#dropcloth

[boxthoughtsblog]

A quick CLOSER LOOK daily photo exercise - October 12, 2024

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[themightyif]

Transitional Dining Room - Dining Room Picture of a medium-sized transitional kitchen and dining room with light wood floors and dark floors.

[ucitavanje]

Dining Room Kitchen Dining in Boston Kitchen/dining room combo - mid-sized traditional light wood floor and brown floor kitchen/dining room combo idea

[maelwife]

Just saw a tiktok saying drop cloths for painting are bad for the environment and unsustainable like. you can just use one old sheet forever…

[farmhouse40]

Dropcloth DIY

Have you ever been surprised to learn that those beautiful white linen-look drapes you see online are made of drop cloths? Choosing the appropriate curtains can be a real challenge. Cheap ones tend to look cheap, and high-quality ones can be pricey. Easy, inexpensive, and requiring no sewing, these Dropcloth DIY curtains are a great choice. The neutral tone of the canvas material means it will go with any color scheme you already have in your farmhouse.

[perspectivesusa]

[a-passing-storm]

I HAVE SECURED ENOUGH FABRIC FOR A TOGA

[vincentbriggs]

I forgot to post about the backdrop I painted a few months ago!

It's made of a 9' x 12' canvas dropcloth, cut down to be about 9' x 8', which is much better than sewing it out of yardage. Both because it's cheaper, and because the dropcloth was woven 9 feet wide and has no seams.

I sewed a channel along the top so I could put a piece of wood through it and hang it from 3 nails. (The room it's in is not actually in my lease, but nobody's using it for anything besides storing a bit of furniture, so it's alright.)

The paint is flat white interior paint, mixed with some brown and black acrylic. I did 3 layers of trees in increasingly dark shades of greyish brown. I didn't use a brush for any of it, I painted the trunks with a narrow trim roller and used the edges of the roller for the branches. I covered up the floor with plastic before I laid it down to paint, and didn't get any paint on anything that wasn't mine.

My goal was to make it as neutral as possible so that it would look decent with lots of different clothes and not be distracting, and so that I could put a wide variety of .png frames in front of it. Since youtube videos are very wide there's still a lot of bare wall on either side if I'm zoomed all the way out, but it's very easy to cover up. I've only drawn the plain tree frame so far, but I mean to draw more in different styles for different projects.

[copperbadge]

[ID: Four images of my hall closet in various states of renovation; the first shows the closet with ugly old shelving still in it, and the second shows it covered in dirty streaks now that the shelves have been removed. The third image shows it sanded and partially painted in a light green (it's called "relish" by the paint company), with a dropcloth on the floor, and the last shows it fully painted, awaiting shelving.]

Closet is painted! I got paint all over myself as is my wont, but painting barefoot means that I know when I step in paint and don't track it everywhere, and I expect to get it in my hair and on my hands. A quart was the perfect amount to do the walls and one edge with nothing left over. Next year maybe I'll try doing the bathroom, it's one of the only rooms I haven't given a good lick of paint at this point.

I bought a freestanding shelving system from Ikea but so far only the uprights have arrived and not the shelves. Just as well, I'm done working for today in terms of cleaning. Though tomorrow I have a relatively full day and Sunday morning we're taking the stuff over to storage, so it may be Sunday afternoon before I get to actually install anything.

Mmm, that new paint smell. It's probably for the best I'm not sensitive to the off-gassing, though I am running both the central fan and a smaller fan nearby.

Anyway Monday should be interesting because the shelves will be up and the storage stuff away, but I need to spend the week making the place less of a fire/tripping hazard before I host a get-together on Black Friday.

[shithowdy]

RESTORATION BEGINS. Everyone please send rancid vibes to whichever prior owner did a slapshod plaster ceiling job without a dropcloth, ruined the oak hardwood, and then just stapled carpet over it.

