#c: norah.

[starburneds]

Location: Outside Glowing Embers, night-time. With: Norah / @halfwcytohell

Despite repeated assurances from Norah that walking her home after she's finished a late shift isn't necessary, the notion of not showing up has never felt like an option to Atty. He'd claim it's exclusively about safety, that having to navigate the way back to their house alone at the often ungodly hours she works could pose a number of risks, but that's only a piece of the story. The truth is that it's also become a cherished part of his routine -- getting to hear how her day has gone, sharing details about his own, ambling home together beneath muted streetlights and star-scattered skies while the rest of the town sleeps. He lives for it, the comfort of repetition and the company of someone who knows him better than he knows himself.

There's a chill in the air as he waits outside Glowing Embers tonight, accompanied by a gentle pattering of rain. Instinctively shrugging off his jacket when he sees Norah approaching, he offers it to her as a balm against the weather with a tired smile. "Norah! Hi! How's your night been?"

[dvstbvnnies]

*/ closed - norah x hero

"hey, angel," she hums and wraps her arms around hero's shoulders. her lips press to his cheek and she smiles. "listen, i was thinking, what if we had a baby?" he hasn't been listening to her for at least the last ten minutes, so she had to snap him out of it somehow. / @ssvperboy

[artemismatchalatte]

I picked up both The Common Reader and Stone Butch Blues again. I don't like leaving books unfinished.

[bloodandstonex]

His gaze shifted back and forth between the woman and the apple tart, nodding his head, "That sounds delectable." Abe mentioned with a chuckle, "I have such a bad habit of getting the same thing every time." Abe had a control issue nowadays with a lot of things. If he got the same thing every time he was went somewhere, he probably wouldn't be disappointed in it. He took a sip of his drink after a moment before he spoke up again, "I'm sorry if that was weird. Let me make it less weird. My name is Abe." He offered with a small smile, offering his hand out to the woman to shake.

It had been a slow morning after Norah had dropped her kids off at school. She needed to run some errands, but first some coffee was in order. Seated at a table, she's busy scrolling through her phone and picking at the pastry in front of her, absorbed in her thoughts. She needed to figure out how to get her kids to their various activities this week, going through their schedules in her mind when a voice interrupts her thoughts. "Hm?" It takes a moment for the question to register while the brunette sets her phone down, gaze moving to the plated treat in front of her. "Oh, it's an apple crumble tart. I think it's new on the fall menu. would recommend." She replies, offering a smile.

[ofemeraldosborns]

@marvariants​ liked for a starter for norah <3 

Harry was brushing her teeth when she heard movements in the townhouse. That was odd, since she was the only one who lived here. She spat and rinsed her mouth before poking her head out the bathroom door. “Peter?” She called out, hoping it was her best friend letting himself in. No response, more movement. Harry swallowed thickly and moved into her bedroom, grabbing her gun from the bedside cabinet. She approached the kitchen, where the sound was coming from and had her phone dialled to 911. “Who are you?” She asked when she saw a woman standing in her kitchen. 

[saxafimedianetwork]

WhatsApp Supervision For A Lay-Led Islamic Trauma-Focused Intervention In Somaliland

This examined content & #feasibility of remote #WhatsApp text #supervision conducted as part of an open clinical trial in #Somaliland. #ITH is a brief group, lay-lead, #trauma-focused, mosque-based intervention that has demonstrated initial efficacy in pilot studies in #USA & SL

(more…)

[diemelusine]

Portrait of garden designer Norah Mary Madeleine Lindsay (c. 1891) by George Frederic Watts.

[viciousins]

scoff escapes before he can catch it , head shaking in disbelief . the answer he'd been dreading was now hanging in the air , worst instinct confirmed . ' & after everything , you expect me to just take your word on that ? — i can't tell where the lies stop & the truth starts with you . like , do i — ' he hesitates , 'do i even know you ? how much of it was a lie ? ——— fuck , norah . ' he laments, hand running across lower features.

"maybe at first," confession escapes plump petals in a soft murmur, honeyed hues unable to meet his gaze. "but i do have feelings for you."

