#ormolu clock

[mrsterlingusa]

#mrsterlingusa #foo dogs #grandmillennial decor #grandmillennial #traditional decor #preppy decor #chinoiserie #gump's buddha clock #ormolu clock #maximalism

[blueiskewl]

A Directoire ormolu mantel clock, circa 1795

3¾-inch dial with enamel chapter ring signed A Paris, open centre, the bell striking movement with outside count wheel and silk suspension, the drum mounted in an open frame surmounted by a brazier and with a ribbon-tied basket, flanked by adorsed gryphons and with a dragon pendulum, the oval base on toupie feet.

46cm 18in high: 22cm 8½in wide.

#A Directoire ormolu mantel clock 1795 #clock #mantel clock #art #artist #art work #art world #art news

[charlesreeza]

Pendulum clock in the shape of a Chinese temple on a wooden chinoiserie base, by Joseph Martineau, active in London from 1774 to 1794.

Museo di Capodimonte, Naples

#antique clock #decorative arts #antique furniture #Baroque art #ormolu #doesn't look like a Chinese temple to me #but that's what the label said

[hadrian6]

 FRENCH ORMOLU-MOUNTED AMETHYST AND WHITE MARBLE THREE-PIECE CLOCK GARNITURE THE CLOCK. 1870-80. AFTER A MODEL BY JEAN-FRANCOIS FORTY French active 1775-1790. Christie’s Oct. 2020. http://hadrian6.tumblr.com

[pwlanier]

RAINGO FRÈRES [PARIS]

Table clock c.1823-4

Amboyna, ormolu

An astronomical gilt bronze and amboyna orrery and clock. Mounted on a circular base surmounted by four pillars with ormolu capitals and bases which support a circular top with the signs of the zodiac and an astronomical orrery. The gilded dial has the 12 hours represented by Roman numerals and the days of the week in an inner circle; blued steel moon hands with a stylised pointer for the days of the week. All mounted on a square plinth with cased circular ormolu feet.

The orrery makes one revolution a year and has a dial mounted over its winding square divided into 48 months and showing leap years and 1st, 2nd & 3rd common years. It revolves round a horizontal date dial with a pointer above the signs of the Zodiac annually; there is no mechanical correction for the leap years. The movement of the orrery moves around the sun and drives the earth and the moon in their correct orbits with a dial showing the age of the moon. The moon is running on its own track and is half silver and half black to represent how it looks in the night sky. The Earth has two curved pointers that denote sun rise and sun set as they occur around the world.

The clock movement is set between two of the four pillars that support the orrery above the clock. The clock movement has locking plate strike and strikes the hours on a single bell. The going train has a dead beat escapement with a grid iron compensated pendulum. In the motion work is the extra gearing to show the day of the week.

The orrery is driven by its own barrel and mainspring and is wound every four years. It is regulated by the clock below by a set of gears running up from the clock to control the orrery. There is a turning handle with gearing on the other end of its arbour that can be used to correct the orrery's position or show its functions.

Royal Collection Trust

[bestgrishaversequotes]

longer quotes under the cut!

But how to answer? Why did it matter to him what became of Ravka? Broken, needy, frustrating Ravka. The grand lady. The crying child. The drowning man who would drag you under rather than be saved. This country that took so much and gave nothing back. Maybe because he knew that he and his country were the same. Nikolai had always wanted more. More attention, more affection, something new. He'd been too much for his tutors, his nannies, the servants, his mother. No one had quite known what to do with him. No matter how they cajoled or what punishments they devised, he could not be still. They gave him books and he read them in a night. He sat through a lesson in physics and then tried to drop a cannonball off the palace roof. He took apart a priceless ormolu clock and reassembled it into a ghastly contraption that whirred and dinged without surcease, and when his mother wept over the ruined heirloom, Nikolai had looked at her with confused hazel eyes and said, "But... but now it tells the date as well as the time!"

