#(and if you actually want to keep yourself warm-button up your overcoat and wear a hat and mittens! and don't go out on an empty stomach)

[thekingsavatar-fan]

The weather is getting colder, please keep warm~

[muffindaddystyles]

OH NO BABY!!

Summary: It was Harry who swimmed in freezing ass water but someone else (his lovie) ends up catching a cold, caring boyfriendrry, a mighty bit momrry.

Turquoise chilly waves crashes against the dark coloured stones as Y/N watches her button sized boyfriend; summat all with rosy cheeks and nose, un-tattooed, wearing excessively short knickers (so tiny it shows the curves of his cute bum perfectly), being a cheeky giggly boy while shooting his swimming scenes. 

She wheezes a cold puff of breath winding her brown overcoat closer around to keep her warm but it fails to do so and she might get a scolding from Harry for being silly and waiting outside the whole time just to watch him but she doesn't care, she's extremely proud of him and comes by the sets of My Policemen once a time she gets day off her job early. 

He paddles towards her like a penguin buried into humongous coats and towels, his brows furrowing together trying to recognize her dainty self waving him quite enthusiastically from far and his face softens at that.

Shaking his head when her teeth clanks together from the gush of stinging cold breeze. 

"Lovie'," He wraps his nippy palms around her hands bringing them to his frosty lips to blow warm air, knowing she hates cold and gets real whiny from not being able to bear it yet she stood in it for two hours for him means alot to him because his assistant told him someone was waiting for him but didn't tell it was his actual sweet baby.

"How you're not a frozen chicken yet?" She asks sighing once in the heat of his given trailer and he makes an exhultant purring noise when she cups his face, lulling it left and right playfully, "Are you okay? She queries worriedly looking down at him with batted eyes and he muses a chuckle at her sweetness. 

"Baby 'm fine -- feeling hot by the way now you're inside the van." He grins bashfully tugging her closer with his knees pulled around her legs, "You better go back home .. I don't want your cutesy bum to freeze to death." She squeaks surprisingly when he smacks her ass playfully and drags her down by pulling the lapel of her coat to smear his lips against her's fondly -- heart bigger than it's normal size at her sight making his day 100x better. 

"I brought you lunch, it's on that shelf." She tells him standing at the stairs of trailer and he waves her blowing a heartious kiss her way, "Call me when y'reach, yeah?" 

"Kay, bye!" Her awfully pretty smile covets dimples into his cheeks and he just want to throw himself into the sofa piled with blanket and scream into it like a teenager girl.

Though, she keeps sneezing through whole ride -- eyes teary, nose runny and fingers twitchy not to mention her numb toes making her feel very uncomfy. Her eyes dropping from being too sleepy and lazy. 

She's about to catch a cold. 

Tiredly she drags her feet upto their flat and doesn't even pet their kitten strawberry on the way to their bedroom and when reaches it flops over blankets snuggling into them -- without even changing into comfy clothes. 

Sirens everywhere as she wakes up with a groan holding her forehead to subside the pound in it and it's feeling like blazing alarms are going off in her head making her want to puke. 

It's dark outside. She's been napping for hours. She manages to sit on the edge of bed deciding whether she should stand up to go to washroom or not for that all she could see is floating wooden floor. 

Weakly she trudges towards the kitchen filling a glass of water and pulls out a thermometer from one of the drawers -- she was too occupied in waiting for it to beep  then checking her fever that she didn't hear Harry announcing; he's home. 

She gasps quickly shoving it under her bum, "Don't you hide that thermometer from me!" He squalls rushing towards her in two big strides of his daddy long legs and her eyes widen comically. 

"I was just checking and I don't have any kind of fever!" She squeals not letting him get hold of the thermometer and he glares down at her sternly, "You're burning up, baby." He hisses, the back of his hand pressed to her forehead. 

She stands up and does a twirl for him shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly, "See 'm fine —- " Only to pass out but Harry was quick to take her fall in his arms gracefully squinting his eyes down at her.

"Yeah . . . could see how fine you're." She gives in atlast. Knowing he's going in a severe mommy mode.

"Put your arms around me — Or just fall on me, yeah that works too." She nods and let him slip his socks clad feetsie under her soles to walk them to their bedroom, he sits her down and she wails when he opens their wardrobe to get her something comfy. 

"Nooo." She bunches up into a ball as he fists her vest top to pull it over her head, "it's freezing -- 'm feeling so cold." He frowns because he's sweating his ass off from the heat. 

He sweeps her hair away from her eyes rubbing a hand down her back continuously, "It'd be a sec, pet. Then I'll warm these blankets in the drier 'n make ye' some soup, so you'd be all cosy 'n snuggly … hmm?" She's very unconvincing when sick. Wants him and just him by her side. 

She wipes her nose with her sleeve and sniffs, raising her armpits in air for him and  shivers terribly when he undressed her completely, "Oh me poor baby." He leans in to kiss the corner of her lips but she pushes him away grumpy-ly. 

"You're g'na get sick too, dummy." He pouts childishly helping her to put her legs in her fuzzy pyjamas, plants tender kisses to her ankles once covering her feet in aloe-fused socksies.

When she stands up on wobbly legs with the support of his folded thigh he almost jumps asking worriedly. 

"Where are ye' goin', missy!??" 

"To washroom." Her voice barely audible her throat achy and scratchy, "'M comin' with you." He tells her demandingly and she groans knuckling at her eyes. 

"No."

"You wanna walk by yourself? Alright, let's see that." He leaves her wrist and she gasps tripping forward from weakness -- catching the nearest furniture before the damage. 

"Moppet, stop being so stubborn and lemme take care of you … look at you, an absolute horror –-- never been this frail." He's just so caring it makes her want to cry and have a full on water-works party. He pushes her from waist to himself pecking her sweet smelling hair and takes her to washroom. 

After that he tucks her beneath two fluffy blankets and leaves her to make some soup for her and bring her medicine, "Harry!" She yowls pinching the blankets closer around her round small head and feels bad when he rushes inside in a frenzy with an utterly concerned face, serving spoon in his hand and dish rag on his shoulder. 

"What happened baby? D'ya wanna throw up? Or are you feelin' freezy, should I blow up heat?" He asks in one breath and she blushes murmuring timidly, glossy eyes still very sleepy and exhausted. 

She sneezes loudly, "I just –- achoo!! –- " Another sneeze and she messes her words horribly, " –- you — " Drool on the corner of her mouth. 

"You achoo me?" He giggles softly fetching some tissues for her and wipes her nose with them as she struggles to clean it herself. 

"'M sorry, please come back." She sighs holding in an another sneeze to avoid wetting him with her yucky stuff. 

He strokes her head for a generous moment, "It's almost cooked –- oh fuck is it burning?" He sniffs the air then looks down at her with full on saucer eyes and slaps his forehead when she raises her shoulders, "Maybe?" Thankfully not all of it got ruined and his grin was obnoxious while bringing it inside. Trying to shoo away strawberry who's pawing at the frizzes of his socks. 

She smiles up at him with hooded eyes when he hovers the spoon infront of her waiting to feed her as if she's some sort of lil baby and when she tells him it's hot he blows at it and when she still tries to make excuses he stares at her strictly, "Baby." He warns her and she obliges quickly grabbing his wrist delicately to eat and his heart jumps consciously at the fact she's still burning awfully. 

"Did you even put salt in it? It tastes like nothing."

"Please stop wasting of what's left of ye voice on complaints about soup you can't even taste." He huffs and she giggles only to drive into fits of loud coughs. He rubs her back gently and puts the tray aside when she feels like throwing up from the effect of coughs and moves the bin where she's bended over the edge of bed and his legs. 

"It's okay, hmm just let it out." He caresses her back and holds her hair away from her face -- though nothing comes out since she hasn't eaten anything from morning. 

"I hate this." There comes the first sniffle and he instantly cradles her face in his soft hands, "I know dovie' you're feeling very icky right now but it'll be better in the morning, I promise." She shakes her head coughing into her elbow. 

"I don't want to eat anymore." Her voice groggy and hoarse, he lifts her gaze up towards him scolding her with a stern frown. 

"Hey, now none of that -- you're not allowed to sleep until your belly isn't full." She groans nodding at last and he kisses her shoulder as a little reward. She isn't very bratty. Infact she's Harry's polite girl. Though, When she's he makes sure to tug her back on line but at the moment he understands that how much she's suffering. 

How much she needs him to take care of her.

Taking care of her medicines and her cough syrup he turns on the lamp laying back into heap of pillows against the headboard and spreads his knees to bunch her petite weak body against his chest and closes them when she's properly snuggled on top of him, it's one of her favourite positions to sleep in when she's sick --- clinged and cuddled to him. 

Like babies on their mommy's chest with their bums sticked out.

He tightens his arms around her hiding his face into the crook of her neck and smooches tiny kisses to her sweet spot, "You're so cute baby makes me heart-ache." 

His tranquil heartbeat never fails to lull her to sleep and his hands loving on her sides always makes her feel very warm, "You shouldn't have come to beach -- moppet. Knows your immune against cold is terrible." He whispers cheek squished over her head and she murmures sleepyly —- hands bundled up between her and his front, "Just wanted to make you feel ….. loved." Her words jumblish but full of affection and drool sticks to his sweatshirt when she mumbles against his chest. 