[norel-ravenclaw]

Court of Darkness / Makai Nightmare

- Aesthetics 4/4 -

Crown Prince Roy of Invidia

Sir Grayson Hotz of Invidia

King Klaus of Invidia

Princess Sherry of Invidia

Lord Dia Akadia, heir of the lost kingdom Tristitas

Crown Prince Lynt of Akadia

Valentino Maes of Akedia

King Liam of Akedia

Queen Norah of Akedia

[mistydear]

soften me now, let me take as is given (xviiii)

billie dean howard x reader summary: You meet Billie in mourning. She's too professional, and you're too angry, and it takes too long to see her again. And again. And again as your lives tumble together. w/c: 3.3k taglist: @lotties-ashwagandha chapter one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen notes: happy pride! think you guys'll like this one warnings: a considerable amount of alcohol and its aftermath

Norah, who is in a skin tight green dress and heels you know will be coming off the second she gets tipsy, cashes in her birthday privileges when reinforcements arrive to help finish setting up. She sits daintily on a barstool while you and mutual friends tie up balloons, set up string lights, and prep a beer pong table. 

Once you’re able to relax for a few minutes, Norah celebrates by pouring all of them a shot. The lights in Norah’s apartment are a mix of pinks and blues and reds, the string lights are taped to the bar, and they have more than enough alcohol to last them several months. 

“Here’s to another year older and no better off,” Norah toasts. A chorus of cheers and salut and unintelligible whoops was followed by the painful grimaces of people who are too old to be taking shots without a chaser. So, you pour everyone another. Just to start the night off right. 

The first two hours of the evening fly by. There’s beer pong and good music and video games in the living room, and you’re just about to broach the subject of the cake when a familiar face walks through the door. A beer in hand, you weave your way to the entryway. Billie Dean Howard is in a silky black dress, and her legs are showing, and you feel like you’re about to be knocked to the floor with the force of her. She’s looking around, bag on her shoulder, heels as tall as the night is long. 

“Billie,” you call, regaining your voice, dodging the last few people to get to her. It’s sweaty and smells like sweet flavored vodka in Norah’s apartment, and the noise and the lights and the people seem to hit Billie like a wave. But she narrows in on you with a weary smile. You wrap an arm around her, and she stiffens momentarily but reciprocates, nails grazing the skin of your shoulder blade. 

“Hi,” she breathes, and you pull away. 

“You can put your purse in Norah’s room. It’s the only place off limits tonight,” you say, dragging her through the crowd. She dodges and weaves easily as you plough through, your hand gripping hers. You close the door behind you, and Billie hesitates, setting her purse gently on Norah’s bed. 

“When you promised chaos, you meant it,” Billie offers, and you grin. 

“I told you Norah’s insane.” But there’s something in Billie’s body language that flips a switch in you. She’s closed off, and you think maybe it’s the people, but Billie’s used to a lot of people in her face. “Are you okay?” Her eyes widen momentarily, and she looks away in a panic but then slowly back to you, swallowing. 

“Am I that transparent?” she asks, and you shake your head. 

“Not at all.” Billie’s eyes drag across you, lingering, analyzing, looking. 

“Good.” It’s final, and you accept it as such. “Is Andy here?” 

“No,” you say, jaw twitching. Billie nods, not pushing, and you take the last swig of your beer. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.” As soon as you and Billie are back in the kitchen, Norah grins and claps. She’s just unveiled the cake, a red solo cup in hand. 

“You’re here!” she squeals and sets down her cup. Then her arms are wrapped tightly around Billie who blinks and stumbles back. As she recovers, her arms come up to hold Norah, featherlight and awkward. It’s a far cry from the way she hugs you. And as Billie meets your eyes, almost pleadingly, something stirs in you, faint and frightening. Billie always holds you tight and warm, and you can feel the tension melt from her the second your arms are around her. It was silly to think that was commonplace. You swallow as Norah lets her go. “I’m so glad you could make it. Let me get you a drink. What do you want?” 

“I got it,” Billie dismisses, squeezing Norah’s arm. “Focus on your cake.” 

Someone lights the candles, the music is lowered, and Norah’s dragging you to her, wrapping an arm tight around your waist. 

“This bitch right here,” Norah begins, and you grin, rolling your eyes. Everyone whoops and shouts. “Is my best friend in the whole world. She’s the reason.” Norah doesn’t elaborate, but you don’t need her to. “I love you,” she says to you, and then plants a wet kiss on your cheek. 

“Love you more,” you grin back, grab onto the side of her head, and kiss her temple. 

“And thank you to everyone who made tonight possible. It wouldn’t be a Norah birthday bash without the henchmen behind the scenes.” Another whoop and cheer from the crowd. You find Billie’s eyes. She’s fixed on you, face unreadable. Norah squeezes your waist, pulling you closer. 

