#did i draw this instead of fixing the broken faucet? yes

[zandraart]

color study of my sink

#artists on tumblr #art #illustration #color study #digital art #my art #did i draw this instead of fixing the broken faucet? yes

[florenceandthemachine]

@hearteyesforbuck asked:

I have been dying for a meet-cute au where Eddie takes Chris to the gym once a week and they box a little together before Eddie spars; usually Chris sits by the ring and reads but one day Eddie finds him laying on a bench, lifting an empty bar while this really cute blond guy spots him and gives him encouragement ....

guess who’s asks are still broken?

Tumblr keeps adding the “Read More” into the ask box, which breaks the entire post when I try to post it. Why is it happening? No idea, but if anyone knows how to fix it, please let me know, this is getting really old.

anyway, fun fact that I just learned about myself—if you want me to dedicate 100% of my brainpower to writing 4.5k of something in one sitting, you just throw in Christopher Diaz.

Eddie liked to think of himself as some kind of a “do it yourself” kind of dad.

Most of the time, that was a good thing.

Kitchen faucet broke? No worries, Eddie has some plumbers tape and three different YouTube videos telling him how to fix it.

Car wouldn’t start? Not a problem, Eddie bought the full repair manual offline and knows his way around a wrench.

Christopher needed forty gluten free, egg free, dairy free cupcakes for class tomorrow? Eddie was perfectly capable of... admitting when he was outmatched by a stand mixer and calling thirteen local bakeries to see if they delivered, because his car still wasn’t starting.

Point is, if there was a way he could work on something, Eddie would at least try it—and needless to say, that got a little complicated where Christopher was involved.

Eddie still wanted to do a lot of it on his own. Chris was his kid, and no one else's, and he didn’t even like being away from him while Chris was at school—he wasn’t sure if that was guilt stemming from leaving Chris as a kid, or guilt about introducing Shannon back into his life only to have her wind up dead, or guilt about... well, pick-a-thing, but he was pretty damn sensitive about what he perceived he could do to help his kid.

Which is why, when Chris’ physical therapist gave Eddie some suggestions about how Chris could work on strength training at home, Eddie dove completely into the deep end, head first, no floaties.

Working on Chris’ fine motor skills had been cake. Writing, drawing, arts and crafts, even playing video games, all helped improve Chris’ hand eye coordination (and if Eddie ran out of room on the fridge for Chris’ masterpieces and started framing them instead, well, that was his own business, no matter how nosy the busybodies at Michael’s got).

Working on his gross motor skills, though, that was another story. They could go on walks, sure, and they did every day. Eddie could hook up the trail-a-bike to his own once or twice a week so Chris could ride along with him, without worrying about his balance, but those were both leg heavy activities—and while it was great that Chris was building his core strength and leg strength, Eddie wasn’t about to just strap a wrist weight to Chris’ arms and call it a ‘well rounded workout’.

Short of more physical therapy, Eddie was at a loss as to what to do—so when Google Maps pushed him off the 101 to avoid a wreck on his way home from work and he got caught by a stop light right next to "Ricky’s Boxing Gym”, Eddie felt like his prayers had been answered.

Over the next few months, they had set up a pretty good routine. Eddie would bring Chris to the gym, they would hop into one of the many rings, and he and his son would get a half hour of quality time, three times a week. Eddie had his own set of boxing mitts, and Chris thought that spending a half hour trying to punch his dad’s hand was the most fun a kid could have after school. Chris would tire himself out and sit on the bench, drawing or reading for a while more, while Eddie would actually spar with one of the staff members, get his own workout in, and then they’d go home.

Nine times out of ten, they’d stop for ice cream or pizza, and completely undo any of the workout they had actually done, but Eddie thought that was a small price to pay for the whoop of joy Chris let out when he actually managed to hit Eddie’s glove dead center.

Eddie’s sparring partner of choice (well, after Chris) was Tommy Kinard. He was nice enough, and kept Eddie on his toes, giving him plenty of time to look over to Chris to make sure he was safe, and happy, and occupied, and (“Dad, I’m fine! Go punch someone!”) okay, maybe he was helicoptering a little bit. He hadn’t really thought it was a problem until Kinard went on paternity leave, leaving him in the capable, and brutal, hands of Boscoe.

Boscoe was a beast. He didn’t know her first name—didn’t know if she had a first name—but what she lacked in pleasantries she more than made up with strength. If Eddie was being honest, though, he kind of loved it; even after the first day they sparred together, when he wound up limping into the 118, proudly admitting to Hen that he had been beat up by a girl.

The thing was, Boscoe was intense, and while that was a good thing, it gave him less of a chance to helicopter over Chris.

Which, okay, maybe that was a good thing too. Whatever.

He knew the gym pretty well by that point, and knew the people who worked there, knew he could trust Chris with any of them—which is why when he looked up after dodging a jab from Boscoe, and saw Chris absent from his bench, he only panicked a little bit.

When he managed to take a wider look around the gym and saw a familiar pair of shoes laying down on a workout bench, the rest of him obscured by a bigger, bulkier body, that panic went from 0-60 real quick.

“Hey!”

He only barely managed to dodge a glancing blow from Boscoe as he ducked beneath the ropes, grabbing a towel to blot at his face as he hopped down. His voice was little more than a quick bark through the gym as he stepped around another group of machines, his frantic pace slowing a little as he got into earshot.

“... yeah, come on buddy, you can do it! Come on, give me one more rep! You got this little man!”

Fuck, had this stranger actually given Chris a set of weights?