[chainsawpunk]

Rochelle Feinstein, Plein Air VI, 2020, Acrylic, thread on cotton dropcloth 90 ½ × 125 in (229.87 × 317.50 cm)

[icouldhyperfixatehim]

another really strong ep holy shit. and also one that has me really wondering about p'aof's writing history - does anyone know has he written or directed for stage? obviously bad buddy is littered with stagecraft; the romeo and juliet, the play within a play structure, so many one to one conversations and actions that speak in quiet rooms. stories that are built largely off of the strength of two characters speaking to each other, literally or figuratively.

but the way i can see it carried through last twilight too is so fascinating to me. i'm thinking especially of night and his ripped from stagecraft line a lá "the hero enters, and so the villain must exit" and literally taking his leave to the camera's wings beyond the lens. and The Kiss. another rooftop kiss, like bad buddy, like a tale of 1000 stars kiss on the top of the mountain. all i can see is how incredibly stageable these moments are. a dropcloth painted background, the right lighting, a little prop ledge to give it perspective...setting these emotionally intimate, quietly explosive moments against boundless backdrops. giving so much AIR to them, giving characters their room to breathe.

he writes/directs/envisions like a stagecraftsman first - and then completes the vision with some of the best elements cinema can offer that stage can't - close ups, scenes that move through irl locations, camera as performer and informer. it's just magical. because it's all in service of story. it feels so whole. what an auteur he is.

[possumsandprose]

Hello, fellow Elriel!

This is your Elriel Month fic exchange announcement. Remember to not post this Ask until the days of your prompt (feel free to post your fic directly to this ask). 

Gifting: @slytherhys

Prompt: Endless Possibilities

Tropes: Fluff, Hurt/comfort, HEA, AU

Send @elriel-month an ask if you have any questions. Can’t wait to read it! ���🌹

Happy @elriel-month @slytherhys from your gifter!

This fic was inspired by a conversation I had with @shallyne a few months ago as well as my own desire to read a fic with Elain adopting a bunch of children. I hope you love this!

Warnings: nothing really, it's just a ton of fluff. Slight mentions of past abuse maybe?

Word count: 1.8 K

Loud shouts of glee filled the air around Elain as she pulled another sheet of muffins out of the oven. A small smile grew on her lips as she thought of the small children who would soon come charging in to grab the sweets before they were all gone.

Elain dusted her flour-coated hands on her apron, looking out the window and surveying the scene outside. Around 40 children of all sizes were out there, some Illyrian, some fae, and some were species of lesser fae that she didn’t recognize. That didn’t stop her from loving every child like her own, though. Small groups had broken off to play tag, while some of the older ones were playing something that looked like dodgeball.

Amongst the trees she Emeline, her eldest. With her black hair, brown eyes, and dark skin she was the spitting image of her father, and like her father wisps of shadows swirled over the surroundings. In Emeline’s arms was the youngest, Aurelia, at just 10 months old. 

A loud crash sounded from the entryway, announcing her sister’s arrival. Sure enough, when Elain peeked out of the kitchen, Feyre was on the floor, having tripped over a potted plant. Elain shook her head in amusement. Many words could be used to describe her sister, but coordinated was not one of them. 

Offering her a hand, Elain grinned, and the two walked to the back rooms of the orphanage together.

“Elain! I’m so sorry about your plant. I swear sometimes I could trip over the air. Anyway, I wanted to wish you a happy anniversary! I can’t believe you’ve already had your 50th anniversary, and that this place is now officially 25 years old. It’s so incredible what you’ve done with the place,” Feyre said excitedly.

Elain could hardly believe it either. 50 years since she married the love of her life, and 25 years since she’d begun to fulfill her dream. 

Feyre continued, “I’m delighted that this has turned out so well, not only for the sake of the children but for you and Azriel as well. I know you always wanted a big family, and all of the little ones are just like my own nieces and nephews.”

“For sure,” Elain replied, “I love each and every one of them. I’m glad I could make a difference in their lives.”

