#vintage armoire
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indiatrendzs ¡ 4 months ago
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Haute Bohemian Rustic Interiors and Design
Antique Indian Furniture designs are full of an earthy vibrancy, a tumultuous love story of pattern and texture with the sandy whitewashed cabinets, Jaipur blue consoles, deep green rustic door cabinets. Each room starts with a stillness of subdued, soft base that allows the vibrancy of design elements to emerge.The structured decor is neutral and the accessories or furnitures are bold and…
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sykesassist ¡ 1 year ago
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Los Angeles Eclectic Dining Room Image of a medium-sized eclectic great room with travertine flooring, beige walls, a regular fireplace, and a stone fireplace
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witchrealms ¡ 9 days ago
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vintagehomecollection ¡ 22 days ago
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On the table to the left of the four-poster bed is a sketch by Renoir of his son Claude. On the table to the right is a David Hockney pen-and-ink drawing.
Private Palm Beach - Tropical Style, 1992
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sagradofemenin0 ¡ 1 year ago
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Armor of Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, (Detail of Breastplate), 1549
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steven-myself ¡ 4 months ago
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Arnold Schwarzenegger Scrapbook - FACTORY Fanzine
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chemicalcupcake ¡ 2 years ago
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* by @/camrihewie on instagram
— > source *
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indiatrendzs ¡ 7 months ago
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Vintage Modern Farmhouse with a Boho Vibe
Bringing together vintage farmhouse doors, barn doors, carved doors, and rustic doors from India can infuse your space with character and warmth, anchoring it in a rich tapestry of history and culture. These elements are fantastic for creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere that tells a story. Facebook @mogulinteriorr Follow us on Instagram @mogulinterior  Integrate elements like jute rugs, woven…
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markwickens ¡ 1 year ago
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Dining Houston With a single-bowl sink, flat-panel cabinets, white cabinets, wood countertops, a white backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island, this large, modern u-shaped ceramic tile kitchen is ideal for entertaining.
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mogulbohochic ¡ 1 year ago
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Creating expansive outdoor living spaces beyond the pool in your country farmhouse acreage is being in a dynamic conversation with nature's beauty and artistic elements. Older pool decks were smaller and enclosed and kept you away from absorbing nature's energies.
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vintagehomecollection ¡ 6 months ago
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The dazzling blue and greens of a collection of antique majolica gave designer Greg Jordan the cue for the other intense colors in a sunroom: an armoire lacquered deep green and seating covered in two tones of blue - ultramarine and delft.
House Beautiful Color, 1993
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hometoursandotherstuff ¡ 4 months ago
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Great 1920 home in Buhl, MN is all original. It needs a bit of work, here and there, but it's completely move-in ready. 3bds, 1ba, and only $150K. Beautiful big porch out front. Take a look inside.
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Cute little foyer with hooks for outerwear and room for a bench to take boots off, etc.
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It has a very large living room with a beautiful long built-in bench and an original brick fireplace. You could actually set up a dining room set in that space.
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They use this room as an informal dining room, and since it's right outside the kitchen, it could be an everyday dining room.
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The kitchen has vintage cabinetry, and it was brick, which they painted white. They replaced the counters at some point, but the flooring is original.
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There's a back hallway to the yard.
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And, look at this- the sweetest little pantry. The original cabinetry needs to be sanded and refinished, b/c it's a little worn.
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The single bath is accessible to the 3 upstairs bedrooms.
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The primary bd. is large and has 2 closets. Look at those fabulous original doors.
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Bd. #2 is a nice size.
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The 3rd bd. is used as a home office.
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Can you believe the wonderful built-in armoire in this closet? I'm wondering if the little door is a laundry chute.
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The 9,147 sq ft lot is a corner lot and has an oversized 2 car garage.
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https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/318-Frantz-St-Buhl-MN-55713/246195376_zpid/?
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lexezombie ¡ 3 months ago
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REFERENCES?? IN THIS ECONOMY??
yuhh <3 + some new hc info: (I may have projected on Mabel 💀)
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Mabel Pines: 15
Always sewing, knitting or crocheting; likes making her own clothes (lil fashionista)
Has beads on her shoe laces that remind her of family and friends!
Spends most of her time on ebay looking for vintage fashion pieces
AuDHD
Paints her nails daily
Has an extensive nightly routine
Her room has an armoire, closet, vanity desk + dresser
Her vanity is overflowing with accessories
She 100% likes Vocaloids, MLP + Undertale lmao
Still has a huge amount of sweaters; ones that don't fit anymore get recycled or donated <3
Still arts and crafts QUEEN and she will never be dethroned!
Recently gave Gideon a chance at long distance dating; they've been together three weeks and it's going alright so far
Ford gave her the 2nd fit (her 'hunting gear') as a birthday gift
Still has the grappling hook and uses it often
WILL bareknuckle box school bullies -- LEFT HOOK SOLVES EVERYTHING!
---
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Mason 'Dipper' Pines: 15
Constantly wearing Wendy's hat
Started his own journal (with Mabel's input)
Prefers wearing boots with thick soles after stepping on a nail at 14
Autistic
Likes FNAF + Undertale
Runs a DD&MD group with a few friends (it's been going for months)
Mabel made his sweater vest <3
Still wants to apprentice for Ford but he's waiting til after high school
Has been in a long distance relationship with Pacifica for a year now
Built a tree house with Mabel + is usually found in there
Is less bothered by liking girly stuff + will openly join his sister in singing girly pop songs during karaoke night
Has WAY TOO MANY PINS!!
That Freddy shirt glows in the dark (he was bullied for it once and doesn't wear it anymore; at least not in public lmao)
Extra stuff to note for both in this AU:
Parents are officially divorced, though they live with their dad (agreed upon by both parents. it's not that messy a divorce tbh lol)
They visit Gravity Falls every summer
This AU IS the one with Cluhsandra Puzzles in it, so they do get to interact with both her AND probation Bill lmao
Both have trauma from the events of weirdmagedon but are doing MUCH better with it after therapy (bill could use pointers)
Out of the two of them, Mabel's the one that'll need glasses first
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chemicalcupcake ¡ 2 years ago
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pics #1- 2, 4-6 * sources unknown
pic #3* @/ulrikkebie on instagram
pic #7* ethan allen french armoire
pic #8* clare montclair on flickr
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picturesofthegoneworlds ¡ 7 months ago
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For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?
Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~
There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.
The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.
They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.
She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-
She left through the vacant fireplace.
From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.
Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?
The thick smoke filtered through the pines
All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-
~
There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.
Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-
Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –
-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-
She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.
Then, for a short time, she slept with them.
Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.
She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things
Permanently rotting 
Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose
Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?
Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.
~
There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.
Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.
Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.
“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”
She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  
It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.
Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.
Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting
“Would you like to try it?”
Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-
“You’re quiet…”
Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.
Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-
“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”
 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”
Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.
“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”
Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).
“I don’t dislike it…”
Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.
“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”
She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.
“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”
She doesn’t like to think of that.
The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.
“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”
Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter
“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”
Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.
To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 
finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -
the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 
She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.
“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”
It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.
“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”
"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 
Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 
Laudna stares.
"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.
“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.
Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.
“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.
“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 
“And the taste?”
Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.
Imogen clears her throat
"’s’good - kinda familiar."
Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.
Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.
She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.
“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”
Causes her to blush furiously
“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.
“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.
"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 
She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…
Focus.
Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember
Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.
She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’
what she does say is
"nostalgic." 
not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.
Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.
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mogulinterior4 ¡ 18 days ago
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Rustic Ornate Wardrobe Cabinets - www.mogulinterior.com
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