People don’t exactly sing happy birthday as much as they scream it, and you’d be surprised if you didn’t get a noise complaint before the end of the night. As soon as Norah blows out her candles, the music is back up, and Norah is dipping her finger into the cake. Shots in little red solo cups are passed around, and you find yourself face to face with Billie, who clinks your cups together and downs her shot without so much as a wince. You’re not quite as steely. 

You’re quickly put in charge of handing out cake, and by the time you’re down to the last pieces, Billie is back at your side. 

“Wanna split one?” you half yell, and Billie nods, handing you a drink. You’re not sure what it is, but it tastes good, and you tell her so as you hand her a plastic fork. As soon as Billie asks you how you’ve been, you launch into a tale about the latest mishaps at Corner Store, and it pulls a smile from Billie, however small. You relish in it, happy just to see her happy. “Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask, and Billie swallows. 

“Fine.” You don’t believe her, but you know this isn’t exactly the time to dive into it. So, you try to entertain her. And it seems to work. Her smile returns, just slightly, and her shoulders loosen. As you take the last bite of cake, Billie says something to you, but you can’t hear it over the music and the laughter. Instead of talking louder, she simply reaches over and swipes her thumb along the corner of your mouth. You’re effectively silenced, and Billie’s eyes are dark when she wipes the excess frosting onto her napkin. 

“Do you want to play beer pong?” you ask, the only thing capable of leaving your mouth and still you sound like an idiot. You think you might be blushing, but you’re already so warm from the alcohol and the party you can’t be sure. Billie swallows. 

“I’m not very good.” 

“Somehow I doubt that,” you say, and pull her by the hand, something you’re doing a lot tonight. It feels natural when you’re uninhibited. Billie is good at everything she does. And you’re right, too. She’s excellent, and by the end of the first round she’s grinning, and it’s beautiful. Billie is, undoubtedly, beautiful. But the depth of it hits harder under the low lights, everything tinged with liquor. Billie licks her lips and turns to you, having sunk the winning shot, and you’re definitely blushing now. “I told you,” is all you can say, and Billie laughs. She laughs. And it’s so pretty. Your hands seem to move on their own volition as you set up the cups again. 

Most of Norah’s friends are also your friends — artsy, queer types who can’t wear a little black dress without making it subversive and fresh. When Billie wears a little black dress, she makes it do exactly what it was designed for in a way so delicious you find it hard to look at her. Her hair is down in waves, and you want to bite down where her neck meets her shoulder, spread her legs so that her dress slides over her hips. 

Billie draws attention here among people who only wear pearls in drag. She’s out of her element, but the gays of Los Angeles certainly know her. You wonder if Norah asked people not to approach her about the show. You’re thankful, regardless, because Billie’s unrestrained here, playing beer pong in heels on a slippery floor, verging on drunk. 

In the next round you’re faced with more competition, but Billie’s determined now. She’s competitive, you know this about her. Though it doesn’t come out very often, you like to see her unbridled passion. Her lips fall open, brow hard and set, and your eyes are drawn to her arms when she throws the ping pong ball, the way she manages to stand even higher on her tiptoes. You’re too distracted to notice when she sinks two in a row, and then she’s pulling you to her, nails digging into your arm. She’s so bright and lively, and she’s definitely drunk now, and you’ve never seen her like this. Smooth and easy, she wraps an arm around your waist, digs in and pulls you flush to her. 

“That’s two for two, darling. We make a good team,” she says, leaning in, and you swallow, eyes darting across her. You feel hot. Billie’s sticky, and her face is shiny, and her body is warm and soft against you. Shadows dance across a jawline that could cut you, and her nose and cheeks are red. Oh, and her lips are so very red. You could kiss her right now. You want to so desperately, but Andy. God. You pull away and grab her elbow. 

“I need another drink.” 

You take two shots in a row, and then Billie says she needs a cigarette, so you meander back to Norah’s room to grab her purse. You don’t realize that you’re drunk until Norah’s bedroom lights flicker on, and the room doesn’t feel all that real, your ears hollow and ringing from the music. Billie’s uncoordinated, and she sways just slightly, just enough for you to want to hold her steady, place your hands on her hips. Jesus Christ. 

“Maybe I should call Andy,” you mumble, and Billie turns, unlit cigarette between her soft painted lips. 