The war had been brutal on many families, leaving lots of children orphaned. In addition, lots of Illyrian children had been abandoned or abused by their parents for lots of reasons. The reason never mattered though, all were welcome here. 

The sisters reached the end of the hall, and Elain unlocked the double doors that led into a room covered in dropcloths, with easels and canvases already set out and waiting.

“Oh Elain, you are a dear. I about burned all those tarps in anger last time I tried to hang them up. Anyway, if you want to go give the little gremlins their sweets, I can get the paints out and ready,” Feyre said, already pulling things out of the supply closet.

Despite how busy she was being High Lady and all of the duties that came with being the mother of 4 children, Feyre always carved time out of her week to give art classes here, for which Elain was eternally grateful.

So many of the young found comfort in painting or sculpting, or whatever it was they chose. Others simply enjoyed the freedom that art allowed and preferred to go crazy.

Elain left her sister to it, returning to the kitchen and banging the loud bell by the window. Everyone turned to look at her, and she beckoned at them. Not long afterward a mad rush of people entered, and quickly everyone spread out onto the cushions, chairs, and couches in the living area. 

In the back was Emeline, though the baby had been passed over to her middle child, Edward. Being fully blind, Elain’s eldest was always very hesitant about being near the crowds, but Edward had a heart of gold and looked out for her at all times. 

They too sat down, and Elain left to go clean the dormitories. As she gathered up all the linens into her massive wicker basket, she thought about just how much the building they were in had changed.

Azriel had first told her about this place some 30 years ago, having found it while he was away on a scouting mission. He told her he’d gone inside and had found a small group of children of varying ages huddled by a dying fire. 

He’d immediately gone back to her and asked if she could make some food because all of them looked like they hadn’t eaten in days. That made sense, too, since in the dead of Illyria’s winters you’d be lucky to find even just one of the bony mountain birds with not enough meat on it for a baby. 

Elain had jumped into action, making her favourite hearty soup recipe, and while it was cooking she had gathered all the blankets, wraps, towels, and whatever else she could find in the River House. 

The children were at first quite scared, but eventually, after Elain (and Azriel, when he could) visited them for a few weeks they began to open up.

The eldest, Blair, was the unofficial mother of the group, and she was doing all she could to support the others. Blair had a younger sister, Sabeena, but the rest were all similarly abandoned or orphaned with nowhere else to go. 

Working as a maid and doing some other odd jobs got them a few small coins for clothes, but not much more. The dilapidated cabin, most likely once a hunting lodge, was in dire need of repairs, but it sufficed well enough to keep the cold out.

But as Elain found out, Blair had gotten faeriepox recently, a nasty illness that due to a lack of medical care had taken her out for weeks on end. And without the money she brought in and without local game to hunt, there was nothing.

Elain’s heart shattered listening to the story, different parts told by all the children. Most were Illyrian, with all of the females’ wings displaying the brutal clipping scars, though there were a few males in the group. 

After that, it had been her personal mission to provide for the group who, in Elain’s eyes, were now just as much her children as her own daughter. Rhysand and Feyre, once they’d found out about it, were only too happy to provide her with funds and support to transform the tiny hut into a huge building with proper insulation, real beds, running water, and a stocked kitchen.

Feyre had told her in private how much it reminded her of the cottage they used to grow up in, and Elain had to agree. The young ones hadn’t looked much different than she and her sisters used to when they were poor, and the haggard look of a person hunting for food that couldn’t be found was all too familiar. She suspected that was one of the reasons Feyre was so impassioned now about the restoration and upkeep here because Feyre rightfully believed that no child should have to experience what they did. 

25 years ago on this day, the orphanage opened its doors for the first time to anyone who wanted to stay. At first not much happened, but eventually people started to trickle in. Lesser fae with skin all hues of the rainbow, Illyrian children with scars so horrific it made Elain want to cry, even a few high fae, and though nothing looked physically wrong with them, Elain knew deep in her heart they had seen more than anyone should ever have to.

