#holi dress for women

[its-poojagupta-shree]

As the vibrant hues of spring burst forth, heralding the arrival of a season synonymous with renewal, joy, and communal spirit, the heart of India dances to the lively beats of Holi. This Hindu festival, also known as the "Festival of Colours," transcends geographical boundaries to paint the world in a kaleidoscope of joy and unity.

[philocalistwrites]

I CAN'T FUCKING HANDLE THIS OMG

[askuemki]

I FINALLY FOUND THE PERSON WHO PUT VALERIA IN A WEDDING DRESS

(Download below is where I first saw this render of her from)

[yuri-is-online]

The nice part of liking history is that I can be genuinely helpful since a lot of people struggle with finding it interesting.

The downside is that sometimes you will see a take in a book and get so irrationally angry on behalf of a long dead aristocrat and start looking for more material about them specifically because holy shit why are you talking about another woman like this???

[ah-bright-wings]

Esther, who risked her life to save others and trusted in God, pray for us! "Queen Esther, seized with mortal anguish, fled to the Lord for refuge. Then she prayed to the Lord, the God of Israel, saying: “My Lord, you alone are our King. Help me, who am alone and have no help but you, for I am taking my life in my hand."

On the third day, ending her prayers, she took off her prayer garments and arrayed herself in her splendid attire. In making her appearance, after invoking the all-seeing God and savior, she took with her two maids; on the one she leaned gently for support, while the other followed her, bearing her train. She glowed with perfect beauty and her face was as joyous as it was lovely, though her heart was pounding with fear."

(Esther 4C: 12, 14-15 & 4D: 1-5)

[butchladymaria]

why r people on this website obsessed with saying maria isn’t masc. “oohhhhhh maybe she just wears the masc knight set bc the fem set is too poofy maybe she just maybe — ” shut the fuck up. she did not dress like a butch king for some of yall to act like she was a pretty fem housewife off the clock lol

[ermazula]

OMYGFICOJFJSJF

[todayisafridaynight]

Majima looks like he's got eyeliner in dragon engine and those lips of his are insane. Especially in 0, Ishin, and K1. Saejima has some hella lashes too. And I know what you mean about Mine. Why are there so many astonishingly pretty faced men in this franchise? This feels unusual for a masculine thing

But speaking of Mine and beauty his beach RGGO card goes crazy hard and for WHAT

no ESPECIALLY in Y0 majima got his hands on the dior lip maximizer too- AND WITH THE GLOSS ?????

saejima's lash game is kinda weak 4/5 ngl but in 6/7 BRO. gorg... his lashes arent super pronounced but i think his general eye shape makes up for it because i still really like his eyes.

regardless though i'm glad there are a lot of attractive men in the series, it makes drawing them and studying their faces all the more interesting and fun

and for the sake of everyone i'm legally disallowed from touching the Beach Mine art.

[adozentothedawn]

Holy shit guys

Today is the day of fashion miracles I swear

So first of all, I bought a bowtie! It's very fancy and I am the handsomest boy around.😌

The lighting isn't great but the bowtie is blue like my glasses. :3

Second of all: you remember how I mentioned a while ago needing to lose some weight so I can fit into my ballgown again for my baby sisters' proms? Well. I tried it today, not even a week from the first prom. It fits. It actually fucking fits, even though I had that training break for health reasons. It's not comfortable just yet, but the latch closes. I won't post pictures yet cause it does currently still look a bit like a maternity dress but holy shit I managed to do this so much faster than I thought, I am legit proud.