His temper was white hot by the time he finally got around the front of the machine, opening his mouth to shout, to get a manager, to do something, but the words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Because Chris was definitely on the bench, and he definitely had his hands on the bar—the bar that was completely devoid of weights, Eddie noticed, the same bar that had two much larger, stronger hands attached to them. Hands that were probably doing all the actual work of lifting the bar, because Chris was laying back, unable to speak, because he was giggling so hard.

The bar landed back on the rack with a dull thunk as Chris pulled his hands back, sticking them straight up in the air triumphantly as he sat up. The man behind the bar gave a big show of leaning against the frame of the bench dramatically, fanning himself, giving Eddie a full view of an employee shirt, name badge, and the gym logo stitched across the polo he was wearing.

Whelp, that was almost very embarrassing for him.

“Holy cow, that was such a good job! Man, you have got to be the strongest kid I’ve ever met in my life!”

“Dad, did you see me? Buck says I’m super strong!”

Eddie had to admit, he was a little thrown by whatever was happening here, but Chris was obviously having a good time, and he felt the white hot anger dissipate into something a little less angry and a little more embarrassed.

“That was some pretty impressive work, buddy! Have you been holding out on me?” Eddie dipped down and tossed a few playful jabs at Chris, selfish only because he wanted to prolong the joy his son was obviously feeling, but it was all worth it as he was handsomely rewarded when Chris started giggling again.

The man—Buck, Eddie gathered—laughed, drawing Eddie’s attention upward, and for a moment, his brain short circuited, because there was no way on earth a gym rat could be this... pretty.

Because damn. Buck was pretty.

Pretty enough that Eddie was easily distracted, waxing poetic (internally, thankfully) about beefy arms and a plush lip that he didn’t notice what was happening until Buck stuck a hand out, smiling, and Eddie could only guess what was going on. He reached out and took the hand, his own smile hitching as Buck’s face slipped into confusion.

“Uhh—”

“...I was asking if you wanted me to take your towel for you and get you a fresh one.”

Oh. Right. Towel.

Eddie’s face burned as he pulled the towel off his shoulder, handing it over, giving a too-tight laugh as he nodded his head. “Yes! If you could get me a new towel so I could strangle myself in embarrassment, that would be great.”

Well, at the very least, that got Buck to laugh again—death would be worth it if that was the last sound he heard. “Sorry I kind of stole your kid. He was wandering in between the machines, and it’s my first week off of the evening shift, so I just wanted to make sure he didn’t get hurt—but then he started asking about all the weights and pulleys and stuff, you have a really smart kid!”

Total Gym Hottie (Buck, his mind corrected. If he was going to drool over someone the least he could do was use their name) was complimenting his kid now, and Eddie was so star struck he was actually proud to say he didn’t stumble when Buck nudged his shoulder, head jerking back to the ring he had abandoned.

"...anyway, I think strangulation is the least of your worries, if I know that look, Boscoe has an entirely different death planned for you if you don’t get back in the ring. Go on, I’ll help little man here wheel you out on a gurney when she’s done with you.”

Buck sounded way too positive about that, and it was all Eddie could do to groan and walk back to the ring, tail between his legs.

Sure enough, even after he had the next day off, he was still sore when he walked into the 118 for his next shift.

--

Buck became easily, seamlessly, a part of their routine, in a way that probably deserved a little more insight on Eddie’s part, but insight was for suckers. At least two days out of the week, their schedules aligned—Eddie and Chris still worked on their exercises, but now it included Buck giving a dramatic play by play on the sidelines, talking up Chris like an announcer, or just otherwise causing shenanigans.

It was worth it, easily, because while Chris was certainly never a negative kid, Eddie had never seen him in brighter spirits. And Buck... well, anyone that could find a way to help out his son in a way that Chris clearly enjoyed earned an instant gold star in Eddie’s book. The fact that he was easy on the eyes wasn’t a bad thing, either.

“Diaz, I swear to God—”

Eddie only barely ducked under Boscoe’s extended hand, forcibly rooting himself back in the moment, looking guiltily back to her instead of watching Buck and Chris.

“—can you pay attention for like three minutes so I can hit you without feeling bad about it?”

Eddie tried, he really did, but it was hard. A few weeks had gone by since their initial meeting, and Eddie had gone from “wow he’s pretty” to “full high school crush” in no time flat. It wasn’t his fault, though—because what sealed the deal wasn’t the moment Buck had switched to tank tops over polos, or how happy Eddie was to spend time staring at Buck’s magnificent ass (and it was really, really magnificent, let the record show), it was how he interacted with Chris that sent him over the edge.

Buck was good with Chris, but somehow that was the understatement of the year. He was kind, and he was bubbly, and he was just in sync in a way that Eddie wasn’t even sure he had reached, and Chris was his son. Buck was patient in a way that seemed effortless, easily slowing himself down or changing what he was doing when he noticed Chris struggling, wether it was in going over a math problem while Eddie got the crap beat out of him or just showing him how some of the different machines worked.

Hell, right now, Eddie had his hands securely around Chris’ hips as he lifted the other male to a chin-up bar, helping Chris count out the pull-up’s he was doing—and while all Eddie could hear was Chris’ laughter, all he could see were the thick cords of muscle attached to Buck’s arms, lifting Chris like he weighed nothing.

Eddie wondered, not for the first time, if Buck could lift him like that.

Like she was a horrible mind reading pervert, Boscoe smacked him with an open hand—not hard enough to hurt, but not soft enough that he was going to ignore it.