//

Harry didn't sleep whole night making sure she's okay, making her sip her cough syrup in betweens and massaging her head but when his eyes barely dropped and the clock hit 4 in the morning whimpers and wails started slipping out of her lips as if she's in very much pain. Which infact she's. Her body shivers vigorously in his arms and even though she's sweating her fever didn't lower down a bit. 

He has never seen her in such a bad condition. 

He perches on his elbow immediately cupping her hot rosy cheek and gives it few pats crying out worriedly, "Hey baby -- wake up." When she doesn't listen his lungs felt suffocating themselves bile forming in his throat. He throws the blanket away sitting up fully and rests her head in the nook of his elbow.

"Y/N!?" He tries not to panic when she gives him no-response and before his anxiety driven self could duck down to press his ear to her heart her eyelids fluttered barely -- blue chapped lips moving slowly. 

"'M okay, bub. Don't worry ….. " 

"Bullocks. You're not okay! You can't stop shivering!! Looks almost dead." He growls angry at her and himself for not taking her to clinic soon, "You're so fucking stubborn, pet." He mutters rageously laying her gently down on the mattress and climbs down the bed to bring their coats. Almost stomping his way all around the bedroom to collect stuff. 

This time doesn't ask her if she could walk or not and glides his arms underneath her shoulders and knees to haul her firmly against his chest -- blanket still wrapped around her shivering body. 

"Shh, shh my baby. You're g'na be okay, 'm so sorry you're in so much pain." He tries to soothe her while walking down stairs of the building. 

Turns out she caught pneumonia. They had to stay two hours at the clinic for her drip and some injections for which he had to hold her down from wiggling and squirming her way out. 

Made her rest till the fever was gone temporarily then drives them back home when assured that her condition isn't worsening and right now when she's cuddled up into his side with strawberry sleeping on his thighs he nudges her lightly.

"Dovie' I love you so much but that doesn't mean you can scare the shit outta me like that." She just mewls sinking deeper into his side.

"No more set visits fo' you." He tells her seriously and she perks her head up coughing mildly and he raises his forefinger in a demand for her to stay quite, that there's nothing to argue, "You could watch me for once 'n all at the big screen." 

"Harry……" She whines tugging the hem of his sweatshirt.

"No, Harry." He pets her head down back on the pillow. 

Without saying anything she distance herself from him like a grumpy shrimp and fusses under her breath. He supresses his amused chuckles noting the silliness of this girl and drags her back by her ankle towards him.

"Come back here, you little betrayer." He gasps dramatically and squishes her in his embrace till she gives up and herself nuzzles up into his homely scented neck. 

[randofandomtrash]

THE Conversation

Small SPN/GO Crossover - Not characters, just the idea that “hunters” and lower-level demons also exist in this universe. ReaderxAziraphale

A/N: I usually only write drabbles and bits of fic that never see the light of day, but I figured why not go ahead and post it!

Aziraphale and reader (and once Crowley pops in) put all their cards on the table, so to speak.

“Well it’s complicated.” Aziraphale sighed, nervously toying with the buttons on his overcoat. “What isn’t?” You replied with a shrug, “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.” He was visibly uncomfortable, despite having been the one to initiate the conversation that he was now desperately trying to get out of. Presently you were both sitting in the back room of his bookshop. The sign on the front door long-since turned over to ‘closed’, and two empty tea cups sat on nearby surfaces. “I want to. No, that’s a lie, I don’t want to talk about it. But I feel it necessary. It wouldn’t be right to withhold it from you.” He continued to fetter and you figured best to just let him get it out of his system. Though you were starting to worry at what could have him so distraught. You’d been coming to the book “shop” regularly (almost daily) for about a year, though you’d never seen anyone actually purchase anything. Nor had you purchased anything yourself. It acted as more of a museum or library, really. Aziraphale had quickly won you over, and had even introduced you to his friend Crowley. Though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you’d developed quite a crush on Aziraphale. You couldn’t help but be infatuated with him - he was like warm tea on a cold day, and the first flowers of spring. He was warm and loving, and made you feel comfortable and content in a way you’d never known before. As for right-now, it looked like he may have finally managed the courage to say what he’d wanted to tell you. Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Y/N, my dear, what I’ve been trying to say is that, well... It’s just that I’m an -“ “Angel? You here?” Crowley’s voice rang out, growing louder as he approached, “Light was on so I thought you might- oh hullo! Am I interrupting?” Aziraphale looked utterly defeated. His shoulders slumped and he dared a glance in your direction. “I’m an angel. And Crowley is a demon.” “OH my Satan. You’re having THE conversation. Terrible timing on my part.” Crowley drawled as he draped himself over an empty chair, materializing a bowl of popcorn to much on while he observed. You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. They were both so dramatic. The two ethereal beings eyed you, anxiously awaiting your response or reaction. “I know, silly.” You said, smiling warmly at Aziraphale in an attempt to calm his nerves. “I recognized the Enochian in your ledger. And you keep dropping feathers.” While you were talking you dug your fingers between the cushion of your chair, grasping for a moment until you produced a pristine white feather tipped in gold. “And as for Crowley, I could sense it but his eyes gave it away, obviously.” Both Crowley and Aziraphale stuttered and tried to grasp what you’d just said. “How in hell-“ “Well I’ll be damned-“ “How could you even-“ “Open my wings ONE time and they get everywhere-“ Not knowing what else to do in that moment, the angel snapped his fingers, producing a silver tray with three cups of tea. You reached over to select a cup, holding it delicately in your hands. He cleared his throat and attempted to regain some composure. “H-how long have you known? And how do you even know what Enochian is? And -“ You held up a hand to halt the barrage of questions. “You’ve revealed your secrets, now it’s time I reveal mine. Get comfortable, it’s kind of a long story.” Sipping your tea, you looked to both angel and demon, and began your tale. “My father was a hunter, and I don’t mean lumberjacks or turkey shoots. He hunted bad things. Supernatural bad things. That line of work you pick up a few tricks along the way. I know a couple of sigils for warding and protection, few spells and incantations, and by proxy a bit of Enochian. In the early 1900’s, I was 22 or 23, and I was stupid. My father was wounded badly trying to clear out a vampire nest. Doctors said he wasn’t going to make it. Out of desperation, I summoned a demon named Alastair. Sold my soul for the ability to heal my father and make sure he’d be safe. I got two years with a demon’s powers to heal him, and then I’d be hauled off via Hell Hound. When my dad found out he was livid. He made a deal with Alastair behind my back - my father’s soul then instead of mine in 2 years. Alastair got the props for taking out a big shot hunter, and I got my debt erased, lost my father, but somehow I got to keep my powers. I always just assumed Alastair took some semblance of pity on me. I didn’t want to hunt - I’d had too many friends and family die and I’m really not the type for it. I was always better at the lore and research part. So I did that for other hunters for a while. Moved around a bit, went to school for a little while, took odd jobs when I got bored. And then eventually around the 70’s settled down in London, and here we are.” You stopped to sip at your tea and let them absorb your tale. Crowley was the first to speak up. “Sooo you - Y/N - have demon powers?” Nodding, you snapped your fingers. Instead of the day clothes you’d been wearing, you were now clad in leggings and a cozy gray sweater. Another snap of your fingers and the gramophone near the front of the shop started playing a record of Vivaldi. You knew Aziraphale enjoyed Vivaldi and thought he might appreciate the gesture. One last snap and in a blink you were no longer sitting in the chair you had previously occupied, but were now seated next to Aziraphale. He jumped and let out a quiet “oh!” in surprise. “Oh, and I can do the eye thing. No wings though. But I think only lesser demons do the eye thing to freak out humans.” “I hate to ask, but what is the eye thing?” Aziraphale inquired cautiously. The expressions on their faces were near unreadable, and especially for Aziraphale that was a surprise. He always wore his emotions on his sleeve, so you were concerned that this was going to push him over the edge. You gently reached out and placed your hand on his knee. “I don’t want to freak you out. I know this is a lot.” He placed a soft, well-manicured hand over yours. “I’m all right, dear. Just a little taken aback is all. Here I was expecting to make some grand reveal but it’s you who is full of surprises tonight.” He gave a little smile that made you melt. “Okay, here goes.” You blinked and looked back up at the angel. Your eyes now completely black. No iris, no whites. Just black. He stiffened, but didn’t pull away. Another blink and your eyes were back to normal. “Well that’s a relief”, huffed Crowley, “now you two can get on with it and save us all a lot of trouble.” He gestured broadly toward you and Aziraphale, throwing a piece of popcorn in the air and attempting to catch it in his mouth. You and Aziraphale both looked at each other, brows furrowed, and then at Crowley. “Just what is that supposed to mean?!” Aziraphale asked, scandalized by the demon’s implication. “Ohhhh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Or if you don’t, she will,” Crowley sent a wink your way. “Now that’s settled, I’m off. Ciao!” In a blink, Crowley was gone.   “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I just didn’t want to ruin things.” You said softly, looking up at the angel through your eyelashes. “No need for apologies, I felt the same way.” He placed a careful hand on your check, and you leaned in to his touch. “Now that everything’s on the table, so to speak, would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” He asked, somehow still nervous that you might say no. “I would love that.”

[chaoticneutralwriter]

Twice Fallen

I implore thy loving kindness,

that even as thou didst stand beside thy dear Son as He hung upon the Cross,

so wilt thou also stand by me,

a poor sinner?