[philocalistwrites]

Holy fuck-

[darkandstormydolls]

PSA to all historical fiction/fantasy writers:

A SEAMSTRESS, in a historical sense, is someone whose job is sewing. Just sewing. The main skill involved here is going to be putting the needle into an out of the fabric. They’re usually considered unskilled workers, because everyone can sew, right? (Note: yes, just about everyone could sew historically. And I mean everyone.) They’re usually going to be making either clothes that aren’t fitted (like shirts or shifts or petticoats) or things more along the lines of linens (bedsheets, handkerchiefs, napkins, ect.). Now, a decent number of people would make these things at home, especially in more rural areas, since they don’t take a ton of practice, but they’re also often available ready-made so it’s not an uncommon job. Nowadays it just means someone whose job is to sew things in general, but this was not the case historically. Calling a dressmaker a seamstress would be like asking a portrait painter to paint your house

A DRESSMAKER (or mantua maker before the early 1800s) makes clothing though the skill of draping (which is when you don’t use as many patterns and more drape the fabric over the person’s body to fit it and pin from there (although they did start using more patterns in the early 19th century). They’re usually going to work exclusively for women, since menswear is rarely made through this method (could be different in a fantasy world though). Sometimes you also see them called “gown makers”, especially if they were men (like tailors advertising that that could do both. Mantua-maker was a very feminized term, like seamstress. You wouldn’t really call a man that historically). This is a pretty new trade; it only really sprung up in the later 1600s, when the mantua dress came into fashion (hence the name).

TAILORS make clothing by using the method of patterning: they take measurements and use those measurements to draw out a 2D pattern that is then sewed up into the 3D item of clothing (unlike the dressmakers, who drape the item as a 3D piece of clothing originally). They usually did menswear, but also plenty of pieces of womenswear, especially things made similarly to menswear: riding habits, overcoats, the like. Before the dressmaking trade split off (for very interesting reason I suggest looking into. Basically new fashion required new methods that tailors thought were beneath them), tailors made everyone’s clothes. And also it was not uncommon for them to alter clothes (dressmakers did this too). Staymakers are a sort of subsect of tailors that made corsets or stays (which are made with tailoring methods but most of the time in urban areas a staymaker could find enough work so just do stays, although most tailors could and would make them).

Tailors and dressmakers are both skilled workers. Those aren’t skills that most people could do at home. Fitted things like dresses and jackets and things would probably be made professionally and for the wearer even by the working class (with some exceptions of course). Making all clothes at home didn’t really become a thing until the mid Victorian era.

And then of course there are other trades that involve the skill of sewing, such as millinery (not just hats, historically they did all kinds of women’s accessories), trimming for hatmaking (putting on the hat and and binding and things), glovemaking (self explanatory) and such.

TLDR: seamstress, dressmaker, and tailor are three very different jobs with different skills and levels of prestige. Don’t use them interchangeably and for the love of all that is holy please don’t call someone a seamstress when they’re a dressmaker

[languri]

Shein I know the dresses I bought screams slutcore but like what the fuck is this???? 😭😭😭 did they deadass stick a steel scouring pad on a bikini and attach it to a dress???

[chexmixbaby44]

I see the point that people are making about the infantilization of women in recent trends, but leave girl dinner Alone!!!

[ozzgin]

I just watched The First Omen at the cinema and you may go ahead and cuff me for blasphemy, but…

Devil x Reader

You have been chosen by the Cult as the one to carry their ungodly plan after many failed attempts. This time it was a success, yet not for the reasons they might expect. The Devil has his eyes on you.

Content: female reader, mentions of pregnancy, religious themes, blasphemy, violence, horror, a non-consent scene!, based on The First Omen (2024); image from the promotional poster

Why you, of all people? You're not particularly devoted to religion, nor do you stand out in terms of virtuousness. Or lack of, for that matter. Alas, their reasons remain unknown.

What's certain is that you woke up one day and found yourself strapped to a foreign bed, staring into a ceiling you didn't recognize. You weren't alone. Around your helpless form stood men and women, dressed in black and wearing a solemn smile. Your forehead received a gentle, encouraging stroke from the hand of the priest. The scent of chrism invaded your nostrils.