(King of Scars, chapter 12)

--------

Jesper's mind emptied. He wasn't thinking of what had happened before or what might happen next. There was only the reality of Wylan's mouth, the press of his lips, then the fine bones of his neck, the silky feel of his curls as Jesper cupped his nape and drew him nearer. This was the kiss he'd been waiting for. It was a gunshot. It was prairie fire. It was the spin of Makker's Wheel. Jesper felt the pounding of his heart - or was it Wylan's? - like a stampede in his chest, and the only thought in his head was a happy, startled, Oh.

Slowly, inevitably, they broke apart.

"Wylan," Jesper said, looking into the wide blue sky of his eyes, "I really hope we don't die."

(Crooked Kingdom, chapter 28)

#grishaverse #round 1 #king of scars #nikolai lantsov #six of crows #crooked kingdom #jesper fahey #wesper

[angelswing236]

"You lost it. Well, we lost it."

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘Bloody waste of time,’ Jimmy grumbled, peering under yet another sheet. ‘I mean how many clocks does one person need? The Dowager must have plenty.’

‘Mr Carson said it was special to her,’ Thomas said, lifting another sheet and scrutinising what was underneath it.

‘Can’t be that special if it’s been mouldering away up here for fifty years.’

‘Apparently, it was a wedding present but the old Earl didn’t like it. And it made a right racket when it chimed.’

Jimmy lifted up another sheet and paused. ‘I think I might have found it.’

Thomas dropped the sheet he was about to twitch upwards and crossed to stand beside Jimmy, both of them staring at the clock they’d been sent to hunt down.

‘That is...’ Thomas petered out, unable to find the words.

‘It’s hideous, is what it is. No wonder the old man didn’t like it. I mean what even are they?’ Jimmy asked, tilting his head and squinting at the small, crabbed figures adorning the large ormolu clock now uncovered in all its dubious glory.

‘Cherubs?’ Thomas offered, not entirely sure he was right.

‘Well, they’re not like any cherubs I’ve ever seen. They look demonic. Like they’d come alive at night and try to murder you in your bed.’

‘They’re certainly... unique.’

‘I hope it wasn’t in the bedroom. It’d put you right off your stride trying to do it while those horrible things were watching,’ Jimmy said with a shudder. ‘Maybe that’s why it got banished up here. The old fella couldn’t get it up until it was gone.’

Thomas cast a look at Jimmy. ‘I worry about you sometimes.’

‘What? Why?’

‘We’re looking at a late 18th century clock and you start thinking about sex.’

‘Everything makes me think of sex. Even your ugly mug makes me think of sex sometimes,’ Jimmy said, and then flushed as he realised what he’d said. ‘Er, I mean... um...’

Thomas rolled his eyes and shook his head, giving that a wide berth now they’d finally got back on an even keel after the fair.

‘Let’s just get this thing downstairs so I can get a proper look at it.’

‘It looks heavy,’ Jimmy said, curling his lip and eyeing the big, ornate clock, not relishing the thought of hefting it down several sets of stairs.

‘We can carry it in the sheet if we have to,’ Thomas replied, sizing it up.

Jimmy sighed and walked forward, taking hold of the big, ugly clock.

‘Jeez, there’s even more imps on the back.’

‘Angels,’ Thomas corrected absently, his focus on the clock.

‘Ooo, look, there’s a key in the back of it. Let’s wind it up and see exactly how much of a racket it makes,’ Jimmy said eagerly, reaching for the key.

Thomas snatched it away before he could touch it. ‘No, you might damage the mechanism.’

‘Oh, go on. Don’t be a spoilsport,’ Jimmy whined.

‘No. Let’s just get it downstairs first.’

‘Oh, come on, let’s set it off.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you want to see why the old man hated it so much?’

‘I’ve got eyes, Jimmy. I can see why he hated it.’

‘But it might sound even worse than it looks. Don't you want to hear whether it sounds like a chicken with the pip or a banshee? Give me the key and I’ll wind it up.’

‘No. I don't care what it sounds like.’

‘Oh, go on. Think of it as our reward. ‘

‘Our reward? For what?’

‘For finding this monstrosity!’

‘No.’

‘Gimme the key, Thomas,’ Jimmy said, lunging for it.

Thomas took advantage of his superior height and held the key up higher. ‘No.’