“Why?” she asks, and you pull your hair from your neck, sweaty and flushed. 

“I told her not to come tonight. I feel bad,” you admit, fanning yourself. Billie sits down on the bed full of other people’s coats and bags. She steadies herself by pressing her hands to the mattress. 

“Are you two okay?” she asks. Billie’s always polite when it comes to Andy but not overly friendly. Come to think of it, she and Andy have never really spent time together. You find that odd considering both Norah and Margot have. And Billie has quickly become an important addition to your life. She should be meeting Andy. Deep down, part of you doesn’t want her to.

“I think I’m pushing her away,” you admit, something you wouldn’t do so freely if you were sober. Billie cocks her head, her now frizzy curls falling down over her arm. 

“Come to the balcony with me,” she says then, striding forward with the abrupt purpose only a drunk Billie could pull off. You follow obediently. 

There are two other people there already, but it’s quiet and cool, and the wind sobers you a little. Billie lights her cigarette, the orange of the lit tobacco illuminating soft skin. She puffs deeply, languidly, like this is something she’s been needing for hours. 

“Tell me everything,” she says, eyes meeting yours. You sigh, leaning against the railing, cool metal digging into your partially exposed stomach. The brightly lit skyline of West Hollywood and LA in the distance soothes you. The smell of cigarettes and the lingering hint of Billie’s perfume soothes you in a different way. You want to lean into it.

“There’s not much more to tell,” you admit, picking at your cuticles. You’ve already told her you don’t love Andy. “It’s starting to feel…unfair to her. I have to make a decision.” Billie hums, smoke curling from her nose. “Anyway, why aren’t you seeing anyone? I’m sure you have women flocking to your doorstep.” Billie snorts, and it’s undignified in a distinctly un-Billie way, and you love it. “I’m serious.” Billie’s jaw clenches, and she taps ash over the balcony. 

“No one’s struck my fancy,” she answers, eyes sliding back to you. You glare, and she narrows her eyes briefly at you. But you win because she breaks eye contact first, fiddling with the filter of her cigarette. “It’s hard. Finding people who…accept me,” she relents, looking down. “Don’t see me as a spectacle or a celebrity or an actor.” 

She’s bitter, and you want to dissipate that feeling as quickly as possible. So you reach over to grab her cigarette and take a slow drag. Her eyes find your mouth as her nails tap out a pensive rhythm on the railing. 

“I don’t,” you say, leaning forward. 

“I know,” she answers hoarsely, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your cheek and tucking it behind your ear. Her thumb lingers on your skin, stroking lightly. You lean into it, savoring the warmth. 

. . . 

Billie thinks you may be trying to kill her tonight. You’re drinking quicker than she can keep up, and everytime she sees you take a shot, she wants to lick the excess from your chin and your neck and down your collarbone and fuck. You get affectionate when you’re drunk, not unlike Norah who’s kissed Billie on the cheek twice now. You left that out when you warned Billie about Norah, and she smiles thinking of it, wondering if this is out of the norm for you. If Billie’s the exception. Because you linger. Your fingers barely leave her skin, always grazing, holding, gripping. And the way you look at Billie burns it’s so tender. 

Not to say Billie isn’t drunk either. She most definitely is, but she cuts herself off when the room starts spinning and she can’t feel her feet, which should be aching in her heels by now. It’s only much later into the evening that Billie finally gets you to drink a glass of water. 

You’re so pretty tonight. And every night. But especially tonight, carefree and open and lovely. Your eyes are shining, and your smile is bright, and you wrap an arm around Billie every chance you get, low around her waist or up around her shoulders. Either way, Billie’s overwhelmed. You smell like sweat and liquor and a hint of sweetness Billie wants to devour. God, she wants you. It’s an easier thought to accept when she’s drunk. She can watch the way your hips move, the way you lick your lips, the way you dance to the music without suffering through quite as much mental gymnastics. 

But it’s when you run your hands through her hair as you dance together that Billie truly feels like she’s in trouble. Her head comes back, heat washing over her as you tug just enough to part Billie’s lips, to blow her pupils wide and dark and eager. You’re singing, and it comes out hot and breathy on her skin, in her ear. Dazed, Billie wraps an arm around you, pulls you close as her other hand rises to your arm, still in Billie’s hair. Her nails dig into your forearm, and as you let her hair go, your arms settle on her shoulders, around her neck. Billie’s hot, and it has nothing to do with the party. There’s heat pooling low in her belly and tight between her legs, and you don’t notice the way she looks at you. So openly ravenous. 