You begged them to release you. The older man spoke softly in your ear. "You are serving a greater purpose. It is all in the name of God." God? Purpose? You rolled your eyes back and gazed upon the large painting hanging behind you. Virgin Mary and her blissful smile and stretched out hands felt like a mockery.

The holy image vanished as a black cloth was nonchalantly draped over your face. You felt the rope tighten around your neck and begun gasping for the scarce air barely making it through the thick canvas. A crescendo of muffled chants, and the room went abruptly quiet. Had everyone left?

Then you heard it. That profane growl, causing the entirety of your body to shiver in repugnance and terror. You trashed, and pulled, and screamed, to no avail. A clawed hand rested on your bare stomach, then a second one traced the rest of your body. You laid limp, vision blurred as the room swayed in tandem with the sacrilegious act.

You'd been defiled by a Beast. The next time you opened your eyes, you were back in your bed. Your hopes of it being a mere nightmare were shattered the moment you lifted your gown and noticed the deep scratches, the monstrous prints left on your skin, and the hollow sensation in the pit of your stomach. Your body had been tampered with, and something was growing out of your misfortune. A vile blight, throbbing with life within the comfort of your flesh.

You spent the months haunted by voices and visions. The grotesque, horned Creature would frequently reappear in your mind, exhausting all other thoughts. Such a heavy, imposing presence. It wouldn't let you forget, not even for a second: you belonged to Him, and He would soon return to retrieve you. The mother of His child, the object of His adoration. Was such a thing even conceivable?

You prayed to be left alone, yet the Cult naturally longed for its promised gift, bound to come back eventually. And so, once more, you were facing the people who caused your despair. "We've come for the child", the priest explained, glancing at your obvious, bulging belly. The clawed hand framing it was still a fresh wound that never healed, almost as an ominous warning: this body was owned by a jealous God.

Your trembling hands revealed a pocketknife. This time, you were prepared. The group took a moment to observe your daring gesture, then proceeded to approach you with calculated steps, with newfound resolve. Would you be able to keep them away? Their intentions were clear: you were in possession of the Antichrist, and they needed to secure this immense power.

The ground shook, and everyone froze. You glanced at the altar painting, the same one that witnessed your corruption. Virgin Mary remained with an unfaltering smile. From behind the ornate frame, large, horrid hands creeped out. A travesty of everything Holy. The priest gasped and quickly threw his hands in prayer. This was not part of the plan. This was not meant to happen.

"Pater noster, qui es in caelis-" he began, but his voice was cut short. His face turned pale, and he clutched his chest with a terrible grimace. The nun next to him let out a scream before she was pushed away by an invisible force. Her body hit the wall with a loud, wet sound of bones breaking and flesh tearing. You stared at the massacre unfolding before you, devoid of any fear. Somehow, in the depths of your soul, you knew you'd be safe.

An enormous shadow emerged from behind the painting, twisting, bending, stalking towards you. Your nose scrunched at the stench of blood. You were the last one standing among corpses. To your surprise, you exhaled deeply, shoulders drooping in comfort. A silent voice murmured in your ear, telling you not to fear. That Father was finally home for you.

Foolish, ridiculous humans. He'd been willing to entertain their petty plans of grandeur, until he met you: your tender, frail body, your innocent soul. How exalting it was to have his way with you. You were meant to be the one. To carry His offspring into the damned world. But not for some trifling reason of a Cult desperate to crawl their way back into control. Their greatest mistake - which led to their demise - was to assume the Devil himself can be controlled, ordered around. He has allowed you the greatest honor of joining him, out of your free will, to sow the seeds of chaos as his beloved mortal.

Thus, he couldn't have possibly allowed anyone to interfere. What you saw that day, in that old, musty underground cavern, was an omen: a bloodbath awaits the one who dares to approach his human.

You look up into the demonic orbs: trenches of madness, obsession, vulgarity, burning holes into you, slurping your very existence with hunger and lust. You are his.