And that was how it was, 25 years later. Anyone and everyone was welcome to stay for as long as they wanted-whether just for food or to move in until they found a way to support themselves. It was the pride and joy of Elain’s life, running this place. She’d dreamed of having a big family ever since she was a little girl, and now, finally, it had come true. 

As Elain turned around, arms full with the baskets of laundry, she ran right into a solid wall covered in leather.

“Hello to you too, darling,” came the soft, melodious voice she loved so much.

“Az!” she squealed in glee, abandoning the basket on the floor in favour of jumping into her husband’s arms. He swept her up in a kiss, hugging her close.

“Happy anniversary, love. I can’t believe it’s been 50 years,” said Elain breathlessly. 

“It’s been the best 50 years of my life. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I thank the Mother and the Cauldron and whatever else is up there that I get to spend the rest of my life with you,” he told her. Even after all this time, Elain’s heart still fluttered like it was their first time whenever he said that he loved her.

Their moment was interrupted by a soft babbling noise down below, and Elain felt a tiny hand tugging on the hem of her dress. There on the ground was Aurelia, having toddled her way in to find them. Her tiny wings beat uselessly behind her, which never failed to amuse any of her family. 

Rhys had told her that Illyrians usually began to fly at around age 5, but until then her wings wouldn’t do much than make her more prone to accidents. 

Az’s shadows swirled down to meet his daughter as they always did, and she squealed in delight while trying to grab them. 

A soft smile flitted on the shadowsinger’s face watching his baby play with his shadows, and Elain thought back to the first time he held Emeline.

She remembered how excited he’d been when she’d told him she was pregnant, but also terrified at the prospect of being a father. He worried constantly that he would frighten or harm the child accidentally, no matter how many times Elain reassured him that that would never happen. 

It had never really sunk in, though, until the first time he held Emeline in his arms, and his shadows had come out curiously to investigate. Emeline had been born blind, and so watching as she giggled with the tickling sensation of shadows swirling around her seemed to finally have persuaded Azriel that he would not be like his father, and that he would love and care for his children no matter what. 

Azriel scooped Aurelia into his arms, and the three of them left for the dining room. They looked out at their big, happy family, and standing there, with her husband and her children, Elain had never felt more at home.

[mrvelocipede]

My old tea cozy was falling apart, so I have knitted a new one out of cotton yarn. The glass vase used to belong to one of my great-aunts. I wish my dropcloth was less hideously wrinkled, but I do not currently have the means to iron it.

[cartoonscientist]

if you want a laugh, google “human vs velociraptor” or “would a velociraptor kill a human”; you’ll find lots of references to their razor sharp claws and teeth and their size being described as larger than a cougar or on par with a grizzly bear

in reality, a human could absolutely defeat a velociraptor bare handed with a solid football punt because they looked like this:

Jurassic Park did my little bros so dirty

in short, if you’re ever offered some kind of deal for your life by a time traveling scifi villain, bet them that if they bring you a velociraptor you can subdue it with a dropcloth

[honeystuffing-nsfw]

I feel fucking fantastic. Better than I have in years. I cooked for the first time in months and planned a full month of fresh meals. My stuffed bunny, Turnip, might be the best thing I've ever gotten myself. It's a tough race with the piercing and the clippers.

Carrying him in public I felt invincible. Nothing anyone could judge me for mattered. No-one can fuck with you if you've got the confidence to go out with a stuffed animal riding along in a leopard-print crossbody bag.

I just bought a couple more coloring books, a 12 peice set of acrylic paint, and a dropcloth. I gotta dig through all my crafts and puzzles and stuff and find my brushes. I wanna clear out my junk TODAY. I wanna do photoshoots of Turnip, art peices, new dishes. Make more fusion cuisine.

I feel invigorated to actually make changes again.

All thanks to you. My beautiful bunny boy.

It's never too late to become the person you've always dreamed of.