And then Norah’s there, and she’s dancing with you in the sweaty haze of the living room, and Billie’s so thankful she almost gasps. Her heart is pounding. She almost kissed you right there in the middle of Norah’s crowded apartment. 

Billie’s feeling reckless tonight, emotions she doesn’t want to face boiling under her skin, and she needs to leave. 

Seeing her walk toward Norah’s bedroom, you chase after her, sliding in and closing the door behind you. 

“Hey,” you breathe, running your hands through your hair. Billie swallows, drunk and roaring with adrenaline. Even your voice makes her ache. 

“Y/N,” she sighs, turned away from you. 

“Are you leaving?” you ask, breathless. She doesn’t answer, ears ringing, heart thumping in her chest. She wants your hands on her right now. “What’s wrong?” You’re slurring just slightly. Billie turns, hands buzzing, face hot. You’re so gorgeous. “Did something happen? Did I do something?” 

Billie steps forward, practically glides, a moth to a flame. And she doesn’t stop until she’s in your space, raising both hands to cradle your jaw, nails scraping behind your ears, pulling. And she doesn’t breathe, doesn’t think, doesn’t consider much of anything except her deep, bruising need when she slides her lips onto yours. 

She presses in, desperate, and can feel the surprised tension in you dissipate, the breath you gasp before kissing her back. Your lips are soft and wet when they seek out Billie’s and pliant when she parts them, sinking deeper into you. When your hands finally grip Billie’s waist, she sighs, tongue sliding. Sucking on your bottom lip, she feels your breath on her cheek. You taste like peaches, and Billie’s fingers dig into the nape of your neck as she backs you up against the wall. You do gasp then, and she kisses you so deeply it makes your hands go slack against her.

Billie’s heart is racing as her arm snakes around your back, and you pull her closer by the waist, hips pressed together. She nips at your lip before kissing your cheek and your jaw and your neck under your ear, and you shiver. You shiver, and Billie chokes back a moan when you let out a noise so soft and sweet she barely hears it. But her tongue feels it on your throat. 

You smell like sweat and cheap perfume and alcohol. Christ. 

You arch into Billie as she slows, her fingers splayed across your back. Your breaths come out quick in time with Billie’s when she stops nose to nose with you, eyes closed, lips parted. You tug softly at her, and Billie swallows. 

When she peels herself away from you it’s definitive but gentle, and she turns so she doesn’t have to see the lipstick she left on your skin. You don’t speak, and when Billie does turn around, purse in hand, your back is still against the wall, swaying in place, unblinking and focused on her. Dazed and throbbing, Billie wants nothing more than to drop her purse and take off this dress for you. But you’re drunk. You’re very drunk. And your lips are swollen and stained red from Billie’s lipstick. She swallows and strides wordlessly out of the bedroom door before she can change her mind. 

. . . 

You’re in and out of sleep for hours before your eyes finally open. There’s a crick in your neck, and you feel far away from the bed you’re in, stomach cramping. You groan, pressing your face into the pillow. There’s rustling next to you, and Norah’s face appears from under a blanket. Her makeup is smeared across her puffy face. You stare at each other, unable to muster much more, eyes barely open. 

“I gotta go,” you mumble, untangling yourself from the sheets to trek to the bathroom, hands steadying yourself on the walls. 

When you return, Norah’s laying on her back, arms at her side. 

“I may be getting too old for this,” she admits, voice hoarse. You sigh as you strip out of your party clothes and lay on top of the covers, clammy and aching. You both stare at the ceiling. 

“I blacked out,” you say, trying to pinpoint when you stopped retaining memories. It may have been just after the balcony with Billie. You hope she got home okay. 

“Me too,” Norah sighs. You both stare at the ceiling until the stomach cramps fade to hunger, and then you order in the greasiest brunch you can find. 

[thatbanditqueen]

Fuck, Marry, Kill Elvis Film Characters

Hey, you!

Workday doldrums got you down? Feel like your job is sucking your very soul from you and everyone is off having summer fun while you toil away doing utter work bullshit? You want to leave, but your shoes feel water logged and your head feels like it's full of concrete? Well, this game is for you to cheer you up. Who would you marry fuck and kill from E's fictional film characters?

I am totally stealing this, I saw this game on my feed a few weeks ago and stupid work was dragging me down like it is this week.... I forgot who was playing it but in typical Norah fashion I'll just pretend it was my idea.