‘Give it to me!’ Jimmy repeated, jumping up and grabbing for it, succeeding in accidentally knocking the key out of Thomas’ hand.

They both watched as the ornate, curlicued key fell, twirling through the air until it hit the floor at an awkward angle, bounced and slipped through a gap in the floorboards.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ Thomas snapped.

‘You lost it. Well, we lost it,’ Jimmy amended quickly as he caught sight of Thomas’ face.

‘We? There’s no we about this! This is all down to you!’ Thomas hissed. ‘Neither you nor the Dowager are going to hear it chime now, are you? Are you going to be the one to tell her you lost her key?’

‘Not on your nelly,' Jimmy said, eyes wide. 'What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know, Jimmy. What do you suggest we do?’

‘Prise up the floorboards?’ Jimmy said, looking doubtfully at the solid wooden planks.

‘Oh, yeah, genius idea. We’ll just rip them up with our bare hands, shall we? And then we can scrabble about in the muck and the mouse droppings under there to find the key. Then maybe we can put the boards back and hammer the nails in with our teeth, eh?’ Thomas said, making his irritation clear.

‘Well, what do you suggest we do?’ Jimmy retorted, crossly.

‘Lie, Jimmy. That’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to have to lie through your pearly white teeth. “Key, Mr Carson? No, there weren’t no key in it when we found it.” That’s what you’re going to say. Do you think you can manage that?’

Jimmy grinned, baring his pearly white teeth. ‘Course, I can. Easy peasy. Never saw no key, no, siree.’

‘Good. Don’t cock it up.’ Thomas shook the sheet out. ‘Now help me put it on this sheet. I don’t fancy having those imps glaring at me all the way downstairs.’

‘Angels, Thomas,’ Jimmy corrected, still grinning. ‘They’re angels. Like what I am.’

Thomas snorted. ‘There’s nowt angelic about you.’

‘’Cept my face,’ Jimmy countered, beaming at him. ‘And I reckon you think my arse is quite heavenly, too.’

‘Shut your stupid face and help me lift this,’ Thomas grumbled, ignoring that statement and trying desperately not to think of Jimmy's very well-formed behind.

Jimmy snickered and bent to the task at hand.

#fictober23 #downton abbey #thomas barrow #jimmy kent #humour #writing prompt #writing challenge

[rooksmoor-manor]

The Deviless; or, A Visitation on All Hallows' Eve!

This story happened long ago, when I was still young, and a Keeper's responsibilities were still not a burden upon my shoulders. Back then, Halloween was—and still is—one of the busiest nights in the year for Rooksmoor Manor. That old building, unlike today, still managed to keep a flickering glimmer of its grand past, like a faint reflection on the faded ormolu or in the faces of its many guests and residents. Those were happy times, indeed.

It all began around an hour after the banquet ended, that awkward time when guests still hold onto empty glasses as their conversations languish in agony. We were awoken from this tedious lull first by a gentle rapping, followed by the thunderous bell of the front door. It was a most welcome distraction, proven by the relieved whispering and murmurs that livened up the room. It was easy to ascertain the question in everyone's mind: Who could it be at this hour? All expected guests arrived punctually at sunset; there was no latecomer.

The air became heavier with curiosity and anticipation as the doors opened to welcome this unknown visitor. A figure stood right by the threshold wrapped in burgundy robes, their face obscured by a creaked, terrifying horned mask. Behind it, a pair of bright, honey-irised eyes darted around inquisitively, returning every one of the stares firmly fixed upon them. Only some brown locks of hair peering around the edges of the mask betrayed the seemingly hellish nature of this apparition as nothing more than a disguised individual. After lingering on the threshold for a long minute, she removed the mask, revealing herself as a young woman of barely twenty years.

Far from being reassured at the complete normalcy of our visitor, this only raised even more questions. It was crystal clear that she was not from around: no person from Town in their right mind would dare to venture so close to the Manor on such an eventful night. Also, she seemed too calm and collected to have lost her way or become separated from a group. Her choice of attire was also a concerning question, for despite its uniqueness, it did not look that much out of place among the rest of us. Of course, she was not to be rejected entrance. No one was willing to betray one of the most ancient beliefs upon which the Manor was built—even less on All Hallow's Eve.

