#is now shopping for wedding dresses

[thebirdandhersong]

and that's friend number 4 engaged within this school year now 👍

[empressofmankind]

I suspect that 99,9% of all the fanfics that tag Sir Crocodile & deal with clothes shopping and clothing fitting are about putting sexy dresses on reader/OC.

And, I get that.

I do.

But have you considered the reverse?

Tagging along, going to all these really extremely high-end stores because he needs a new shirt or vest to go with a specific suit? Or just looking for a new three piece for no reason, just because he can and he wants to?

I'd be down for this, and I loath clothes shopping with a passion.

"Yes, I do think this is your colour."

"No, actually, I think the cut of that other jacket complemented your shoulders much better."

"Well, if you're asking me, I thought the light blue was a nice change of mood."

I could do that all day.

Bonus: Mihawk getting dragged along instead, and the gay tension is suffocatingly real. And Mihawk's crippling fashion feedback could probably cut glass.

[kirstielol]

this has to be the busiest month of my life 😵‍💫

[wurm-food]

I’ve had the bestest day in this city and now I’m finally getting some solo adventure time 🥹

[killuaisaprincess]

GONKIIII

CUTE KITTY KI

[johndonneswife]

[sampilled]

paper bag by fiona apple playing while I'm in urban outfitters <333 trying and failing to find a cute dress that will fit me <33333 they really want me to kill myself :)

[callistos-posts]

Here are some words to live by:

“Just cause it’s called men’s gymnastics doesn’t mean it is”

[ilostyou]

welp. the phantom cramps are no longer phantom 😃

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[buzzbid]

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[threnodians]

i just got done clothes shopping with my irl bestie for a dress to wear to her wedding and omfg the clearance at kohl’s was absolutely insane today 🤯 i used the $50 that my father gave me for my birthday to pay for it so i basically only actually spent $28 🤷🏼‍♀️

[certifiablecatlady]

underwire bras are the devil but I need these titties At Attention

[machveil]

Boyfriend!Simon Riley that lets you dress him. his usual civvies are nothing special, just some t-shirts and jeans, a couple pairs of sweats and hoodies for working out. if you want him to try a different style he’ll humor you

Boyfriend!Simon Riley that owns two suits - one for any mandatory appearances at events with the TF141 boys, and a second suit for date nights with you. compared to his suit selection, he has a surprising amount of ties. does he need them all? absolutely not, but he subconsciously started collecting them at some point

Boyfriend!Simon Riley has a wide variety of ties - solid colored, prints, a single clip on. he used to just have one tie, a solid dark red, but then he saw a stupid, skeletal themed tie in a shop. he got a good laugh out of it and bought it, now if he sees a tie he likes he buys it ‘just in case’ - besides, a few of the solid colored ones match your eyes

Boyfriend!Simon Riley that’s waiting for the day he can buy a third suit - one that involves you standing at the alter with him. if you’d let him get away with it, he’d definitely wear that stupid skeletal tie buried at the back of his closet. of course, that’s just a thought to keep him entertained, he’d probably buy a new tie for your wedding - one to match the flowers you pick out, he thinks

[housepixie]

moving every single piece of furniture in my apartment around because i am doing great in the head rn

[augustinewrites]

dress + nanami

“i bought you something.”

you frown slightly, eyeing the sleek box that nanami places on the bed.

“but i didn’t get you anything…”

he simply smiles, gently taking your hand and smoothing his thumb over the gold band adorning your ring finger. “allowing me to marry you this afternoon was the greatest gift you could ever give me.”

memories of your little ceremony still linger in the forefront of your mind. you’d married him atop a small rooftop garden filled with this season’s blooms, surrounded by your closest friends and family. you’d never been an extremely sentimental person, but the way he’d gazed at you and whispered vows meant for your ears and yours alone…you’d hold that close to your heart forever.

“no take backs, by the way,” you say when you feel tears prick at the back of your eyes once more. “you’re stuck with me, even though i snore.” 

“your snores are adorable. like a bunny holding a chainsaw.”

“hey!” you laugh, letting him wrap his arms around you from behind, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. 

“just let your husband spoil you, hm?”

nanami loves to spoil you. he’s always had such lovely taste, picking soft, pretty things that catch his eye in shop windows— a pair of leather gloves, a stylish sweater, a diamond bracelet. each gift is thoughtful, always complimenting you perfectly,

you lift the lid of the box, peeling back layers of tissue paper to reveal a delicate, silky white dress.

“kento…” you breathe, feeling his lips curl into a smile against your skin. gingerly, you lift the feather-light dress by dainty straps, taking in the cowl neck and tasteful high slit. 

simple, yet elegant, like him. 

“for you to wear to the reception,” he murmurs, pressing a light kiss to your shoulder. “do you like it?”

“i love it,” you tell him truthfully, turning to look at him. “help me put it on?” 

your husband couldn’t look more pleased, especially when deft fingers undo the back of your bespoke wedding gown and he sees what you’d snuck on underneath.

but nanami is nothing if not efficient, clearing his throat before helping you step out of your current dress and into your new one, the material gliding against your skin like butter.

“you’re a vision,” he whispers, brushing another kiss to the back of your neck. with heat in your cheeks, you turn in his embrace, bringing your lips up to his. 

the rest of the world begins to melt away, as it often does when you’re with him. but it’s different now. it’s different because in the eyes of the law, you’ve chosen him and he’s chosen you. 

so you share eager kisses in the warm lamplight of the hotel room, his hands gentle as they slide over the smooth material of your dress. 

and eventually, up the slit resting atop your thigh. his warm hands rest on your bare skin, setting off sparks of pleasure up your spine.

“we shouldn’t,” you breathe as he plants open mouthed kisses on the hollow of your throat. “we need to check on our guests— you know satoru gets weepy when he’s had more than one drink.” 

nanami pulls back to look at you, pupils blown with desire as he takes in your smeared lipstick and wide-eyed stare.

he responds by pulling you close with his grip on your hips, a groan slipping past your lips as he does so. 

“they can wait,” he tells you, walking you backwards until your knees buckle against the edge of the bed. “i’ve waited long enough to be alone with my wife.”

he’s waited for this moment even when he hadn’t realized he’d wanted this, wanted you. he’s wanted it since the days you’d shared at jujutsu tech, when he’d been a besotted schoolboy, pining after his classmate. 

nanami’s always been a patient man—

he yanks the skirt of your new dress up around your hips and kisses a trail down your chest.

— except when he’s not.