Tagging a few people to get us started but anyone can and should play!

@whositmcwhatsit @missmaywemeetagain @be-my-ally @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love@powerofelvis @generoustreemystic @loving-elvis @doll-elvis @richardslady121 @dkayfixates @moonchild-daniella @everythingelvispresley @kingdomforapony @freudianslumber @c-rosenn @deke-rivers-1957 @avengen @prompted-wordsmith and @arianatheangel-girl because I know she loves talking E characters as much as I do!

[dvstbvnnies]

the slight contact is enough for norah to feel almost normal again. everything just feels so overwhelming all of the time and she's trying to learn how to harness it, but what does it even mean to harness anxiety and unnecessary fears? she's tried talking to her mom, dad, siblings, hell even random customers, but none of it felt like it actually clicked.

she brought herself back from her thoughts just in time to snort at wes. "maybe it is, but at least you got like a really hot girlfriend out of it," she teases.

his  eyes  flick  down  to  where  her  finger  overlaps  his,  smiling  as  he  hooks  his  pinky  around  hers.  another  thing  he's  working  on?  breaking  the  bad  habit  of  jumping  to  the  worst  conclusion  first.  funny  enough,  that  one  requires  a  less  effort.  more  just  stopping  to  think  about  it  and  apply  some  logic  for  two  seconds.  “absolutely  no  idea.”  been  asking  himself  that  for  a  long  time,  actually.  and  well…  can't  really  blame  him,  all  things  considered.  “i  haven't  ruled  out  the  universe  being  out  to  get  me  yet,  though.”  he's  kidding.  mostly.

[intergalacticfop]

Dating the Jacket Part 2

The Case for the 17th Century

Part 1 here.

In Part 1, I compared my riding jacket to some early/mid-18th century examples, contemporary to the time which the Met Costume Institute gives for the original. I appreciate how the Met came to this decision, but while getting close-up experience constructing my own, I began having questions about that date range. In this part, I will show some strong similarities it shares with earlier styles of the 1670s and 1680s. First, a reminder of the jacket in question:

Jacket, Italian, 1981.314.2. dated 2nd quarter 18th c. Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Here are some of the characteristics of the jacket that it has in common with jackets from the 1670s-1680s.

unpleated skirts

close-set buttons down the length of back and side vents

"hounds-ear" turned back cuff cut in one with sleeve

narrow, horizontal pockets

contrasting cuffs

There is a large caveat, however, that none of the examples I have seen show a wide neckline. Most necklines are either obviously cut close to the neck or are obscured by hair and cravats, but are still almost certainly cut to the neck given that the role of cravats is to hold the neck of a shirt closed. "Floating cravats" aren't really a thing here.

So I suppose the question I'm asking here is: are the other details of decoration and construction I'm explaining here persuasive enough to overcome other factors, like the neckline and the Met's own dating? Let's begin!

Here's the painting I saw that really made me think "wait...am I onto something?"

Mary of Modena by Simon Verelst, c. 1675.

This isn't an isolated incident either, as you can see from the two images below--one of them actually from Italy!

Left: Elisabeth Charlotte of the Palatinate by Louis Ferdinand Elle the Younger, c. 1675. Right: Noblewoman attributed to Pierfrancesco Cittadini, before 1681.

These three women are wearing a version of the justaucorps, which emerged as part of men's fashion in the 1660s, eventually replacing the doublet. Since women's riding jackets of this period were so closely modeled on men's, I think it makes sense to look to men's jackets for information on style and construction, especially since, to the best of my knowledge, there are no extant women's riding jackets for me to access and compare.

In this early version of a justaucorps, you can see some of the shared features with my jacket: numerous buttons along the front, side, and back vents, narrow horizontal pockets, and unpleated skirts:

Man's coat, 1660-1675, Palais Galliera

Here is what Norah Waugh had to say in The Cut of Men's Clothes, 1600-1900:

During the 1670's and 80's the coat acquired a straighter and more elegant line by being more shaped on the underarm and centre back seams. The sleeves also became more fitting and reached just below the elbow with long narrow cuffs--'hounds' ears' cuffs. The early habit of adding a variety of trimmings and accessories lingered on and they were an essential part of the design of these early simply-cut coats. (Waugh, 52)

She further adds that in in the 1690s cuffs and sleeves began getting cut seperately, and skirts started being pleated around the start of the 18th century. To illustrate this point, here is a comparison of the diagrams she made for a 1681 coat compared to a 1720s coat--the period in which the Met partially dates their jacket.