“Diaz, this will be our last session together. Kinard is back next week—” Another punch, a quick jab that Eddie blocked with his forearms. “—so the least you could do is focus on me and not the apple of your eye over there.”

“Buck isn’t the apple of my—fuck—my eye, grow up.” Eddie huffed as he threw out a punch of his own, his hand knocked away violently, only barely dodging the sharp hook that Boscoe sent to him.

“God, I was talking about your kid, Diaz. You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Oh.

Ignoring how red his face was, Eddie grumbled and threw another quick jab, though he missed completely as Boscoe stepped back, a grin on her face, and Eddie knew better than to trust that look. The last time he trusted that look, he had been talked into fighting bare-handed, and he still wasn’t sure his knuckles would ever really work again.

“You know, Kinard is supposed to take you back as a client, but I bet if you asked nice enough...”

Oh no.

“Hey, Buck!”

Oh no. Eddie looked up in horror as Buck easily lifted Christopher onto his shoulders—god, so much muscle—and jogged over, with the nerve to not even be out of breath when he smiled up to the pair in the ring. Eddie bit his tongue and leaned over to high five his kid, fully prepared to deal with whatever terrible thing was about to come his way.

“Kinard was supposed to take Diaz here back after he’s off leave next week, but I know he wanted to ease back into things after being away from the gym for a few months. You think you could spar with him in the interim?”

Oh, no, didn’t seem to cover it anymore. Eddie was having a hard enough time focusing on the task at hand when Buck was in the same building, he would be signing his own death certificate if he had to stare Buck in the face, and then try to hit said face. He hadn’t even seen Buck break a sweat before—he didn’t know if his little bisexual heart could take it.

He was somehow both relieved and regretful when Buck shook his head, looking plenty apologetic as he pulled Chris up and off of his shoulders, making sure that he was steady on his feet before he leaned up against the ropes. “Sorry, Eddie. I don’t really box, and besides, I think Chris and I are making real progress while you get your butt kicked. Show him the guns, Chris!” Buck said, and Chris immediately started some classic strong-man poses, Buck posing dramatically behind him, and Eddie felt his heart melt for two entirely different reasons.

Buck turned around mid pose as the door chime went off, giving Eddie ample time to count out the individual strands of muscle fiber in the moment before Buck relaxed, turning with a smile back to the gang in the ring. “Lena, that's my next client. Chris, Eddie, I’ll see you both next week, yeah?” He said with a grin before he fist bumped Chris and waved to Eddie, slipping back into Professional Buck mode. Eddie waved back, brows almost in his hairline as he looked back to Boscoe, who was scowling at him.

“So—”

“No, Diaz.”

“Wait, why not? Buck gets to call you Lena!”

“Beat me in the ring as often as Buck does and I’ll consider it.”

Eddie had his mouth open to retort when Chris cut him off, pushing his glasses up on his nose as he tilted his head. “Can I call you Lena?”

She didn’t even hesitate a moment, nodding her head seriously. “You can absolutely call me Lena, squirt.”

Chris promptly stuck his tongue out at his dad, and Eddie reacted in sort, falling to the floor of the ring as he grabbed at his chest. “The nerve! Betrayed by my own child, my own flesh and blood!”

Chris looked thoroughly unimpressed, sitting back on the bench as he started to pack up his schoolwork. “Lena, can you tell my dad to stop being such a drama queen?”

It wasn’t until they were both in the car, that Eddie, thoroughly beaten down by his son, his trainer, and his own brain for providing a play by play of Buck that day while he was in the locker room shower stall, really thought about what Buck said.

He didn’t box. Which was strange enough in a boxing gym, but whatever, there were plenty of machines that Buck could be working on instead.

But them Boscoe (god, he couldn’t even call her Lena in his head, it felt like she would figure it out and beat him to death) basically admitted that Buck regularly whooped her behind the ropes

If Buck wasn’t boxing in a boxing gym, what the hell was he doing?

--

As it turned out, Eddie didn’t have to wait long to figure it out. Barely a week had passed before Eddie had received a call from Chim, all but begging Eddie to switch shifts so he could take the girl he had been seeing out on a proper date. The switch was a no brainer—Maddie seemed like a great girl, and as much shit as he gave Chim for... well, being Chim, he obviously wanted to see his teammate happy, especially when the only thing he would have to change was a gym day from a Monday to a Sunday.

If he had known that this would be the day that sealed his fate, he probably would have reconsidered the switch all together.

The gym was packed—which probably wasn’t surprising for a weekend day, but damn, Eddie had been glad he booked a ring with Kinard ahead of time. It was nice to see a familiar face in the gym anyway, one that wasn’t trying to beat the crap out of him in the ring, and once Kinard joined up with them, it was easy to shoot the shit. Eddie congratulated him on his step into fatherhood, ruffling Chris’ hair as he did—not that Chris noticed, busy scanning through the machines for a familiar blond head.

Not that Eddie could judge, when he was doing the same thing.

“Hey, I’m gonna toss my stuff in a locker. See you out here in a sec?”

“Yeah, sounds good! Buck and Boscoe are almost done in their ring, we have it next.”

Eddie was halfway to the locker room before what Kinard had said clicked in his brain, and he immediately did a 180, making a beeline to the rings set up on the far side of the gym, easily spotting the pair when he knew what to look for.

It was no wonder that neither he nor Chris had recognized Buck when they walked in—he was literally drenched in sweat, his usually fluffy blonde hair dark and slicked to his forehead, scowling around his mouth guard as he danced around Boscoe.