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

word count: 6.2k (the longest 6.2k of my life)

genre: angst, romance, comedy, supernatural, drama, slow-burn

Related Works: See Masterlist under Guardian Demon!Jimin

A/N: There’s a lot of Catholicism and religious things going on because well... Angels and demons LOL This is all a work of fiction inspired from real places so that’s my disclaimer here. Also it’s like...half edited xD Other than that....NAE PI TTAM NUNMUL

As the days went on, you become more riddled with an anxiousness that had overtaken every nerve in your body as a multitude of thoughts swirl around your head like an endless whirlpool. First and foremost of course, was the fact that you had exactly five days before you and your friend were due to fly out to attend the BTS concert. That alone was enough to put you in a loop, it had made you so restless that you had gone out of your way to ask co-workers if they could cover your shift — a needless attempt; you knew you were only trying to trick yourself into thinking those were your only first world problems. You shouldn’t have been as surprised when Emily had told you she had already agreed to take your shift once you came around to asking her.

“You asked me that like last week.” She had laughed good-naturedly, patting you on the shoulder in a sympathetic way. “Now I really think you need those days off if you’re starting to lose your memory like this.”

You really don’t have any memory of this though.

But it wasn’t hard to recall Jimin’s words of him promising you that he would make this trip work, no matter what. Not that you had doubted his abilities, but it’s never like you to leave everything up to one person (supernatural or not); you blame the many botched group projects in college you’ve been through for that. More so, you have come to realize, is that a small part of you had done it in hopes of being able to do something for Jimin that would repay even a fraction of what he’s doing for you. This was probably a small, insignificant thing in comparison but it was something you had some semblance of control over that didn’t necessarily require any otherworldly intervention. You should’ve known it was a losing battle from the start.

With that being said, any thoughts of the aforementioned guardian demon these days automatically leads you back to the conversation you had with Jungkook. It hasn’t faded since those three days ago, merely sitting on the back of your mind and only growing in size. You catch yourself spacing out a few times just thinking about all sorts of things that involve him.

Like maybe —  actually — giving up your soul to him.

….Yeah that was quite the conclusion you came to but you can almost pin point the exact moment when you did. It came to you when you had spilled your guts about Jimin to Jungkook on that rooftop garden; never having been able to put into words your honest thoughts about him until the other demon had practically cornered you into doing it. Despite the embarrassment threatening to consume you whole, it was eye opening for you in which you’ve accepted that the only way you can come close to repaying Jimin was to give up your life to him or at least promise it in due time and… you’re okay with that idea.

Weird and concerning, rightfully so but it’s like the half of you that thinks this is utterly mad and the other, more nihilistic side of you had come into terms with one another in the form of one sole agreement that if it had to be any demon, better it be him right?

As they say, you’re only here for a good time, not a long time.

You exhale through your nose in a quiet huff of laughter, subtle enough that the lady passing by behind you doesn’t pay you any notice as you’re restocking the jewellery racks. Today is one of those rare moments that you’re given a task out on the floor away from cash for once and though you’re elated at being able to do something else for a change, your thoughts don’t revolve around whether or not you can fit just one more pair of earrings on this already overstuffed looking hook.

Even if you had settled on the idea of giving your soul to Jimin, the most important question is how? Theoretically, it seems simple enough, at least what you’re picturing in your head — you tell him you want to do it, he says yes and then gets you to sign it away in agreement in whatever form the contract is (maybe something similar to your contract with him now but altered? Who knows). Or maybe in your complete lack of knowledge in demonology, it’s way more complex than that. You could technically ask Jungkook…

Would that even be a good idea? You’re not sure, especially not after the talk you had with him — keeping that ‘good’ head of yours in tact and whatnot. But then again, you’re not entirely sure what he meant by it anyways. You pause your train of thought until a heaving sigh escapes past your lips, your shoulder deflating as your lips purse into a thin line when you realize; you don’t even have any means to contact Jungkook. He’s more of an entity who comes and goes with nothing to tether him to this world, so he’s expressed he’s never had the need for things like a mobile device.

Which means your other option for getting any type of information on this would be from the main demon himself; Jimin.

Except for two things.

One: how does one broach the topic of forfeiting their own soul over to their guardian demon? You suppose it’s not exactly an ‘over dinner’ sort of conversation. The closest thing to a timing you had in mind would be after the concert; fitting in a way where you get your wish fulfilled and now you must pay the price owed.

However, that leads you to two; you don’t have a single clue where the guardian demon in question had gone off to. The last you saw of him was when he had walked you home those nights ago and from then, you haven’t heard from him since. You’ve tried shooting another text and hell, even pushed aside your anxiety and pride to call him for the first time ever, only to receive no response for either occasion; just radio silence. And it’s not even on the matter of telling him you’re willing to give your soul up for him — he still hasn’t told you what your flight, where your tickets or your hotel is!

You force yourself to breathe in deeply before exhaling slowly. Relax, you still technically have time, you try to reassure yourself. Not as much as you want for not knowing some important travel details, but enough that you’d still be able to set off without a hitch.

You trust Jimin.

He hasn’t let you down yet, nor do you think he will any time soon.

You’re confident.

-

Rome, Vatican City

A sigh involuntarily escapes the demon’s lips as he takes in the view in front of him, having not imagined that he would be here, of all places after so many years. The city is alive even if it is late into the night, the piazza lit up to cast a romantic glow on the cobble streets as crowds of people continue to stroll around in leisure. It should be no surprise though; the mild spring weather is well under way here, so much that Jimin thinks it might even be above seasonal. That doesn’t stop him from wearing the long, black overcoat over his airy chiffon button down shirt and the way it billows out behind him as he strides down this Italian street has people turning heads thinking he should be in Milan rather than here, much less how warm he must be feeling underneath it.

It pulls a small smile from him, a small distraction from his purpose here and a last ditch effort to put himself in a better mood before he has to put on a cloaking spell, hiding him from any mortal eyes. Before long, Jimin is upon the entrance to the grand circular plaza. In the centre of it, he spots the unmistakable shape of the Egyptian obelisk, the tall monument sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the Roman-Catholic structures surrounding it. Strangely enough, the more he stared at it, the more Jimin begins to feel in-like with the structure — a nameless fixture in history that eventually had its roots erased, “christianized” and erected by some old fart named Pope Sixtus V to celebrate the triumph of the Church over paganism.

Ugh.

At least it was a witness to St. Peter’s crucification (or so it was apparently said).

Jimin rolls his neck, a twitch in the muscle that had it stiffen uncomfortably before he exhales loudly through his nose.

Right.

He reminds himself to be mindful of where he is, of what he’s about to do. He may have a get out of jail free card but it won’t be nearly enough credentials to win any favours here. So Jimin steels himself, squaring his shoulders and with much more effort than he wants to admit, he begins to make his way across the plaza into a demon’s lion den. He takes care in keeping pace, steps unfaltering and gaze hardened in resolution. Jimin maneuvers inconspicuously through the lingering crowds of tourist and locals alike with the grace of a seasoned dancer but no matter how much he ducks and weaves, he cannot escape the burning sensation of being watched like an ant under a magnifying glass by the figures that seem to close in on him with every step he takes to the basilica.

All 140 of them.

And they all seem to whisper in their harrowing voices, the same obtrusive word in his ear.

Demon.

Jimin is clenching his jaw and fists by the time he reaches the grandiose staircase, his nails digging into his clammy palms until they leave deep crescent indents. A ragged exhales passes his lips, a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now and it makes him chastise himself. He passed the Apostolic Palace just fine, not even a single sign of getting smote. If he’s breaking out into a cold sweat from a little bit of verbal intimidation here, then what good is he by the time he has to go inside?

Jimin’s eyes slide up to take in the building that has become one of the most symbolic landmark in the religious world and the reason for his odd visit to a place he should be avoiding at all cost.

The Papal Basilica of St. Peter in the Vatican, or otherwise simply known as St. Peter’s Basilica.

Its dome shape roof looms above him, an imposing shadow even if it is lit by a multitude of beams of spotlights along its base and all around the facade — the lights only adding to its size. Doesn’t help that at either ends of the steps are the statues of St. Paul with his golden sword and St. Peter, the man himself, as if they’re there to personally greet all those who enter this holy space; whether with open arms or a strike of sword in His name, Jimin is not sure.

The basilica is closed to the public, the hours of which it is open has long since passed but despite that, Jimin waits, fixed in his spot as he simply stares unseeingly, a myriad of events all leading up to this very moment passing before his eyes.

-

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better listen.” Jungkook states sternly after he knocks back his drink. He places his glass down on the sleek black marble bar top a little too roughly. For once, Jimin refrains from commenting, not wanting to anger the young demon who no doubt, has zero tolerance for banter right now. As they say, let sleeping tigers lie. So Jimin straightens more in his seat, giving Jungkook his full attention.

“First, you must seek the one who has been given the keys of the kingdom of heaven by His Holiness — the gatekeeper, St. Peter, at the place where he is buried. He will be your witness and judge.”

-

With a deep inhale, Jimin lets the cloaking spell encase him like a thin, dark veil and after releasing his breath, he finally takes his first steps upwards towards the basilica. The closer he gets, the heavier his feet seems to feel as if a weight is pushing down on him but he persists until he reaches the tall iron gate of the entrance. If he cranes his neck, he can just make out the relief of St. Peter being handed the keys by Jesus carved into the stone, below the central window where no doubt the pope had made his appearance to the masses. For the first time in his life, Jimin feels immensely smaller as he stands in-between the columns, their height seemingly never-ending as if they are reaching heaven itself.