Our unexpected guest was a marvellous listener, for she seldom spoke. She easily ingratiated herself with the rest of the guests, who decided to name her the Deviless, which she seemed to find significantly amusing. When it was finally time to begin the procession to the Manor's Graveyard, she gladly joined. As we walked by each other, I was sure I could see a smile on her face, lighted by the flickering flame of candles. It was not just a simple, courteous smile. That was the unmistakable expression of pure joy and delight of someone who had found a place they belonged to—a place to call home. Since we were still too young to join the adults for the rest of the night inside the family crypt, we returned to the Manor with the rest of the children. It had been quite a long day, and the clock was already in the small hours, so it did not take us long to decide the best course of action was to go to bed. The Deviless settled in the only room in the Manor that was empty for the night, a small but comfortable bedroom on the second floor, right beside mine. I bid her goodnight just as she locked the door, to which she responded only with a shy smile as sweet as honey.

I refuse to bore you with details about my troubled sleep that night. I will not linger about the many dreams of a pair of amber-golden, shiny eyes. I will not tell you how I rose the following morning with an acrid taste in my throat and a faint scent of brimstone in my nostrils. I am only going to tell you about how, a few hours later, we found the door to her room locked from the inside. When we finally managed to get it open, we found the room exactly as it was the night before. The bed was perfectly tidy; the curtains closed shut. There was only one notorious difference: all the candles had burned out completely, and the Deviless was nowhere to be found. She vanished just as she appeared. Sometimes, I feel I was the only person who did anything to search for her, to know who she was. I can only can only hope that, wherever she is, she is alive and well.

And may she come to visit again on this All Hallow's Eve.

#dark #gothic #mystery #story #fiction #goth #creepy #short story #halloween #all hallows eve #horror story #spooky #darkness #spooktober #mysterious #ghost stories #apparition #fantasy #creative writing #writing #dark academia #gothic stuff #dark aesthetic #dark fantasy #macabre #dark literature #halloween story #spooky fic #vic #victorian

[annadedanann]

Gothic Dining Set

Happy Monday My Lovelies !!!!

I´ve Been Having SOOOOOO Much Fun Making This Set Last Week !!! I Wanted Something New & Yet Something Regal Too.. Gothic Is Beautiful Through The Ages In So Many Ways !! This Set Contains, a Dining Table That You Can Place One After The Other & It Looks Like a Long Long Table...The Fireplace That I Adore In Oak, Two Types Of Chairs, One For The Side & The Other For The King LOL.. a Divider That You Can Also Place Against The Wall To Make it Look Like a Window, The Stained Glass Window For The Same Size Of It To Match, Different Swatches Of Wallpapers & a Column Type For One Of Them... & For The Outside, Two Types Of Fences For The Windows, One Gothic & The Other More Versailles :) I Also Had To Add a Regency Clock That´s Amazing, Not My Creation But From The Amazing Photo-Grammaton User At The Next Link "18th Century French Regence Ormolu Bracket Clock" (https://skfb.ly/o9wUs) by Photo-Grammaton is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). An Idea From My Lovely Friend Rudy.

Anyway, I Hope You Loved It As Much As I Do !!!!

Sending You All Simmie Week Vibes & Hugsss !!!!

AnniQ

#thesims4cc #thesims4mods #thesims4 #the sims story #gothic #set #dining room

[wasendured]