Boscoe, who Eddie had never seen so worked up. Damn, she really hadn’t even had to try during his matches. Wasn’t that a blow to the ego.

No, Buck definitely wasn’t a boxer, because this was a dance. Every move he made, he made with his entire body, his energy flowing through each form, moving easily and gracefully in a way that shouldn’t have been possible with such an incredible amount of force and flat out violence. He almost felt dazed as he followed Buck’s movements, but in the best possible way, his eyes snapping back and forth as he tried to trace where one hit ended and the next began.

“Wow.”

Eddie was glad that Chris said it, because he still couldn’t find the muscles needed to pick his jaw up off the floor. He didn’t know if Chris had followed him over to the ring or if his Buck-radar was just that good, but for the time being, Eddie was more than thankful for the minute distraction as he ruffled his kids hair again.

Boscue was moving more desperately as the match continued, launching into a series of quick jabs, but even Eddie could see where that was her downfall. Buck knocked her arm back with her last punch and sent a kick straight for her shoulder, but then he twisted his entire body off of the mat and his other leg was in the air too, and Eddie instinctively sucked in a breath as Buck locked her neck between his thighs. They both came crashing down to the mat, struggling impressively until Boscoe slapped Buck’s thigh twice, and then—

—and then Buck was all smiles again, beaming as he released her and took a knee on the ring, helping her back into a sitting position, spitting out his mouth guard with an excited moment of praise for her technique.

Eddie could not compute. This was his downfall. Eddie is dead, long live Eddie.

“Holy cow, Buck! That was amazing! You’re like... you’re like a ninja crime fighting super hero!”

Well, that was one way to put it.

Buck’s head whipped around at Chris’ excited outburst, lighting up when he spotted Eddie and Chris near the bench, eagerly scooting forward into a sitting position closer to the ropes.

“Thanks, little man! That was some mixed martial arts, it’s super fun. I’ve been teaching Lena for a few years, she’s getting pretty good!”

Buck’s grin slid into something a little more proud and pleased as he looked to Eddie, and Eddie felt every muscle in his body tighten as Buck’s gaze burned through him.

“What did you think of that leg lock, Eddie? Total knock out, right?”

Oh fuck, was Buck flirting with him now? That had to have been flirty, right? Come on, Brain, do something.

“... legs.”

“...my legs?”

“Buck, your... your legs.”

Buck’s smile looked a little more pinched as Eddie groaned, shaking his head. “Okay, I, I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this or I will completely die. Can I take you out to dinner sometime? I know a great place off the strip, you’ll love it, my treat.”

The look on Buck’s face was skeptical, at best, but at least he wasn’t shutting him down, giving Eddie the benefit of the doubt (and giving him a moment to get his brain back online). “Because of my legs?”

“No. Well, okay, you have amazing legs. And arms, though, and like... a stupidly handsome face, and I would be blind not to notice those things—” shit, Eddie probably sounded like such a shallow asshole right now. “—but I’m asking because you’re really smart. And you’re kind, so kind to Chris too, and you’re patient, and... Buck, you’re really really sweet. And I would love to take you out for a dinner date the moment you can look past my apparent inability to form a single coherent thought.”

After a moment that felt much longer than the three seconds it was, Buck sighed and leaned past Eddie, looking critically to Chris. He slid down to his stomach, squinting as he dropped down to eye level with the boy. “What do you think, Chris? Should I give your dad a shot?”

Well, at the very least, Buck was asking the one person that Eddie knew he always had in his corner; and sure enough, Chris delivered. “I think so. Dad really likes you.”

That’s his boy.

“Last week he spent my whole entire physical therapy appointment telling Dr. Wilson how much help you gave me and how nice you were and how much he appreciated it. It got kinda annoying.”

...well damn, Eddie wasn’t expecting to be called out by his own kid like that, but if the suddenly soft look Buck was giving him was any indication, it might have been the necessary push to get him to understand how serious Eddie was.

Eddie tried to keep his excitement tamped down when Buck nodded, sitting back up. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you a deal. Only because you managed to ask me out before I could ask you.”

Wait, Buck wanted to ask him out anyway?

“If you can land three hits on me in three minutes—should be easy after spending a weeks with Boscoe—then you can pick the time, the place, and I’ll even talk Lena in to letting you call her Lena. But if you don’t...” Buck reached through the ropes to help Eddie up, tossing him a wrap for his hands as he did. “... then I get to pick the time, the place, and you start training with me in MMA instead of going back to boring old boxing.”

Eddie blinked at him in abject horror as Buck dipped his voice low, seeing with terrible clarity exactly where Boscoe had learned her terrifying grin.

“That way you can see my leg choke up close and personal. Deal?”

The stakes were too high, and Eddie couldn’t say no.

He was screwed.

He was elated.

But fuck, he was screwed.

(Three minutes later, Buck asked if Eddie was free on Friday at seven, promised to pick somewhere nice, and gave him a searing kiss before he disappeared into the staff locker room. Eddie, on the other hand, needed a spatula to peel himself off of the floor of the ring.

He had never been so happy that he could barely move in his life.)