He vehemently tears his gaze away, teeth chewing at his bottom lip as he works to loosen his muscles that have gone tense. It’s like his own body has developed a mind of its own and is screaming at him to leave, get away. But he pushes those warnings aside and within a few strides, he finds himself passing the threshold and into the atrium. Even though it’s only the entrance hall, he can already feel the grandeur of the basilica from its high dome ceilings and archways. Within this singular space, it embodies the old and new in its walls as ancient inscriptions and plaques commemorating popes who had seen the construction of this holy building and in the fine marble floor as coat of arms. To the right at the end of the portico, is the statue of Emperor Constantine and to the left is Charlemagne, both on noble steeds carved out of white marble that seem like they’ll come to life at any moment.

Jimin’s jaw clench and unclenches, a nervous tick as he surveys his surroundings and with a sweep of his dark eyes, they land on a pair of bronze double doors.

-

“When you enter the atrium, you will find five bronze doors; The Door of Death, The Door of Good and Evil, The Door of the Sacraments, The Central Door, and The Holy Door. You must past through ‘The Holy Door’ to evoke the passage from sin to grace — to show your willingness to make peace with God, restore what has been damaged in yourself and reshape your heart.”

-

It’s not hard to figure out which door Jungkook was referring to. As he stops just before them, Jimin can see the pictures in each panel along the length of it, depicting various scenes of man’s sin and his redemption through God’s mercy. His eyes trail from the infamous disobedience of Adam and Eve to Christ’s Baptism in the Jordan. They linger on The Need for Forgiveness for a while longer than he intended.

Just how forgiving can God be? Jimin wonders.

For all the times he’s heard angels preach about His benevolence, can God extend that mercy to even a demon?

Well, Jimin huffs a quiet laugh under his breath, God had forgiven man after all and he thinks that’s a bit of a stretch.

The door is normally bricked up, opened once every twenty-five years to celebrate the Holy Year but it will prove to be no issue for Jimin. It’s not a matter of how he’s going to pass through the doorway, more so it’s what will happen when he does.

-

Jimin sees Jungkook’s lips quirk up in the slightest and he gets the feeling that the grimace he’s trying to hold back still showed on his face.

“I’m telling you now brother, this is the easiest part of the process and even then, I can’t tell you what will happen when you pass through those doors.”

“So am I supposed to feel enlightened then?”

“More like I actually don’t know. When you’re a blank slate being indoctrinated into this, you don’t feel anything other than the feeling of having your soul bared. But you,” Jungkook pauses to point an almost accusing finger in Jimin’s direction, “you’re a demon, so it’s either going to tickle or you’ll have your soul ripped to shreds.”

-

All he knows is that he’s willing, and that has to count for something. At least, that’s what he hopes. His thoughts unconsciously drift to you briefly, finding himself holding onto the image like a beacon of light in the darkness and with a swallow, he steps forward. Jimin doesn’t get a face full of metal, in fact, not even so much as a shockwave of resistance like he expected that for a split second, he’s bemused at how easily he passes through.

But then he feels it.

Something spears right through him, an invisible force so strong that it leaves him winded, knees nearly buckling and he all but finds himself stumbling through to the other side, right into the central nave. He forgets where he is for a moment, trying to gather his wits as he takes in deep breaths, trying to calm his thundering heart but it seems almost futile. True to Jungkook’s words, the moment he passed through those doors, something had torn away not just the cloaking spell he had placed on himself, but almost everything about his being — the glamour that he wore, the face that he stole, his magic, everything. He’s never felt so exposed but as he raises a trembling hand to his eyes, it seems nothing about him has changed.

Jimin balls his hand into a fist, hoping to lessen the tremors but when they don’t stop, he kisses his teeth, slightly perturbed. He shouldn’t complain, rather he should be thankful that he’s still in one piece. After all, he only just crossed the first hurdle. Without wanting to dawdle or waste time, he boldly begins to make his way.

The nave is a sight to behold, the space so high and open with its coloured marbles, gold trimmings and ornate detailing of heavenly imagery. No doubt in the day, the place would be filled with people from all around the world wanting to be able to bask in the awe of the architecture, built by the hands of arguably some of the greatest artists the world has ever known, that embodies all of the majesty, strength and beauty of God.

But now, devoid of any life, it is enveloped in an eerie silence that the soft footsteps of his loafers on the marble floors seem magnified, his only source of light was the moon streaming through pockets in the high domes, casting a cool blue haze on everything, making it seem all the more like Jimin had entered into a spiritual realm.

He passes by pillars with their niches filled with statues of saints who had founded religious orders and along the perimeter of the transept and above the arches, are the twenty eight figures of the Christian and human virtues, staring down at him, watching as he makes his way further into the the nave towards the place he must go. Jimin keeps to averting his gaze downward, determined to push away the incessant itch that has begun to crawl along his skin, heart still pounding like he’s ran a marathon rather than walk at a brisk pace like he is now and he fears that it will give him away in this quiet atmosphere, the sound so much more defeaning to his ears.

Sweat begins to form along his hairline and soon he finds himself short of breath. It makes him slow to almost a stop, light-headedness washing over him and he has to blink away the dark spots that appear in his vision, feeling sick to his stomach. When he looks next, it seems like the long hallway ahead of him had elongated but when he looks up, he’s actually only a few metres away from being directly under the impressive Baroque Canopy. No wonder his skin felt like it was burning from the inside while he’s getting chills at the same time.

Running a hand through his hair, he hastens once again.

-

“If, by some miracle, you find yourself inside, make your way to the end of the nave, pass the Canopy and St. Peter’s tomb, until you reach the top of the cruciform. There you will find ‘The Chapel of the Cathedra’ where you will kneel before his throne.”

“Why not his tomb?” Jimin couldn’t help but to ask. It made more sense to go see the man directly where he was supposedly buried.

“It’s symbolic because it’s a place where St. Peter had always sat, teaching and instructing the faithful of Rome. It’s only appropriate that is where you will ‘learn’ about those teachings with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.”

-

The altar, for lack of better words, is grandiose — it’s structure solely created to enclose the wooden throne of St. Peter, displaying it in a manner to show the significance and worship of the holy relic. The chair is a combination of the original acacia wood and gilded bronze done by Gian Lorenzo Bernini. It’s richly ornate with bas-relief, the base which it sat upon is made of black and white marble with four gigantic bronze statues, making the chair look as if it was suspended in golden clouds. On either sides, there are statues of saints from the Latin and Greek Church. At the crown are the gilt and stucco of Gloria with a host of angels among the rays of light and billowing clouds.

And right at the centre is a window of Bohemian glass, divided into twelve sections, representing the Twelve Apostles with a single dove against it — the symbol of the Holy Spirit, the soul of the Church.

Jimin stood, stuck at the very borders where the pews begin, overwhelmed with apprehension but shockingly, entranced as well. He would imagine the two windows situated on either side of the apse would let in brilliant streams of warm, golden light from the afternoon sun, giving the place an even more mystical look that would easily ensnare anyone into becoming a believer. Now though, with the light of the moon, it appears just as ghostly as the rest of the basilica — sombre yet still hauntingly beautiful. Jimin swallows once, running his tongue along his dry lips before he summons the strength to force his legs into motion.

They were by far the hardest steps he’d ever taken, his feet feeling like lead as he drags them one excruciating step at a time until he all but collapses onto his knees once he reaches the dark wooden prayer bench. His skin feels like it’s breaking out into hives, the itch becoming so unbearable at this point that he thinks he’ll go mad and resort to ripping away his skin himself. Every muscle in him is tense, any small movements causing them to twitch and spasm painfully and when he finally cranes his neck to look up at the altar, he hears his bones crack.

The fog in his head threatens to overwhelm him, stun him into a stupor until he can do nothing but slowly wither away into ashes. He fights to stay alert and with much effort, tries to remember Jungkook’s next words.

-

“From here, it’s pretty simple… If you can call it that.” Jungkook says a little too off-handedly, as if he was discussing how to change the battery to a remote. “You take Him into your heart and say His prayer.”

“….There are a lot of ‘prayers’.” Jimin deadpans. He may be a demon, but all demons are aware of the ridiculous amounts of prayers said in His name or in any of the other holiness, whether from being hissed out in angry fury by crossing paths with angels or in more unlucky cases, through exorcising.

Jimin’s only familiar with the sign of the cross, uttered to him by a man who couldn’t have picked a worser day to piss him off (he almost felt bad for the police who had to find him the following morning).

Jungkook flips his pretty raven locks out of his face, lazily reaching to pour himself another glass as he reclines back into his seat.

“You’ll know the one.”

-

The younger demon said he would know the prayer once he’s here but his mind is drawing blanks, unable to even begin searching for any hints. Through his hazy vision, the dove appears to have a halo of light surrounding it, pulsating as if it had life. He stares, fixated on that one point, waiting for who knows what. Just when the silence became too stifling, he hears a sound. It’s so soft that he can’t decipher it, much less if it was real or something he hallucinated in his delirious mind. It sounded like a whisper but he can’t make out any words, at least, not ones he recognizes.

It comes and goes, flowing like it’s being carried by an invisible breeze and before him, the dove seems to glow even brighter. It compels him to close his eyes and past a dry throat, he takes in a breath and from his lips, the first lines spills forth.

“Deus meus

ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum…”

The words burn like a hot poker being pricked along his skin, a poison pouring from his own mouth as every line was another stabbing pain. Jimin speaks until his knuckles turn white from gripping the bench so tightly, nails digging into the wood and causing small cracks to form in the grain but still through gritted teeth, he continues the prayer faithfully.