Left: page 59, diagram XV. Right: page 64, diagram XVIII. Both in Waugh, Cut of Men's Clothes, 1964.

In addition to the changes mentioned above, you also see the disappearance of the side-vent buttons and buttonholes, buttons being spaced further appart, and a larger, shaped pocket flap. Speaking of pockets...

The Met's jacket has pockets that I haven' really seen anywhere else. A slit was cut in the fashion fabric and then the raw edges were bound with that same fabric. There were only 2 buttonholes, one on each end of the pocket slit. I recreated this faithfully in my reproduction. This is something I haven't been able to find in any 18th-century jackets, and even in the 17th century you see narrow rectangular flaps as often if not more frequently. Below are two pockets with similar elements to my own. On the left, this coat appears to be cut without a pocket flap and the edges left raw, since it's made of a high-quality, non-fraying wool, and all the buttons are functional. On the right, we have a pocket with a narrow flap, and only the first and last buttons are fastened in the buttonholes.

Left: Wedding Suit of James II, 1673. Right: Wedding Suit of Sir Thomas Isham, 1680. Both in V&A.

side note--look at how narrowly the buttons are spaced--a much more similar arrangement to my own jacket than examples from the early/mid 18th century.

And then there are the cuffs. In part one, I observed that the large jacket cuffs in the 2nd quarter of the 18th century tended to be of the same fabric of the jacket, or match an accompanying waistcoat. In the period 1670-1680 however, you are much more likely to see cuffs that contrast strongly. This can be seen in the portraits of Mary of Modena and Elisabeth-Charlotte of the Palatinate above, and the painting of men from the Tuscan court of Ferdinando de'Medici

Portrait of Three Musicians of the Medici Court by Anton Domenico Gabbiani, c. 1687.

The two figures in the foreground both have strongly contrasting brocade cuffs, much like the cuffs of my own jackets. However, they do not have applied decoration around the cuff edges. That doesn't mean that ornate trim, like pleated ribbons and silver braid didn't happen. For one, Elisabeth-Charlotte has floppy gold and silver lace trimming her cuffs, and for another, we've got ANOTHER Italian gentleman below:

Carlo Borromeo Arese by unidentified artist, 1674.

It's a lot of look but he seems happy about it.

As an added bonus, the brocade ribbons in his portrait remind me of the ribbons on the Met jacket too!

So, on the strength of this evidence, if I were to propose another date for the jacket at the Met, I would suggest the 1670s-1680s. Keep in mind though, I am not an expert, and I also acknowledge that dating may be challenging considering how Italy was fragmented into different kingdoms at the time. Trends in Naples would act differently than in Venice, Tuscany, etc., and regional fashions Are a Thing. So much English-language research, the research that I can access, is focused on fashions from England and France, meaning that variations in other parts of Europe can go unrecognized. I do not want to wholly discount the possibility that some trends lingered longer in some parts of Italy. However, I think that there are very definite similarities in style and construction between this jacket and other examples from the 1670s and 1680s.

So--is that it? Have I successfully made the case for an earlier dating of the jacket? Well...maybe? Ultimately without more information about the jacket's history, information that may well be lost forever, we cannot say for certian. And the neckline is still a bit of a puzzle. In all the examples of 17th-century women's riding jackets I found, they all had the usual high neck. Here are the options as I see them:

The Met is correct, this jacket was made up sometime between 1725 and 1750

This jacket is entirely a product of the 1670s-1680s, and reflects either a heretofore unnoticed trend or just one woman's own idiosyncratic tastes

This is a 1670s-80s jacket that was later altered, perhaps in the 2nd quarter of the 18th century in response to trends for wide-necked riding jackets. The silver lace trimming the jacket neckline doesn't appear elsewhereon the jacket, so it could possibly be a later addition

Split the difference...it's from the 1700s/1710s! Except fashion isn't really like math where you just find the average between to points and it's the answer. But, I suppose it is possible that there was a tailor somewhere still working off of older patterns who adapted to later tastes.

It's entirely a fantasy of a later date, like some 19th century nonsense. The details of the jacket like the numerous passementerie silver buttons (which are extremely fiddly and annoying to make and time-consuming...ask me how I know), and the overall cut of the jacket with seems clearly cut to fit over stays, read as sufficiently authentic to me, but it's worth acknowledging that this is an option, just not the likeliest one.