#911 #buddie #evan buckley #eddie diaz #christopher diaz #buddiefic #911fic #flospeaks #hearteyesforbuck #meet cute #gymfic #gym au #buck isn't a firefighter #but Eddie still is #still pretty canon if you look hard enough #also I love Chris with all my heart #Eddie wants to be crushed between bucks thighs and honestly?.... #same #eddie takes buck down a year and a half later in his first successful leg choke and buck is so proud he proposes the next day #mutually assured devotion

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 26: Helpful Unsettling Progress

His experimenting was paying off. Every day, every night, every hour was all about finding his loophole, finding his way across the border and back to his son. The beakers he'd taken to the town line to collect pieces of the magic proved to be the most useful, so useful he'd gone back and collected even more on them to experiment with. It was necessary experimentation. The Curse was magic that had never been cast before, which meant that being broken in the way it had been, there would be no spells to fix it. He was going to have to find his own loophole, make his own magic to combat it. The first step in making custom magic? He had to know what he needed. He had to look at the magic he had to go up against, so he knew what to do to counter it. The result of his experimentation was knowledge, learning more and more about the magic surrounding the town at its borders. He'd learned quite a few things from his experiments.

First, the magic at the boundary appeared similar to the Curse that held Storybrooke in thrall for decades. It was magic that fed off itself and other magic, probably coming off the town now. That simple fact meant that the magic at the town line wasn't an impenetrable barrier, as Belle had suggested earlier. In fact, it was the opposite of a protective wall. It was a cage. The magic at the boundary would leach magic from anything or anyone magical if they crossed it. It would do this to sustain itself, to keep itself fueled and working. People in Storybrooke were from a magical realm, and they were walking around magic all the time now. For any citizen of Storybrooke, walking through it was like moving through a magical detoxifying wash.

This information left him with two important conclusions to begin working with his magic on. The first was that whatever magic he used to get through the town line either had to be so strong it would overwhelm the barrier so he could walk through and keep his magic, or the magic that he used had to mask his magic somehow to make the magic at the border believe there was nothing there to take. The second thing he could work on was a protection spell, one that was strong enough to cover the town. He wasn't sure if that information was going to help him cross the border to find Bae. In fact, he didn't even think he needed to begin work on it until after he returned. But he knew that because of how the magic at the border worked, everyone in Storybrooke, including Belle and eventually Baelfire, would be helpless against any outside forces that decided to show. People outside of Storybrooke who were not around strong magic in their day-to-day lives, they could come into Storybrooke without risk of losing anything on the way out. That could be irrelevant. It could be that nothing ever came to pass from it, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

The second problem he encountered with the magic at the town line was a problem that he hadn't actually seen for himself because he'd been taking extra care not to touch the magic he collected in the beakers until he understood it a bit more. It was the problem he'd only heard about from David. The problem of memories. He hadn't experimented with that yet; he didn't know why the border took memories as it sought to strip people of magic, but he had some theories and a couple of conclusions based on what he'd heard.

First and foremost…he wasn't about to even try and take Belle with him over that line. So far that he knew, there was only one dwarf who had gone through it. Dwarves, in addition to carrying the remnants of a magical town with them, were innately magical. The magic would have fed on that first. He didn't know what would happen if a normal, non-magical human, like Belle, crossed over the line. Would it affect her differently? Identically? He didn't know. And he wasn't willing to experiment with her to find out. Second, his magic was more powerful than a dwarf's magic. Until he knew whether that was better or worse, he couldn't experiment with it on himself either. As far as where he might go after that, he didn't know, but it was enough to be called "a start."

At the very least, he had to design magic that would be very strong or very weak, that would protect memories while keeping them intact, and in the future, he would need a protection potion great enough to protect the town. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it was enough. He was proud of himself…until he found his way back to Belle again.

Belle made him remember.

He found her one afternoon in the kitchen surrounded by chaos. The table was set for two, the place smelled of dinner, and there was a casserole on the stove, but there were shards of something broken all over the floor, and he could see steam beginning to rise from a kettle that would begin to whistle any second now on the burner. And there was Belle was at the sink holding arm under the faucet.

"What happened here?!"

"Burned myself," she mumbled while she shook her head. His stomach gave an uncomfortable squeeze. She was hurt.

"Let me see," he demanded, shutting off the water and holding out his hand for her.

"It's fine."

It most certainly was not fine. Raw, red, angry skin that would no doubt blister if he didn't fix it marred her arm. He rallied his magic to heal her but was distracted when the tea kettle finally began its whistling. Instinct assessed each task to be done, and he left her side to pull the kettle off the stove before anything caught fire and they had a bigger problem. All the while his feet crunched on whatever was broken on the ground. It was only then that he realized her own feet were bare.

"What broke?"

"A teacup," she responded with frustration in her voice. He'd had a good day at the shop doing his work. Her tone made him suspect she'd had the opposite.

"Let me see," he repeated, stepping back to look at her arm. This time, when he gathered his magic for healing, he let it move over her skin, making it perfect and pure and whole once more. It wouldn't even scar. With a bit more magic, the shattered teacup was restored, sitting perfectly upon the counter, ready for use, and her feet were protected. All was well again. He looked up at her, expecting to find relief. Instead, she pulled her arm free, crossed them both over her chest, and leaned back against the sink. The frustration wasn't just in her voice. It was in her face too.

"You didn't have to do that," she commented.

He stepped away from her. She was angry. With herself or with him or the day, he didn't know yet, but he could feel that she was angry and upset about something. He made sure to keep his eyes on her so they wouldn't drift to the basement door. Did she know?

"It's not a problem."

"You didn't need magic for a teacup! It's too much a temptation-"

"Too much a temptation to make sure you don't injure yourself on a shard of broken glass or stay in pain from a burn?!" he questioned. She was angry because he'd used magic to clean and heal? She wanted to stay hurt? To have to clean up the mess? To risk cutting her feet?