“…. Ideo firmiter propono, adiuvante gratia Tua,

de cetero me non peccaturum peccandique occasiones proximas fugiturum.”

As he reaches the final verse, his once porcelain face is drained of any colour, marred by fissures and cracks, the flesh burnt at the edges like paper caught on fire with spidery veins snaking along the surface, revealing him for what he truly is underneath. His body shakes uncontrollably and with one last sharp inhale, he utters.

“Amen.”

-

“So I say the ‘prayer,’” Jimin reaffirms, resisting the urge to use air quotations. “And then that’s it? Done?”

Jungkook throws his head back with a laugh, his bunny teeth flashing as he tries to reel himself back in. He shakes his head, almost out of pity. Jimin doesn’t miss that, nor does he like it and his narrowing eyes prompts the younger demon to elaborate.

“You can very well be ‘done’ right on the spot, granted if you even make it that far — I’d honestly be very impressed if you do.”  Jungkook pauses to take a sip of his drink, smacking his lips a little when he swallows the dark liquid. “What’s more important is what comes after you say the prayer; if your will has yet to be broken, it will appear.”

“What will?”

“The Chalice.”

-

Jimin’s eyes, which had been shut tightly, snaps open with trepidation as they wildly scan before him. He tries to collect himself but only just as a gold shape catches his eyes. A hoarse chuckle escapes him unintentionally, the sound a mixture between disbelief and immense relief.

The chalice sits unassumingly on the ornate communion table a few steps in front of him, as if it had been there the entire time. It doesn’t shine with lustre nor is it bejewelled with any precious gems, Jimin was surprised that he had noticed it at all. But nevertheless, he’s relieved to see it there; the fruit of his labour thus far. He takes a moment to just breathe, inhaling and exhaling deeply, damp forehead pressing into the wooden prayer bench. His legs feel like stone, as if anchored down on the spot but he knows he has to eventually get up.

He’s so close.

Jimin grunts, hauling himself up on shaky arms by using the bench as leverage. He leans back heavily on it, limbs protesting as his eyes lock on the gold cup that was still there, beckoning him. He takes another minute to steady himself, running his tongue over his dry, cracked lips and once he’s sure he’s stable enough, he begins to make his way. He nearly falls over from that one step alone, arms flying back to catch himself on the prayer bench just in time. Shutting his eyes, it takes everything in him not to curse aloud, given where he is right now so Jimin settles in letting out a frustrated growl instead. Once the feeling passes, he clenches his teeth and tries again.

This time, Jimin manages, keeping his steps to a minimal with one arm clutching around his midsection as if to hold himself upright. It’s a slow process, feeling like he’s travelling at a snail’s pace but eventually, he limps his way there. When the table is within reach, his hands slams down onto the surface to brace himself, a loud bang reverberating throughout the basilica. The force of it disturbs the chalice slightly, causing it to slosh the liquid inside and spill over on the white tablecloth. Jimin recoils on instinct at the sight.

Up close, he can see the finer details of the cup; how dull and worn it actually looks as if it had been used for over centuries but despite the scratches and scuffs, it had withstood time.

But that’s not where the focus of his attention is.

-

Jungkook’s taken on a more morose demeanour, now only fiddling his half empty glass lost in his own thoughts —  or perhaps reminiscing, Jimin’s not sure. Suddenly, he breaks out into a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as his gaze flits to meet Jimin’s.

“The Chalice will appear to only those who are deemed worthy. It is the final act you must do in order to prove your faith and commitment, to cleanse your soul and begin anew.”

A beat passes, wherein Jimin sits in turmoil with his own emotions. This entire ordeal was a lot to take in, the things Jungkook had told him sounding crazier than the last. Everything could go wrong so easily and so quickly that at some point, he questioned the validity of Jungkook’s method but shoot those doubts down when he reminds himself that not just anyone would know the particulars of this in such great detail.

“So do I baptize myself in the holy water? Get a new name and everything?” Jimin asks jokingly in an attempt to break the tension but even he hears the uncertainty straining his voice.

“You’re not going to anoint yourself with it.” Jungkook sighs, taking his glass in his hand if only to scrutinize it against the light. Then, he gestures it towards Jimin.


“You’re going to drink it.”

-

He stares unblinkingly into the pool of water inside the chalice, watching it as if at any second, he’ll see a vision within its depths. But all he sees is the faint glow of his irises reflected back at him —  two crimson drops that threaten to transform the pure water into blood.

Jungkook’s words continue to echo around in Jimin’s head, the audacity of it all never leaving.

Drink it, he says.

Of all the crazy things Jungkook had told him that night, that one takes the cake. It’s no myth that holy water to a demon is like arsenic to a human; a drop of it would greatly weaken even the strongest of demons, burning skin and bone like acid, anything more and you’ll be nothing but ashes.

So to go as far as to consume it.

A bead of sweat rolls down Jimin’s clenched jaw, a million thoughts running through his mind. A part of him admits he’s terrified of what will become of him should he choose to drink the holy water, this being the closest he’s ever been to staring death in the face. He’s lived without fear of anything for so long because he was the to be feared and even death didn’t scare him because he had nothing to lose.

Now, that’s all changed. Now, he has everything to lose.

The memories, the sounds, the scent, the warmth….

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Jimin draws in a shuddering breath, eyes slipping shut if only to escape to those feelings for a moment of reprieve. It brings a strange sense of comfort to him, a balm to his aching muscles and a moment of clarity to his hazy mind. He longs to go back to your little home, to catch just even a glimpse of your face but he’s here, a million miles away, battered, vulnerable and probably looking like every bit of vermin angels think demons are.

Yet by some miracle, he’s alive.

He’s alive when he should’ve been dead from the moment he walked through those doors.

Which means he has a chance.

Slowly, Jimin opens his eyes again, takes in his final moments and tentatively, he reaches for the cup.

-

“It’s supposed to be a painless process, which is why it’s foolproof — angels being ‘ethical’ and all that. But you’re a demon so if you die, you can’t blame me.” Jungkook disclaims, shooting back his drink and immediately begins to fill it up again. The younger had long opted to just have the bottle beside him rather than needing to wave the bartender down to ask for a refill every time. Jimin doesn’t complain as he too needed to refill constantly; he’s lost track of how many glasses he’s downed in order to swallow this hard pill the younger demon had just given him. They’re about halfway done with their second one.

“But now that you know, do you still want to go through with it?”

Jungkook’s pinned him with a hard stare, more serious than Jimin’s ever seen him but it’s with very good reasons.

He’d basically been told he has a fifty-fifty chance of killing himself in the process on three different occasions, willingly.

A humourless laugh passes through his full lips, wondering briefly if he should’ve taken his chances on the fellow he cancelled on. Then again, Jungkook’s someone he knows and trusts, so he thinks the odds are better, if only slightly. Jimin leans over and takes the bottle, pouring more liquor into his glass until it was about half full before placing it down on the bar counter.

Lifting his glass, he swirls it once and then holds it out towards Jungkook to toast.

“Then can I get an ‘amen’?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth dropping a little, completely appalled and Jimin is prepared to catch the other’s glass should it slip from his loosen grip. Thankfully, the younger demon snaps out of his shock before that happens, resting the crystal glass on the tops of his muscular thigh. Then, as Jimin’s words finally sink into him, Jungkook cocks his head, looks him dead in the eyes and says.

“You’re a crazy son of a bitch.”

Jimin can only laugh in response because he can’t disagree there before he brings the glass to his lips.

-

There’s a strong metallic taste that reaches his tongue first, one he can probably attribute to the old cup, but then comes the first sip.

The effect is immediate.

Jimin begins to choke violently, gasping and retching so hard that he doesn’t realize he’s dropped the chalice until he hears a resounding clang of metal hitting marble. The rest of its contents spews out, soaking the floor and table but he doesn’t have the mind to think if he was meant to drink everything because all he feels is the burning.

A white hot pain racks through every nerve in his body as if he’s being incinerated from the inside out. It makes him keel over, clawing at his throat until they leave deep red marks in their wake and a guttural, agonizing scream finally tears past his clenched teeth. Jimin writhes and convulses, eyes screwing shut and trying desperately to drown out this torture but his limbs feel like they’re being torn apart and his head is about to split open. He’s so out of his mind that above his own sounds of torment, the ringing in his ears begin to sound more like the notes of an organ being played.

He doesn't know how long he lays there, slowly suffocating to death but he can’t stand this any longer. With wild abandon, Jimin’s eyes shoot open, searching for something, anything, anyone, only to meet the serene gazes of the numerous saints and heavenly hosts painted into the stucco ceiling.

Please. He cries, pleads, begs.

Make it stop.

He feels his body seize before all strength leaves him, his hands falling limp to his side and his vision blurs until they can no longer see past the inky black tears that begin to stream from his eyes.

Everything falls silent.

And then he feels nothing.

[smolbeandrabbles]

The Other Side - Nolan Sorrento x Reader (Ready Player One)

Author’s Note: AH! Nolan requests! My boy!!! Actually he worked pretty well for me for these two so that’s awesome news! And here’s the first! Requested by @purebloodwitch​ 💜 Thank you for requesting!!! 😊 

The Other Side - Parachute

Disclaimer: RPO characters not mine / GIF not mine / lyrics not mine

Premise: Nolan arrives home late, but even though you’re not awake you sure do still give him a lot to think about...