Given the details of cut and construction, I am most inclined to options 2 or 3. But of course, this is all my non-professional opinion. I hope, however, these posts show how historical costuming and clothing reconstruction can be used to promote deeper understanding of original garments, and encourage the sort of questions that lead to deeper research.

Additional Resources:

FIT's Fashion History Timeline has good overviews of trends:

1660-1669

1670-1679

1680-1689

jeannedepompadour.blogspot.com has a good collection of images of riding habits.

Norah Waugh's The Cut of Men's Clothes, 1600-1900 (Faber and Faber, 1964) can be found in various places.

[magrit-alessa]

My weekly chart (15 Jan 2024 - 21 Jan 2024)

That's what I like. That's what surrounds me. That's what creates my mood.

*Created by my preferences only*

Аll 10 chart positions in 4 minutes here -> https://youtu.be/9kbg2g9slhM

10. Fleur Electra - Dreams

9. Aidan Martin - Lonely People

8. Dennis Lloyd - Reasons

7. Nikow - кисті

6. Norah Jones - Running

5. PARIS - Only You Feat. Keepa

4. Manuel Riva X Eneli - Strangers to Lovers

3. David Kushner - Skin and Bones

2. BANSHEE - THE ANGEL IN THE SOUND

1. Victor Ray - Comfortable

If you want to support channel:

If someone wants to help or support Ukraine:

https://www.drukarmy.org.ua

[callmewhenyougetthis-a]

Originally, he was going to apologize to her. Jamie wasn't the best when it came to sensitive situations, and he'd learned that after his divorce and since raising the hellish teenager that was Avery. But something about apologizing didn't feel right. He knew he had to do something else.

"Well, men are worthless, so that doesn't surprise me," he spoke casually, letting out a snort. He stood up straighter and shrugged his shoulders at her. "What do you need 'im for? The new year's gonna start with or without him. Let's enjoy it together."

He glanced at the crowd over at his side and then flashed her a smile; the lights of the big screens and the holographic confetti shone on his face, and reflected against her hair. "Times Square on New Year's Eve. I couldn't think of anywhere else I want to be right now, at this moment," he said, attempting to be sincere. The announcers on the nearest stage told the crowd there was less than a minute left until the new year. "And, it's not so bad that you're here, too."

callmewhenyougetthis​:

The further they walked, the more Jamie sensed the sudden drop in Norah’s mood. Sure, they were still strangers, but some tonal shifts were more obvious than others. And he couldn’t help but wonder if this Billiam had anything to do with it, but he kept quiet as they walked for now, not wanting to pry. At least, just yet.

He let Norah speak first. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he said, chuckling. “I lost her tonight, after all. But… I haven’t accidentally killed her yet, so I guess I could say I’m doin’ alright.” His relationship with Avery was fickle, though it felt good to have his efforts recognized.

Once they were as close to the ball drop as they could get, Jamie asked, “Do you wanna try calling him?”

The mother of four couldn’t bring herself to even laugh at Jamie’s joke, as even though he stated he was doing the bare minimum, she realized that she couldn’t even do that. Norah nodded at his suggestion and dialed his number, bringing the receiver close to her ear so Billiam could get a good lecture from her or to hide him from her new acquaintance. 

Endless ringing, endless ringing and she felt the blood rush from her face. You’ve reached Billiam Worthin—— and before he outgoing message could even finish she hung up and threw her phone back into her purse. “I, uh, I think his phone is dead… Super bummer.”

[love-for-carnation]

Fashionable gentleman, c. 1775. Two-piece (matching fabric) suit of frock coat and breeches, in burnt sienna brown silk; ivory silk embroidered waistcoat, all adapted from The Cut of Men's Clothes 1600-1900 Norah Waugh. The embroidered floral designs of carnations, lilies, anemones and tulips are from an 18th century border design. Waistcoat detail inspired by 18th-century waistcoat with “insect” embroidery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Gentleman’s Silk Suit 1775-1780 Two-piece suit of frock coat and breeches, in burnt sienna brown silk; embroidered waistcoat, all adapted from The Cut of Men’s Clothes 1600-1900 Norah Waugh. Embroidery details inspired by 18th-century item with “insect” embroidery at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The embroidered floral designs of carnations, lilies, anemones and tulips are from an 18th century border design.