"Ice, cool water, and a bandage would have worked just fine for that."

"You would prefer to remain injured?" he questioned, knowing that it was a trap. The only answer in this case was "yes" or "no". She wasn't a sadist who enjoyed pain, so he knew that the answer wasn't "yes." That only left "no", which was why he healed her. And suddenly, he felt as if her mood were rubbing off on him because he was beginning to feel irritated too. Why were they arguing about this? Why were they arguing at all?

"I would prefer not to have to rely on magic for the slightest things! You know how I feel about magic, and you know better than to use it on anything…even the smallest of things! Before you know it, it'll consume you again!"

He stared at her silently for a moment. Her words, her tone…she was picking a fight, and that wasn't like her at all. Not to mention it was a fight that he couldn't understand. Yes, he had a feeling he knew her opinion about magic which was why he practiced it after she went to sleep, but they'd never had a conversation before about temptation, and he'd never promised not to use it. Her argument was weak and fueled by something else, he suspected.

"Is something wrong?"

"I don't suppose things are better in town?"

"Unstable," he answered automatically, without even thinking about it. It wasn't a lie. Things might have been better, but it was still too unstable for his tastes to take her there. There was too much risk, too much danger, and far too much at stake. She asked every day, but she never questioned him like this.

"Still? After all this time, the town hasn't put itself back together yet, hasn't calmed down in the slightest?!"

"With Mary Margaret and Emma gone?! With David in charge and Regina running free?! No, Belle, what do you expect?!"

"And you've had no word on the whereabouts of my father or Gaston?"

"I told you I took care of it, didn't I?!" he spat as his stomach clenched. For a second, a very brief second, he almost wondered if that was what this was about. If she'd somehow discovered that "taking care of it" meant throwing both her portraits away first thing when he'd gotten to work. But logic told him there was no chance that could happen. No one knew she was here, no one knew the drawings had existed, no one would have told her, at least not without him knowing. "It's going to take some time Belle!"

Her chest rose and fell with a great sigh as she stared at him. He could see her jaw moving, the way she was biting at her cheeks and mouth almost nervously. But she never said anything. Just stood there looking at him, like she expected something.

"Belle, why don't you just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what's bothering you so I can fix it!"

She took a few shallow, calming breaths, looked around the kitchen, and swallowed. "I'm bored, Rumple," she stated quietly. "I want to leave this place. I want to do something besides sit here all day, besides feel like I'm still just a caretaker!"

She wasn't a caretaker! Cooking and cleaning, he hadn't wanted her to do those things; she'd done them on her own. He'd told her a dozen times!

"I've never asked-"

"I know!" she shouted. "I know you didn't ask me to do those things, but if I don't, then what else am I supposed to do all day?!"

And that was the problem. This place for them was inevitable because she was right. He didn't want her to be a caretaker, but if he didn't take her out, then what else was she supposed to do.

She was growing restless.

She didn't want to be cooped up in the house all day. She wanted to be out, exploring the town, meeting people, seeing the world. He wanted that for her, truly he did. But with Regina free and Mary Margaret and Emma Swan still not back from wherever they'd disappeared to, not to mention Belle's inexperience, taking her out into the world scared the shit out of him.

Things were better in town, he knew that. Ever since David and Regina had tangled and they'd made the discovery about the town line, there was a change in Storybrooke. Things were almost starting to feel normal again. Kids were going to school, the buses ran on schedule, Town Hall was open though he was aware that Regina had been asked to step down because one morning he'd awoken to find a copy of the Mirror freshly printed and on his doorstep for the first time since the Curse broke. On Main Street, businesses alongside him were opening again, Granny's appeared to be packed with usual patrons, there was a clean-up in process, roads were being repaved, lights that the wraith had destroyed were being replaced. If there was ever a time to take Belle to town, it might have been now.

But he didn't trust it. He feared too many people would use her against him, and with a new goal of leaving Storybrooke in mind, he couldn't risk people discovering her, only to leave her vulnerable. And what if they ran into her father?!

Anonymity would be her greatest cover in the future. But she didn't know that yet because he still hadn't told her about Baelfire. He meant to. He wanted to. The opportunity had presented itself a few times, but the words never came out. He knew that until he told her, until he laid out his plan for her, it would be like this. He should just tell her! Now!

But then he heard a shuffle from across the room and realized that she'd pushed herself off the counter and was coming toward him. Just like she did every night when he came home, he found her arms around his neck. She held on longer than usual, long enough for him to finally shake himself from his stupor and put his arms around her, to realize that she'd gone soft against him.

"Tell me what to do," he begged in her ear.

The words should have been "I have something to tell you." They should have gone into the living room and talked about Baelfire. He should have explained it all to her right then and there. Instead, he just whispered, "tell me what to do to make you happy."

The answer wasn't what he wanted to hear.

"Nothing."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #Baelfire #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic

[dunkalfredo]

1575 words of gay and also hair? ft. amy

yo yo yo what up im back and im here to bring u that sweet sweet infidget

disclaimer: in case the title implies otherwise lemme just say that amy is gay too shes just not the main focus of this story. trust me, shes v gay and i love her. shes a good gorl. bless her soul

other disclaimer: infinite’s not-infinite name is finn bc infinite is Not his real name i stg

other other disclaimer: this is old friends au/fixed canon. follows the canon @theashemarie and i are establishing over here in our lil gay corner

u kno the drill yall click Keep reading to read the things

It’s a simple difference, so small that Gadget doesn’t notice it at first.