Words: 2009

Warnings: N/A

_______ I feel the beat of your heart on my skin As I count all the breaths that I've watched you breathe in I can still taste the kiss that you left on my lips In the silence comes a sleep Like the tide comes to the beach So darling Go make your way through the dreams that you dream Darling you can take all of the time that you need You know you're not alone as you swim through the deep Like a ship calls through the fog You won't hear me till you're gone So darling I can't wait for you to wake up I want to be there when you open your eyes Darling don't look back No need to worry I'll be here waiting on the other side On the other side Yeah I'll be here waiting on the other side

---

It was late when Nolan left the office to drive home – it hadn’t been his intention to stay so late; especially as the weather was getting colder and the days shorter. But the work of a CEO was never done, and he’d rather do it all here rather than take any work home; he already knew he did that far too often. You worked at home a lot these days, and did a lot of volunteering work to try to help those in the Stacks the best that you could; the nature of the shifts meant you were usually out after, and back earlier, than he was. When he realised he’d certainly be back late, Nolan had called you at home to tell you not to wait for dinner, or wait up for him. About an hour later he’d received a delivery from his favourite takeout spot – along with a love note from you to make sure that he ate. He had to smile, because you were always doing things like this for him. And certainly made sure that he was looked after – he did his best to provide for you and even harder to be around; the weekend was time for you only and IOI got left to its own devices for two days. But you knew the remits and responsibilities of his job title – and you never once begrudged Nolan that. Getting into his car, pulling his favourite coat a little tighter against the wind chill, he automatically thought back to leaving you this morning. Judging by the time of night it was now, it would be your only interaction of the day. He was sorry for that, but the thought had him chuckling to himself as he started the engine. It was early – and you knew that Nolan was schedule to begin meetings far before 9am and, knowing him, finish late. He had some serious presentations coming up, and a conference in LA before the end of the month – luckily he was taking you with him to that one – you were looking forward to some West Coast sunshine to juxtapose the current climate here. Still you rolled yourself over, and finding yourself in bed alone was no less disappointing even when it was predictable – the sheets twisted around your body, ensnaring you, and no matter how you wiggled they didn’t want to let you go. You glanced to the clock, wondering if Nolan would even see sunlight today, and forced your body upright as he crossed the room to check his presentability in the mirror one last time. “Nolannnnn….” You were still a little disorientated, having just woken, and managed to swing your legs around to stand up, bringing the bedding with you. He pulled on his overcoat but waited for you to pad across the room and hug his shoulders, chest pressed against his back – you squeezed him tight, inhaling his cologne; he’d chosen a good one this morning, probably wildly expensive. “I love you…” You mumbled it softly,  and then shivered – even when the heating in the house was on, out of the warmth of your bed it was freezing. Sorrento turned around, wrapping you in his arms to kiss your forehead; “I promise, I’ve got one early meeting and then I’ll get coffee and breakfast. And then I’ll call you – and you should be awake by then, okay? Now, it’s freezing – you’re at home today and it’s looking likely to snow - so for goodnessake wrap up warm and stay in bed…!” You pouted slightly; “But I miss you.” He chuckled, kissing you again, “I know. Now hush - look, get in bed you can hardly keep your eyes open… You need your rest… bed – NOW!” You tsk’d him, snuggling into his coat; “Five more minutes…” Which was funny, because usually you’d be dragging him back to bed and saying such things. Today you wanted to be up just to see him off. Nolan sighed gently, running a hand through your hair; “One more minute. The bed is probably more comfortable than me.” You giggled, and stepped back “Okay, stay safe on the road, please. And keep me updated on your day!” “You know I will.” He pulled you back to him, catching you in a sweet kiss “Now be good!” “I will…!” You beamed “Don’t forget your Umbrella!” well he had said snow. He laughed, “Wouldn’t dream of it – Sweet dreams!” “Have a good meeting honey, give them what for!” “Y/N, I will – just for you!” ** Every light in the house was off as he pulled into the driveway, and he just hoped that his car engine wasn’t about to wake you up either. Nolan shut it off quickly and collected his things, shutting the car door as quietly as he opened the front. You’d left the landing light on for him to walk safely up the stairs, and the hall light on for him to deposit his things. She’s far too good to me… He shook his head slowly; throwing his coat on the night stand he wandered through into the kitchen loosening his tie. Usually Nolan was a wine enthusiast and he liked to end his day and unwind with a glass of alcohol, but it was a whisky evening – and his pour was a little liberal. He took the glass with him as he performed his routine nightly checks before switching off the downstairs light and setting the alarms. Nolan was as quiet as possible as he entered your bedroom, and as expected you were already asleep, and as your final act of kindness, you’d left his bedside lamp on. “Far too good to me.” He repeated, this time with a murmur as he sipped his drink, placing the glass on the dresser as he unfurled the knot on his tie carefully, watching you. You were once again buried in sheets and the duvet, opting for a blanket on top of all that, your hair was about the only thing visible under the covers; and your hands, with the position you always left them in beside your head on your pillow. Nolan chuckled, pulling his shirt from his pants and undoing the buttons just as slow – strolling around the bedroom to get a better look at you, wondering if there was ever a time you would be unpredictable. He didn’t have a problem with that, after all, it always gave him a sense of familiarity and safety to return home to. Always with a smile on your face and an affectionate hug, not letting him go until he’d received at least one kiss on the cheek. He paused, and couldn’t help – nor was about to stop - the smile spreading across his face. There was something certainly angelic about the calmness on your face as you slept; and you were a deep sleeper – continuously lost in dreams that you loved telling him about; be they funny, or sweet, or sexy, or downright weird. You must have been asleep for a while, as your hair was already mussed and had fallen across your eyes. Nolan discarded his shirt into the washing basket and removed his belt, picking his glass up again he took another sip, his head tipped as he accidently knocked into his table; focusing too much on you. He cringed; sound amplified by how quiet it was, but you barely stirred. The covers slipped from your shoulders, and even with the night shirt you were wearing, the material was thin enough for him to make out the intricate tattoo across your shoulder underneath. It was something that he loved tracing his fingertips across when you lay together and it was in just the right spot to kiss, and often. His eyes traced the curve of your spine and watched your rhythmic breathing – and Nolan’s smile hadn’t faded, if anything he was positively beaming now. There was something about this that was so much more intimate than anything else he could do; how vulnerable you were right now. How much faith and trust you had in him to sleep here alone and wait for him to get back. Faith Nolan would actually come back. Sorrento slipped into his pyjamas and headed to the en-suite, downing the last of his glass and filling it with water instead. He was midway through brushing his teeth when he heard you call his name – pausing to check it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination, you called him softly once more and then a third time a little more urgently. “Babe, are you okay? It’s okay, I’m he-” He swung around the bathroom door, only to realise you were calling him in your sleep.  Nolan chuckled once more, crossing back to you – this time he did touch you, gently moving your hair out of your eyes to frame your face. “Nolan…” You sighed it this time, gentle and dreamily to match the plain you were on. He chuckled. “Oh, Y/N, are you dreaming about me?” He wondered how you would dream about him, and whether you’d confess to such sweet things in the morning – or if he should even enquire. He bent to brush his lips to your forehead, and your calm features were suddenly replaced by an absent-minded smile. He liked that too – whether you were conscious, or, sub-conscious of the fact he was there, your body still reacted to him and always positively. “God, you’re so damn beautiful…” He breathed gently, tracing his fingertips over your hand, “I love you so much… you know…” Nolan’s face pulled into an expression much more of melancholy; “I don’t deserve you, Y/N. Shit – I know I don’t…” he shook his head; “But you’re still here… and damn I’m going to try to be at least half as good as you deserve. Because I also know this; all you really deserve is the best…” He kissed your cheek this time, before pulling away to finish up in the bathroom. As soon as his body joined yours in the sheets you smiled again – and as before, your body snuggled into his – earning his arms wrapping around you. You whispered his name once more, curling your arms around his. And Nolan kissed your shoulder through your shirt before kissing your hair, and let your sleeping form adjust to his; pulling him closer for his warmth. He curled his body protectively around yours, but he didn’t close his eyes for a moment; listening to your breathing and the feel of your pulse in time with his. He always liked to take moments like this with you, whether you knew about them or not. Space to tell you everything he wanted to, about his insecurities and how much he appreciated you. Nolan already knew you meant more to him than anything; even more than Halliday’s contest. He was just extremely bad at telling you that when you were looking at him, when you were just so in love that Nolan knew it was a feeling he simply couldn’t replicate – his love language just didn’t work that way. But here, in the quiet of the night, with your body as close to his as it could possibly be, in a moment so vulnerable and intimate, Nolan Sorrento could tell you anything – and regularly did. Even if it was a secret between him and the sheets. Even if before he was finished pouring his heart out his eyes got heavy and he drifted off, all the thoughts were there. But Nolan always managed to end with ‘thank you’ – because for everything you did for him, whether you were aware you were doing it or not. That was all he could say – and when you heard it from him, no matter how he decided to say it, you knew every single complex word or thought poured behind those simple ones too. You heard everything he couldn’t say. And whether he vocalised it or not, with those two words Nolan’s heart spoke to yours in ways that ‘I love you’ never could.

---

Thank You For Reading! 😘

@menndelsohn​ @3134045126​​ @happyskywhale​ @wltz-bby​ #MendoTagSquad

@primadonna-girl23​ - For your interest in Nolan too! Your request will be out soon! 💙💜🙏

[auvoixauldier]

In-Character Interview

😬- If you bit someone, would it hurt?

“Erm.”