(  RAM  CHARAN  .  CIS  MAN.  HE/THEY  . THIRTY-EIGHT  )  SIR  CAI  from  the legend of king arthur  has  found  themselves  trapped  in  grimsby.  though  here  they  go  by  TRIPURANENI  DEV  NAIDU  .   they  reside  in  sumner  heights,  and  have  been  passing  time  working  as  a  LAWYER  at  CAMELOT & ASSOCIATES.  according  to  the  people  around  town,  they're  often  seen  WINING  AND  DINING  POTENTIAL  CLIENTS  AT  THE  LOCAL  HIGH-END  RESTAURANT  and  they've  also  mentioned  that  they're  just  as  -  derisive  &  tormentuous,  but  as   +  loyal  &  adept  as  ever.   +  strong  notes  of  patchouli  and  cacao,  an  olfactory  signature  signalling  their  presence,  telling  people  i’m  here,  i’m  here,  i  was  here,  won’t  you  think  of  me?  /  paperwork  stacked  high  on  mahogany  desks  topped  with  vintage  ormolu  clocks,  gold-fringed,  like  the  legacy  left  by  a  father  who  always  had  a  better  option  on  his  other  hand  —  childhood’s  painful  lament    /    battle-scars  from  a  battle  never-fought,  leading  to  a  death  that  isn’t  quite  death:  how  does  it  feel  never  knowing  how  your  story  ends?  how  does  it  feel  to  get  pulled  apart?    /    restlessness,  always  restlessness  always  seems  to  remind  people  of  them.  i  wonder  how  well  they'll  do  around  here.

. ————— dossier

tl;dr —————

former knight of the round table with an acerbic tongue and a haughty attitude, DEV is a workaholic with, paradoxically, too much time and privilege on their hands. an unabashed nepobaby, they still don't quite know what they're there for, but they participate in the daily grind all the same. day in, day out: clock in, clock out, have dinner, go to the bar, get home. life's pretty empty when you don't have your hands full from slaying (metaphorical & actual) dragons, but they won't have it any other way.

the application —————

YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.

the story starts, and you are not fated. the story ends, and you die unchosen. this is what life is like at the sidelines: you are brave, and you are courageous, and you are — above all else — loyal. your father plucks a stranger out of nowhere and consecrates him as your brother. that day, you come to learn the meaning and weight of devotion, what it means to want to die for someone, kill for someone — because one look at him, and you’re gone. you had resolved to be the best knight in the world, the stuff that songs are made of, but these are the whims of children, you come to realise. that day that arthur comes into your life, you are transformed into a planet in orbit, rotating around a sun that burns bright: he, the stuff of light and brightness; you, the space-dirt twirling ‘round. 

this is not to say: it was easy to learn your place. the day he pulled the sword out of the stone, you claimed the effort yours; but you are not a villain, not truly, nor are you a scoundrel. you give in eventually, proclaiming the truth and and letting the true king of the britons rise to his throne. in time, you become your brother’s most loyal servant, his seneschal, and one of the first in his round table. there’s a time where you might have been talked of in whispers, where they talk of you like a god: capable of inhuman feats of daring, of being something almost preternatural; but that time is past before it could even bear fruit. there are no songs sung for the chosen one’s brother. there are no songs sung for you. whenever they now talk of sir cai, they always talk of you in relation to your brother. 

yet as sir cai, you were used to questing. the curse was supposed to be but another one in the long list of long journeys you undertook for the further glory of your brother’s kingdom. you slew giants, consorted with powers beyond this earth, and it was once whispered that no wound from your sword would ever heal. what was a witch to a knight of camelot, the greatest kingdom on earth? but there is something you’ve forgotten, something important, something pivotal—

YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.

this is the story where nothing you do matters, and there are no kings nor knights nor swords in stones waiting to get pulled out. this is the story where you become a man, nothing more than a man, and it bores you. it saves you. it annihilates you, turns you inside out, and makes you question everything you ever thought about yourself. you are sir cai, the unchosen, the braggart, the scornful & the contemptuous; you are dev, the son of a father who is both ghost and memory, who raised you up and gave you everything he had because you are his first and only son. this is the same story but with certain names crossed out, not in anger or jealousy but in resignation. this is the story you’ve written at the back of your head where no one could pluck it out and lay you bare, not even wizards with all their unnatural powers, and you nourished it like you would a babe of your own blood.

this is the story where finally nothing is asked of you and you are you and you are alone. there are no grand battles here, no lines between good and evil, no beasts to slay with your sword from which no wound can be healed. this life is something messy and crumpled and incomprehensible, where it’s all just people in rooms, trying their best to be happy — and who can fault them for that? who can fault you for that?

this is the story that scares you the most, you think, because this might have been the story you were waiting for all your life.

 YOU ARE NOT THE HERO OF THIS STORY.