Finn’s there, at the breakfast nook, reading the newspaper, and when Gadget walks in (always the last to wake up, today’s no exception) he makes it all the way to the fridge before his eye spots the change in shape, the abnormal smallness of the silhouette in his peripheral.

He turns, slowly, as though he’ll disturb the air if he moves too fast, and says, perplexed, “Did you cut your hair?”

(Gadget really looks at Finn for the first time, and his brain confirms what his eyes whispered to him mere moments ago; short, white locks tickle Finn’s neck, replacing the usual mane of white down his back.)

Finn looks up from his periodical, makes eye contact, and shrugs. “Needed a change. Do you like it?”

Gadget’s still several paces behind where he needs to be, not yet at ‘Do you like it?’ and still at it wasn’t short last night.

Finn’s not exactly a master hairdresser. Gadget eyes the thin locks, the jagged ends, the slight shake in Finn’s hands as he watches Gadget watch him; it all screams impulse, midnight and afraid, chop it off, feel better now but horrified in the morning, all too aware that it’s too late to take it back. Gadget sees it in his eyes, the need for reassurance, validation.

Gadget sighs, a small depression of his chest, and smiles. “Yeah, it’s nice.”

It’s not so much that Finn smiles, or speaks, but his carriage lifts ever so slightly, and the newspaper stops shaking.

-

(Gadget also sees, for the first time, the dark circles under Finn’s eyes, and his mind wanders.

Finn, three a.m., sheets tossed by nightmares and bed absent one, stumbling to the bathroom and staring himself in the mirror with wild, cold eyes. He doesn’t recognize the face in the mirror. He can’t feel his own hands. The world is little too dark, too foggy, obscured by nightfall and burnt lightbulbs, and the space feels liminal, unreal.

Finn runs the tap, listens to the whine of the faucet, lets it ring in his ears as he splashes his face with cold water, and the hair on his head hangs limp over his neck, pouring over his shoulders, a cascade of white. He forgot to put it up last night.

It’s this simple fact that occupies his mind, drags his hands into the drawers for a hair tie, but instead his fingers brush against something hard, sharp. Scissors.

Gadget’s mind stops there, not willing to breathe life into the image of Finn, breath heavy, eyes watering, hands trembling, sweeping hair into the garbage and carefully climbing back into bed limb by limb like he’ll break if he bends too far.)

-

It’s later, when the day is over, and they’re home, sprawled out over the couch and recharging after errands and separate schedules and distance that Finn finally says it aloud, despite its sitting heavy in the air since that morning and never leaving:

“I need help.”

Gadget, head in his lap and eyes on the television, doesn’t look up, doesn’t even bother raising his head to speak and instead mumbles his words into Finn’s knee. “Astute observation, Einstein. How did you ever come to that conclusion?”

Finn huffs. “I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” Now Gadget rolls over to look up, frowning when he sees the disconcerted expression drawing Finn’s brows together. “You haven’t cut your hair since third grade.”

Gadget sees the cogs turn in his head, and then finally Finn says, barely a whisper, “Third grade?”

“Yeah.”

Finn deflates, sinks back into the couch, and then sinks further with a sigh that flattens his lungs. “I really need help.”

-

At first, they dismiss therapy outright, because they don’t think a psychologist will hear “I killed thousands of people because I got kidnapped by a mad scientist and forcibly possessed by a rock” and not immediately send Finn to the psyche ward (or, alternatively, a prison cell, since Finn’s still technically a wanted criminal. Only technically). It’s only after another night of deliberation and (for Finn) staring, sleepless, at a wall that they decide that they need someone to talk to.

(When Gadget mentions this to Sonic while they’re out doing “cleanup” (getting rid of debris in X city or Y town because Knuckles is occupied), almost shouting to project his voice over the creak of the pipe they’re lifting from the sidewalk, he’s not expecting the immediate response Sonic shoots back.

“Talk to Amy,” says Sonic, casually, dusting off his hands and reaching for a chunk of… building? Sidewalk? Gadget can’t tell. Concrete something. They’re both going to have to lift that one. “She’s great with emotions and stuff.”

“But Amy hates Finn!” Gadget cries. “Why would she be his therapist?”

“Well, she likes you,” Sonic says. “Maybe that’ll help?”)

When Gadget relays this suggestion to Finn, he’s just as appalled. “Talk to who?”

“Amy,” Gadget says, hands worrying over each other and eyes somewhere to the right of Finn’s face.

Finn deadpans, “She hates me,” and Gadget thinks it’s like poetry, how his conversations seem to rhyme.

He sighs. “I’m aware.”

-

The moment they show up on Amy’s doorstep, and she opens the door, eyeing Finn like he’s a block of rotten cheese she just found in her fridge, Gadget’s one-hundred percent convinced that this isn’t going to work.

This feeling continues as she ushers them (Gadget) inside and offers them (Gadget) some tea, to which Gadget politely refuses and Finn stays silent. She brings out three cups of chamomile anyways (Finn’s was likely an afterthought, but Gadget considers it progress), and they’re seated in her living room, Finn’s hand in Gadget’s, Amy in the seat opposite, when she starts speaking in earnest. It’s not what Gadget expects at all.

A simple question, four words, and the most perplexed voice Gadget’s ever heard from Amy; “You cut your hair?”