He appears lost in thought momentarily, tonguing at his canines behind his lips.

“I do not believe so.”

🏨- Name a time you were badly injured. What happened and what caused it?

“I’ven’t. Never horrifically enough for a fun tale, at least.”

Auvoix lifts his arms slightly, inspecting himself over.

“Mayhaps I must be due for my share of scars, eh?”

He then looks to you, parting with a nervous chuckle.

🏆- Do you consider yourself competitive at all? What will you do to win a game/fight?

“T’happens that I used to be. Further back in my days. Though perhaps not in means of sport… neigh superiority over others, but more-so a futile scramble to prove myself…” His words trail --

“Though now…” Auvoix’s gaze wanders off, as if to think for a moment. A small tug of the corners of his mouth form.

“Though, now. I do not feel that way.” He nods confidently as he speaks.

His eyes dart quickly from between the floor, to you, and to the floor again. “I... Erm. Do not figure me wrong, I would be an awful liar if I was to say validation does nothing for me.”

“Though I no longer worry myself sick over a day of missed paperwork, to put it simply.”

🥘- Are you good at cooking? What is the best dish you have made. Alternatively, how bad are you at cooking? What’s the worst dish you’ve made?

Auvoix seems a bit taken aback by this question, twiddling with his hands in apparent embarrassment.

“Nn, I truly loathe to admit to it, though I’ve never quite had the opportunity to try my hand at the art of cooking. Back home, I had always been fortunate to have my meals prepared by experienced culinarians. It would be considered odd by all parties to try to involve myself in the kitchen-work.”

“I just preferred to stay out of the way. Mayhaps I could… Tell you which spices fair the best in which locations? Though… That doesn’t help well with the process... Does it?”

🌴- Do you like going on vacation? Or does your boss force you to take a break?

“‘Tis was never my.. Ahem. Former employers style, any holiday, occasion, or whatsoever was often spent behind a desk for us. Suppose me as a creature of habit, but mayhaps because of this I believe I’d much rather put myself to work, no matter the day - So long as I have moments in-between my duties to tend to my leisures.”

🐚- When treasure hunting, what do you look for? Stuff that sparkles and shines or dusty ancient relics?

Auvoix seems pleased with this question, relaxing back in his seat. With his eyes to the ceiling, he purses his lips as he places his words, and then meets your gaze with a grin.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, that is how the saying goes, is it not? It all lies within what you consider treasure.”

He begins fumbling with his pockets.

“Or - One man’s rubbish is another’s treasure? Whatever the idiom happens to be...”

He mumbles idly, light gil and other curiosities lightly jangling about as he patted himself down.

“I tend to enjoy objects of all sorts, as long as it is new to me. Heh.” He draws his hands from his pockets, cupping a small, pearly stone. His face is obvious with excitement as he awaits your reaction, “‘Ve you ever happened to lay your eyes upon a Couerl’s molar? I’ven’t either until today!”

“I- I didn’t retrieve it myself. Didn’t even have to polish it up,  I’ve seen Elezen with dirtier teeth. Wonder what their secret is.”

He ugly-chuckles at his own joke. 

👓- How good is your eyesight? Do you ever need glasses for anything?

He blinks hard, “’Tis.. Not the finest. Though I oft forget I require glasses until I am actually attempting to read something, ooor aim at something…”

👛- What are the contents of your purse/bag/pockets?

“…Glasses. Keys. Whistle. Three gil. A shoelace! No, four gil…”

Each item is sprawled out before you as he names them off, “Pen. More keys. Ouch! - Heh. Arrow head. Pocketwatch. Oh hey, I forgot about this strange stone I found –”

He’s still naming things off. Are those pockets endless?

👘- Describe your formal attire. What would you wear to a wedding, fancy dance/date/dinner, funeral, or similar formal events?

“Formal events? This..” He looks to his suspenders and button-up, “But with a tie, I suppose? That is often what I would wear to meetings…” He trails.

“- For weddings? A funeral?... Ah… mayhaps  I would need more than just this.

I would not dare to be under-dressed for an event. It is not because I prefer the superfluous noble attire, It is because it is a terrible feeling to believe all eyes are on you for your attire choices alone. I attempt to fit in when needs be, there are stylistic equivalences to keeping your head down.”

Auvoix is quiet for a moment, and then mumbles under his breath.

“Ah, by the twelve, the stuffiness of those overcoats…”

🐩- What dog breed bests suits you?

“I see myself more as a coeurl, the type that allows their curiosity to kill them?”

🎀- Do you like cute things at all? What is the cutest thing you have or have met?

“Admittedly. I’m quite fond of Chocobo. Those gigantic saucer eyes are hard not to fall into. I’m exceptionally partial to my own, as well.”

He smiles warmly as he recalls his feathery companion. 

🗝- What is looped around your key ring?

He looks to the pile of pocket-contents messily laid before him. 

“…Keys.”

🛁- What do you do to treat yourself?

“My favorite vein of leisure would be the type that allows me to practice with my violin. Mayhaps, if I could imagine a relaxing day to myself - it would include a nice tea, or game of chess by my lonesome. A novel, a orchestrion - a warm fire…”

💉- Do you dislike shots and injections?

“Injections? As in.. Something that penetrates your skin?” 

He gives off a dejected shiver.

“Fortunately, I’ve never been injected. I can assure you I’d dislike it regardless.”

🌅- Are there any scenic locations you would like to live out your retirement in?

“I do not wish to retire. Though if I somehow willed myself to, it would be somewhere many ways away from Ishgard.”

🍸- Do you need to relax right now?

“Relax? No. I’ve plenty of paperwork to finish up. Three composures I must practice, and an entire towering stack of Winter’s books to catalog once I return home.  I’d rather not take a day off unless I surely must.”

🏰- If you owned a castle, what would you make it look like?

“Erm… Nice?”

⚽️- What games did you play with other kids when you were younger?

“I occasionally played chess with my tutors, and dabbled in Triple Triad as a child. Occasionally mother and I would play ‘I Spy’ while waiting for my father to make it for dinner, I guess. I was a terribly boring young one. I would consider it a lonesome childhood, though I did always prefer little to no company, so it was not entirely bad.”

His tone suddenly shifts, from speaking with dismissive recollection to suddenly shrinking into his shoulders, his posture falling pitifully as he collects his words. He sighs.

“That is, until I had to sit with those moments in-between my work. I would finish my daily tasks. And then... Then the.. the-the.. The purposeless, gnawing boredom would set in. Those moments in-between where you have the time to yourself to just… Unravel things within your own mind.  

I believe I felt loneliness, then. Or perhaps... emptiness? But before I had long for it to set in, the next set of tasks would be put before me, and I would forget all about it. Ahem.

You know, the loneliness.

I would shut myself off and out, and everything was just… fine.  I’d even convinced myself I preferred the solitude. Mayhaps I did. Prefer the solitude, that is. I’d made myself believe it, after all - that it wasn’t entirely bad. That it made my work more focused, more productive, more independent. It is terribly easy to lie to oneself, after all. I still do it to this day.

Years were spent learning to bury those corpses behind productivity. And, like all things one has killed, they definitely came forth to haunt me later on…

I just… Ahem.

Games. We were talking about games. I apologize...”

🍱- Are you hungry right now? Are you craving anything to eat?

“Not particularly at the moment. Why do you...? Oh! Unless.. You’re wanting to get something?”

[fashiontrendin-blog]

How To Wear 2018’s Biggest Colour Trend: Red

http://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-wear-2018s-biggest-colour-trend-red/

How To Wear 2018’s Biggest Colour Trend: Red

Scarlet, crimson, cherry, rust, ruby. Whatever you call it, wearing red is something most men go pale over. Unless your name is Jared Leto or your favourite team plays in the stuff, chances are you won’t have much claret hanging in your closet. Not because it’s unattractive (quite the opposite), but because it’s a big colour.

It’s a primary colour, but it’s also the most primal. The chest-beating alpha male of the colour wheel, associated with power, status and desire. Studies in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology reported that women were more likely to find a man attractive when he was associated with red. And sportsmen who play in red have been found to win more often and have higher levels of testosterone.

No other colour is so rich in symbolism. It’s fire and passion, anger and sin. Going into the red means you’re in debt, but in China, red is associated with good luck and prosperity. It’s communist and Republican at the same time. It’s the colour of blood, of danger, of lust. Throw in Coca-Cola and Santa Claus, and you have a hue that means a lot of things to a lot of people.

So what does all of that mean for how you wear red? Well, here’s something else that the colour is closely associated with: caution. Red clothes are statement clothes, whether it’s the flash of a sock or James Dean’s scarlet Harrington jacket. You can always opt for toned-down versions like burgundy or even a dusky pink, but at its boldest, red is the exact opposite of a neutral; making it very easy to get wrong and find yourself red-faced.

How To Wear Red

Minimalist menswear may have ceded ground to colour-pop streetwear and retina-scorching designer collections, but wearing red is always something to be carefully considered. It grabs attention and doesn’t always play nice with other shades, so think about how and when you roll out the red closet.

“Brighter colours like red are thought of as less formal than neutral or dark colours, and so work well with more casual items like T-shirts, sweatshirts and sportswear,” says Sarah Gilfillan, founder of personal styling consultancy Sartoria Lab. “If you’re confident about wearing red, then go for a red bomber or denim jacket, but if you’re not so sure, use it in smaller quantities – red trainers or a T-shirt layered under a navy jacket.”