#grimsby.intro #✦ 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 : DEV → STUDY #this is literally just my app lmfao i'm Very Lazy that way #literally everything else is in the dossier including plots + headcanons

[mrsterlingusa]

Tranquility

#mrsterlingusa #grandmillennial decor #grandmillennial #preppy decor #traditional decor #gump's buddha clock #antique clock #gump's #ormolu #porcelain flowers

[gdjica]

Ormolu and turquoise porcelain three-piece clock set, late 19th century

#antique #mantel clock #candelabra

[charlesreeza]

A clock in the Archbishop's Palace in Catania, Sicily

#antique clocks #painted porcelain #ormolu

[pwlanier]

A LOT OF FIFTEEN COLLECTIBLES

19TH TO EARLY 20TH CENTURY

Comprising: A Russian enamelled and gilt beaker with the cipher of Czar Nicholas II, circa 1896; A restauration ormolu watch-stand, circa 1820-1830, of baluster shape with eagle finial; A Dutch silver watch stand modelled as a longcase clock, mid 20th century; seven various pocket watches (one gold, 14 K); A photograph of a young man - on glass, fitted in a pressed leather case, circa 185-1870; A boxed set of cut-glass set shoe buckles, probably late 18th century; A pair of cut-glass set shoe buckles, 19th century; a cut glass set shaped belt-buckle-19th century; and an ormolu mounted leather knife sheath (15).

Christie’s

#cabinet of curiosities

[random-racehorses]

Random Real Thoroughbred: DUTCH CLOCK

DUTCH CLOCK is a mare born in New Zealand in 1920. By NASSAU out of ORMOLU. Link to their pedigreequery page: https://www.pedigreequery.com/dutch+clock

#/dutch+clock

[angelswing236]

"I don’t know if they will accept this. "

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

‘You rang, Granny?’ Mary said, entering her grandmother's drawing room.

‘Yes, my dear. I wanted your opinion on something,’ the Dowager said, raising her face for a kiss.

‘Really? Well, fire away,’ Mary said, settling on the sofa.

‘It’s about a wedding gift for Sybil and… Branson.’

‘Tom,’ Mary corrected. ‘We have to call him Tom now. Well, we will after they marry. So, what have you gone for?’

‘Well, I did have it in mind to pass on a clock I received on the occasion of my own marriage. However, it is rather large and it might not be to their tastes or – more pertinently – it may be a tad too grandiose for their new living accommodation.’

‘Not that big ormolu clock in the hallway?’ Mary said, astounded. ‘Granny, they will be living in a small flat in Dublin, not a mansion! From what Sybil says, I doubt they’ll be able to swing a cat in their new accommodation, never mind house a huge thing like that.’

‘Oh, really? How distressing,’ the Dowager said, her nose wrinkling in disappointment that one of her granddaughters should be living in such reduced circumstances, especially voluntarily. ‘Hmm, yes, that is a concern. So, we think that is not a wise idea, then? I had thought it might remind Sybil of me.’

‘I think perhaps send her a photograph of you instead. That would be much more manageable.’

‘I did have another thought. A gift of an entirely different nature. There is a slight problem though as it could be construed as being of a monetary nature. I don’t know if they will accept this. Well, Sybil might, but Branson can be somewhat sniffy about these things.’

'Are you thinking of sending them money? Because I’m fairly sure the chauffeur will take offence at that.’

‘No, not money. I am not that gauche, Mary,’ the Dowager chastised. ‘I had thought to gift them a honeymoon.’

‘A honeymoon?’ Mary echoed, taken aback. ‘Where?’

‘At The Shelbourne in Dublin. A few nights there, that’s all. Do you think that would be acceptable?’

‘Oh, Granny, I think that is a lovely idea,’ Mary said, pleasantly surprised.

‘Excellent! That’s settled then. Although I think I shall also send them a photograph of me.’

‘I’m sure that’s what they have always wanted,’ Mary said, cheekily.

‘Just for that, I will gift you a copy too,’ the Dowager sniffed.

#fictober23 #downton abbey #mary crawley #violet crawley #the dowager countess #fanfiction #writing prompt #writing challenge