#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

[abyssal-ilk]

getting all of the banter dialogue for dorian and bull so they can be a couple in dai is so... ugh. there is some genuinely wonderful stuff to explore in their dynamic, with iron bull abandoning the qun and dorian leaving tevinter and what it means to have done that and finding themselves as people, but. christ. the fetishization and oversexualization of the qunari in da is fucking hair tearingly painful, and it is at its most obvious with iron bull and dorian. really hoping that something changes for the taash romance, but i am,, kind of doubtful.

[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???

[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

[radmista]

Get you one who can do both 😍

[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

[philocalistwrites]

Holy fuck-

[nonasuch]

it's that time:

Miss Universe National Costume 2024

is Here!

that's right! Everyone's favorite justification for the continued existence of beauty pageants has returned. with Looks!

Some of this year's top Themes include:

foliage!

gold!

weapons!

giant birds!

letting seventh-graders make your costume, apparently!

I did watch the video, but the most complete version I could find is missing a bit at the beginning. So I can't tell you what the inspiration was for anything before Bolivia; on the bright side that's fewer shitty rhyming couplets I had to suffer through.

Let's begin with:

Miss Angola! Tone down the color palette a little, and this honestly could have worked for that year the Met Gala was Catholicism- themed.

Miss Argentina, looking just thrilled about the sparkly toucan on her head. I feel like this is supposed to read as some combination of jungle/river/waterfall but this is from the part that I couldn't find on video.

Miss Aruba, I don't know if your giant spangly bird headdress was supposed to look like a potoo, but I am choosing to believe that it's on purpose and I love that for you.

(okay I checked, it's an endangered Aruban burrowing owl. even better!)

This is like the fourth year in a row Miss Australia has just worn a regular-ass gown. Do better!

You know who's doing better? Miss Bahamas, is who. Look at that giant fish. I wish I had video of this, I bet it moves.

Ah yes, when I think of Belarus I definitely think 'verdant tropical foliage.' also is it just me or is does the bodice fit very weird.

Holy shit, Miss Bolivia. This is where the video kicks in, so I can tell you that she somehow managed to dance in it. I'm a little afraid that this costume is going to eat Miss Aruba.

Miss Bonaire is from a Caribbean island that I don't think has ever competed in Miss Universe before? They have a national marine park that this costume is based on, which is is nice!

Miss Botswana's costume is made of leather and cowrie shells, and she is clearly having a great time being able to move freely without 75 pounds of headdress or platform heels. She did a very cute dance that kind of felt like a flex on her more heavily encumbered competitors.

Miss Brazil is wearing a tribute to Brazil's mineral wealth, which is something that basically every country with a mine in it has done at some point. I like the pannier-esque things, I guess.

Love a Tribute To A Weirdly Specific Thing, and Miss British Virgin Islands' mail-themed costume is a wonderful example of such.

Miss Bulgaria showed up dressed as a supervillain, her outfit is vaguely themed around 'the strength of women' and she just spat out a MOUTHFUL of BLOOD? on stage??? No idea how to react to that, frankly.

I'm going to pause to get the next batch of images together, and also to recover from the 'spat out a mouthful of blood' thing, because I was NOT prepared for that.

[sharkgirldick]

Some random guy online: Hey, wouldn't it be funny if I was a girl? Wouldn't it be hilarious? Like, as a joke. I would wear a dress and be pretty and people would think I'm beautiful. Haha, doesn't that crack you up?

Trans women: You say stuff like this all the time, maybe you're a woman? You could transition.

Dipshits, every time: HOLY FUCK can you people NOT? HE can pick HIS gender and clearly HE is comfortable as a MAN. He's joking anyway, he said so. Let people do what they want and don't pressure them!!!

Same random person: I'm a girl now. I realized all those jokes I made were covering up my actual feelings.

Trans women: ...

Dipshots: Wow! That really came out of left field. Of COURSE we support you, king. Haha, I mean queen.

[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.