Once you pick something red from the wardrobe, everything that follows it needs to be happy playing second-fiddle, even if you’re going with something more muted like a burgundy. “To layer red, choose one garment as part of the outfit to be the ‘statement’,” says men’s style consultant Daniel Johnson. “Take a blazer. This means you have a real stand-out piece, so neutralise the rest of the outfit and let the blazer be the star of the show. The most obvious choice after this is a white shirt and dark blue jeans – staples in every wardrobe.”

Consider also your skin tone, Gilfillan says. “If you have olive skin it’s likely a rust red will suit you; but if you have ice white skin and dark hair, opt for a clear, bright red. The darker shades of burgundy-red suit most complexions and are easy to incorporate into your wardrobe, too.”

Colours That Match With Red

“Red can be quite severe when paired with black, so think about wearing it with charcoal or navy instead,” says Gilfillan, who also suggests swerving red and white to avoid ‘hospital emergency’ vibes.

Johnson agrees, adding that the intensity of red should be matched with depth, pointing to navy and darker shades as working best. “I always try to avoid light, pastel colours when wearing red. There are too many competing things to look at with pastels.”

When it comes to neutrals, warmer shades like cream and brown can work, especially in preppy outfits. If feeling exceptionally bold, you can layer different shades of red with each other – a burgundy shirt with a trusty, rusty pair of trousers, say. Or if you want to soften its impact, remember you can add a touch of red with buffalo plaid and other patterns.

Now, see red with the 13 items that look best in the boldest colour in your wardrobe.

Red Coat

Weird but true: wearing red is easier outdoors than indoors. It’s like a wild animal; you don’t want to be locked in a room with it. That makes a red coat one of the most natural ways to wear the colour.

Set against a cityscape or the great outdoors, a burgundy or bright red winter coat is bold without being domineering.

A technical raincoat or large padded jacket works just as well with selvedge denim and hiking boots as it does over a grey suit. Or try for a soft wool overcoat in burgundy to add a regal touch to the neutrals in your commuter gear.

Red Shirt

Not all red shirts are created equal. An overshirt, for example, is an astute way to let colour into your life as it lets you utilise an additional layer underneath, breaking up the crimson mass in the process.

There’s no such hiding place when wearing a button-down, however. Unless you want to channel German electronic band Kraftwerk, take a darker, richer hue of red and pair with an equally muted pair of trousers.

A flannel shirt is also a good play to have up your red sleeve, a look favoured by lumbersexual and grunge fashion in equal measure. Stay true to its workwear origins and team it with a pair of hard-wearing chinos or denim jeans with clompy boots, because chopping trees and shredding guitars is serious work.

Red T-shirt

A T-shirt offers the most versatile way to wear red because you either unleash it proudly or use it as an accent under other laters. For its part, the colour injects new life into the casual staple, which can be smartened up with tailored trousers or played down with shorts.

Tees with a white logo or graphics against the red are particularly effective in an outfit, with the contrast making for a particularly eye-catching design. (There’s a reason why everyone from Coke to Supreme has harnessed the power of that particular colour combo).

If opting for a red polo shirt over a sporty crew neck, a darker shade will tie in nicely to the style’s sense of formality, tucked in and worn with a neutral coloured blazer over the top.

Red Knitwear

One of the easiest (and most effective) ways of wearing red as the centre of an outfit, if is isn’t already crimson knitwear should be on your radar for autumn and beyond.

Unlike other pieces when it pays to refrain from going too bold, there’s no reason why you can’t dial up the saturation here, since whatever you wear is likely to be muted by a jacket over the top or a pair of neutral trousers down below.

Brighter tones work well with blues and especially denim, so try combining a crew neck with a trucker jacket and tailored trousers. Alternatively, for a more dressed up look, go for a deep red roll neck and wear with a check two-piece suit. It’s bold, but for all the right reasons.

Red Jacket

In all walks of celebrity, the red jacket is straight up iconic, from James Dean’s rebellious Harrington to hip-hop royalty like Drake and Stormzy sporting the blazing colour in the music videos that took them to zeitgeist levels of fame.

Just popping on a red jacket is not enough to turn you into an overnight sensation though, you have to style it accordingly. For example, the ballooning puffer jacket needs to balanced with a slim bottom half – black skinny jeans or slim-fitting athleisure wear will fit the bill.

The cut of a Harrington jacket, however, is trimmer, the cinch at the waist requiring a wider leg trouser to bring equilibrium to your look. If you want to add layers underneath the jacket, while keeping the design simplicity of the Harrington, then opt for a coach jacket which offers a bit more give in the shoulders and around the waist while also working better with sportier streetwear looks.

Red Blazer

One of menswear’s most trusted items, few well-edited wardrobes are complete without a blazer. However, it’s possible that this hero piece would not have existed at all were it not for scarlet shades.

Members of the Lady Margaret Boat Club at Cambridge University first began wearing red sports jackets as a uniform in the 19th century, with their bright crimson hue giving birth to the term ‘blazer’.

Later adopted by Ivy League types and eventually the masses, today the word has evolved to refer to any tailored jacket designed to be worn as a standalone piece but still looks just as good rendered in toned-down shades of maroon and burgundy.

Red Sneakers And Oxblood Shoes

What worked for Dorothy in the land of Oz is not going to cut it on your feet, even if you are going to Florence for Pitti Uomo.

Despite being one of the smallest components on an outfit, red shoes are a risky footwear option. Fortunately there are a few safe ways to do it, if you know how.

For sneakers, stick with iconic models that can carry the colour: high-tops like Chuck Taylors or Air Jordans or low-tops like Vans Authentics. For smart shoes, oxblood is a rakish point of difference that works with most shades of formal trousers. Try a penny loafer, chunky Derby or monk strap shoe, and remember not to click your heels together.

Red Shorts

While perhaps not one for city dwellers, a pair of red shorts can be ideal as part of an off-duty, holiday-inspired look – and it doesn’t have to call Herr Hasselhoff to mind.

Try tailored shorts in bright red and wear as you would a pair in navy or stone – that is, with a simple tee or polo shirt. While undeniably bolder, they’ll give you a point of difference with your look that’ll ensure you stand out amongst the warm weather crowds.

Or, if you’re actually living your best life by the pool, splash the colour across your swimming shorts and pair with a good tan and a glass of something cold.

Red Trousers

No, we’re not talking about the Chelsea farmer look. A 2013 YouGov poll found that people actively disliked men in red trousers. But the style isn’t just for those who want to provide a visual clue for how rich they are. Wear them with a tweed jacket, silk scarf and a cocksure smile at your peril.

Instead, think of red trousers in a more streetwear context – picture Michael Jordan in his red Chicago Bulls warm-ups in the ‘90s – and wear side stripe joggers with a sweatshirt and five-panel cap.

If you are going to wear red trousers with tailoring, dodge the fox-hunting look by opting for a deeper burgundy – plain or check – and pair with an oversized overcoat.

Red Suit

When it comes to tailoring in the age of maximalism, any man worth his sartorial salt knows it’s all about big risks and bigger rewards. Sure, a red blazer looks great worn as a separate, but as the saying goes two reds are better than one.

Saturate your whole suit, and you’ll flex a look favoured by not only by designers across the board but by also by style icons like Michael B Jordan, Harry Styles, Nick Jonas and Rami Malek.

It’s not just about fire engine shades, either. For a slightly more entry-level option, look to darker hues that can be easily anchored with neutral colours.

Red Tie

Believe us when we say taking style cues from Donald Trump isn’t something we’d typically advocate. However, the POTUS has got one thing right: the colour of his tie.

We’d hedge a bet that Trump bases most of his actions around psychological tricks and hacks he’s picked up from business paperbacks. Which is why he knows that red is the colour of power, dominance and victory – a surefire way to let people know who’s in charge, which could just help you out in your next important meeting.

The first thing to bear in mind is the fabric. Shiny materials like silk are best avoided when opting for bold colours as they can look cheap and tacky. Instead, opt for something with texture like wool. Then simply pair with a white or blue shirt, a charcoal or navy suit and you’re good to hit the boardroom in style.

Luigi Bianchi Mantova

Red Socks

Socks get a bad rap. Whether you blame stylish Italians for kickstarting The Great Bare Ankle Revolution, or chalk it up to the novelty hosiery market (shudder), it’s little wonder they’re often considered an afterthought.

However, fond as we are of going sockless with a pair of driving shoes for summer, it’s important not to underestimate the impact these inconspicuous calf-coverers can have on an outfit – and not just in classic shades of black, navy or grey.

Pulled up with box-fresh sneakers or loafers, and peeking out from beneath a pair of ankle-length trousers, you’re guaranteed to stand out in a sea of monochrome in a pair of red socks.

G.H. Bass

Red Pocket Square

Some men relish each and every opportunity to wear a suit. Others spend days leading up to a special occasion quietly dreading having to squeeze themselves into tailoring. For the latter group, this can often be down to the fact that suits feel restricting to them. Stifling any opportunity for self-expression.

However, there are ways to inject a touch of personality into a smart jacket and trousers combo. The first and foremost being through a colourful and well-considered pocket square.

Choose a pocket square with either a textured fabric or tasteful pattern, but make sure not to match it to your tie. Opting for a navy blue suit with a blue necktie and red pocket square is always going to be a foolproof sartorial option. For a clean, finished look, fold the fabric into a triangle shape and place it loosely into your breast pocket. Or, for more of a rough and ready vibe, merely stuff it in unfolded.

House Of Fraser Howick