Waves clash to our feet and strangely enough, they seems livelier than ever.

He takes me to the top of a rock, where I can feel wind tugging into my tangled hair. He smells like salt, sharp enough to cut my throat in half. His hair floats gently in the air. His toes always touch the ocean. It makes me think that water is the fuel to his engine, without it he can’t survive. Before I could notice, he stands up and throws away the cloth covering him. He heads to the water, so naturally as if he isn’t going towards but returning to where he came from. The thick figure sparkle under the moonlight. He glows in my hallucinated eyes. The view itself is immortal, even I start to question myself if any parts of him are human.

“Come down here.” His voice echos on the rocks. But I should be hesitating, asking myself how am I getting wet without a swimsuit or any alternative clothes when I get back on dry land. He calls me again, like sirens that wrap me around with tarty offerings of the devils. My mind doesn’t buy those, but my body is head over heel convinced. The silk gown falls down on my feet and so are my underwear. I dive into the cold water and swim to where he is. My nipples harden under the touch of the ocean. He looks at them, carefully with all of his concentration.

“Don’t look at me like that.” I whisper. My eyes avert his eyes by staring at the ripples around me. His hand touches one of my buds, draws circular patterns around it and feels the tension when it hardens. I bite my lips, tasting the salt on the top of my tongue. He takes my whole breast into his hand, squeezes it like he’s honking a toy. The view of him caressing my breast is clear under my nose. I watch it with fascination and arousal.

“Come here.” He demands me. After our bodies are just millimeters from each other, he grabs my shoulders and turns me around. I feel his wide chest against my back, how his heart is beating and how his breaths are moving. From the water, his strong hand reaches my core. He sneaks his index finger between my folds and rubs my clit. Just as before, my clit is caressed in circular motion. He slips the same finger into me. Everything seems so easy underwater. My moan shoots up the stars.

“Ahhh… I can’t do this… I should go…” My mind try to stop my body before it gets in deeper.

“Where do you think you’re going? You’re not allowed to disobey a god.” He smirks against my earlobe as he gives it a long lick.

“God?… ahhhh…”

“I’m Seokjin, god of the seas. And you’re not going anywhere, not if you’re this wet already.”

My mouth gasps. I wonder if it was out of surprise of because of what his finger is doing to me. The way he curls up and touches the walls inside leaves me breathless. I can’t tell how wet I am, but my body guarantees that the ocean won’t be clean tomorrow. He inserts his middle finger in. The fingers work their way to touch my orgasm, whether they’re pumping in and out or sink deeper into me. My toes curl, grabbing the sand below. Sweat mixes with water, even I can’t distinguish them.

Seokjin releases me from my misery after my first orgasm. I can barely stand on my own. He carries me in his muscular arms and I sit perfectly in that crib. My eyes see the bright stars and my back feels the bumpy surface of the rock. I see his silhouette again, this time, on top of me.

“Spread out your legs.” I am too exhausted to protest or refuse, but I can’t deny the fact my sinful body loves the thrill his touched have given. My legs tremble and spread out at the same time, offering him a clear view of my womanhood. He plugs his big cock into me, slowly so that my entrance can adjust itself without feeling painful. The moment he is fully sunk in sends lustful vibes all over my body. I feel complete, just like the full moon above our head. He thrusts into me, pushing uncontrollably into the button that releases my orgasm. My eyes shut tight but there is no way to zip my mouth. I can’t hold in any more moans. They start slipping through my lips one by one and let the wind take them far away into the ocean.

“Say my name.” He commands me.

“Seokjin.” A small whisper is my response to him.

“Say it louder. Scream to Olympia how good this makes you feel.” The waves splash into the shore angrily.

“Seokjin. Fuck me harder… Ah… This feels amazing…” I scream on the top of my lungs, with the hope that at this hour of the night, nobody can hear us. His thrusts accelerate until I cum. My juice mixes with the wet sand but soon is taken away by the ocean. He dips his finger into my folds and take a lick of my orgasm. I sit there, leaning against the rock huffing out the breath I’ve been keeping in my lungs. He takes me to he water and washes me clean. Exhaustion takes the best out of me. My eyes close.

The next morning I wake up, finding myself all dressed with the same clothes from yesterday on my own bed. I can’t remember how I get back here but I am certain that it isn’t just a silly dream. My body, my breasts, my core, everything still feel so real. I get off my bed and look out to the sea from my balcony. It is still indescribable. At least I have a better picture about it, locked up safely in my memory.

Jin the Poseidon needs to baptize me in holy water because I don’t even know what I just wrote.

Meet me at the north gate, where I am famous in my anonymity, and nothing feels more luscious than being a writer in love. On my most well-known train station, in the virginity of the night, when the moon takes its first breath, I waited for my train to come, I waited for inspiration to hit me.

Coca-Cola, straw in between my lips, I dreamt of writing my poems in the capital for the capital. Buildings of baroque, on the highest balcony, with my name in my mouth and his name in my saliva. I dream of a young husband.

My veins are like the neon lights, screaming color, burning of beauty, oh give me attention, because I am an enigma in a leather jacket.  My hands in the mouth of a velvet city, all these women passing by: black high heels, devil around their hips, little dresses. Oh my I’ve fallen in love before here. Back then was it at 6 am in the morning, but now I take the city as my mistress.

Darling, I’ve haven’t sleep since I’ve wrote you that famous poem on your boulevards.

—  Noir Port by Royla Asghar