It’s an unexpected question followed by an equally unexpected answer: “Midnight crisis,” Finn says, and it’s with a voice that’s not nearly as small as it was hours ago, when they were both leaving the apartment and Gadget asked if he had his wallet. That was the quiet “Yes” of a man half his size and age; this is his normal, low timbre, conversational, like Amy wasn’t glaring daggers at him mere seconds ago.

Amy’s posture shifts, and while the air’s still unnaturally cold, her face opens up just a little more. “That’s why you’re here.”

“Yeah,” Finn says, frank.

She hums, and Gadget’s nerves spike.

-

It’s an hour later, and Gadget’s walking back to the metro station with Finn to head home when he hears him say, “That wasn’t too bad.”

Gadget reminds Finn, pointedly, “Half of our visit was awkward silence.”

“She only glared for a quarter of it.”

-

Later, Gadget thinks, watching Finn fiddle and hum and haw under Amy’s stripping, burning, disarming, demanding gaze for the third time in a month, that there’s something missing. He sees Finn’s thumbs, his fingers, restless, twitching and turning in his lap, and Gadget’s struck, hard, with this feeling, a wave washing over him that this isn’t right. Gadget knows what’s missing, he’s sure of it, but it’s just out of reach, a breath too far from his grabbing, clutching hands.

Then, as they walk home from Amy’s that day, he sees it, in the corner of his eye; Finn, right hand in the motion of grabbing for his shoulder, where for years a white lock would spill over and he could grab, run it between his fingers, fiddle and twist.

A memory surfaces: The two of them, younger, late high school, Gadget slipping out of the house at one in the morning because if he stays inside, where the death and cold and emptiness his father left behind aches the hardest, he might punch the walls in two, every single one, and then break and bend and snap over the rubble right after, a broken body to match the broken home it came from. He leaves, he sneaks over, desert night lukewarm and clammy against the back of his neck, and he arrives at the gaping maw of his best friend’s front door, where the hinges creak and the door opens as soon as Gadget’s foot meets the doormat.

It’s a comforting memory; Finn, shoulders tired and slumped but eyes and arms warm, curling around Gadget, letting him step into his space and his embrace, there, in the doorway, and both taking a moment to pause and breathe. It’s this lull, this potential energy building between them before moving again, that does Gadget in. His chest breaks open and a single, harrowed sob, more a hiccup and an exhale than a cry, spills out, but its muffled by Finn’s chest, contained, away from the prying eyes of others and kept just for them. In this stillness, Gadgets cards his fingers through the hair on Finn’s back, focusing on the softness of the locks instead of ache of a late father, and the digits begin looping the tufts into loose braids.

Gadget thinks of this moment, sees this in his mind’s eye as he watches Finn try and register why there’s nothing there, why his fingers feel nothing, and Gadget wonders how much they really lost that night, weeks ago, besides sleep and besides hair.

#sth #sonic the hedgehog #sonic forces #infidget #fanfiction #infinite the jackal #gadget the wolf #buddy the wolf #whatever else u call him the wolf #here it is #more gay #its been a while since ive posted anything #hope yall like it #godddd my writing here sounds a lot like ashes #i gotta find my own voice #oh well #anyways #art tag #long post // #death mention //

[megabadbunny]

if we let go (1/?)

(Even his other self doesn’t get it—are his senses really so dulled? Could he really be so human?)

I.e., Rose gets a choice, even if she has to carve it out for herself. In this chapter, she fights for Donna to get a choice, too.

***

a journey’s end fixit (of sorts), dedicated to @travelingrose ​, who reignited my love/hate relationship with this episode/storyline. (i believe this also fills some rose x tentoo / tentoo day prompts from @doctorroseprompts​ and @timepetalsprompts​ ?) heavy angst, but also lots of flirting, fluff, romance, some adventure, and some smut; sfw versions on tumblr & ff.net, nsfw versions on ao3 and teaspoon.

***

prologue | chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

chapter one: all the survivors singing in the rain

The word Felspoon has just left Donna’s mouth and that’s only the second-strangest thing that’s happened this millisecond, because the TARDIS doors swing open and slam shut and when the Doctor glances over, Rose and his other self and suddenly inside instead of out.

Blood drains from the Doctor’s face, leaving him shocked with cold.

“No,” he mutters, blinking in disbelief. He shakes his head like the motion will dislodge the stowaways from his vision, but his sight is a Polaroid photo and they just come into sharper relief. The Doctor pushes off his coral strut leaning-post, advancing toward Rose before he has a chance to think better of it.

“Doctor—”

“No,” he says, sharply this time, the word harsh even to his own ears. He points to the doors behind her. “Get out.”

Stunned, Rose falters. “What?”

“You heard me,” says the Doctor, anger and adrenaline and fear racing through his veins, because she can’t be here, not after he just sent her away, not after he just made one of the worst decisions in any of his cursedly long lives. “You’ve got to get out. You can’t be here, Rose. I’ve already made up my mind.”

“I’m sorry—you’ve made up your mind?”

“Yep! We both have, actually,” interjects Donna. “Though I suppose we should have known better—he keeps sending you away, but you never seem to stay there, do you?”

The Doctor shoots her a dirty look and she just shrugs. “What? You can’t honestly be surprised.”

“We’re not,” says the other Doctor tiredly.

“Stop it,” the Doctor snaps. “There’s no we in this equation, understand?” Glaring at each of them in turn, he continues, “No we, no us, no I in team but there is a me and that’s all that matters here, just me, and my ship, and my rules that I put in place for very specific reasons, very good reasons—”

“Cos you just get to make the decisions for everyone?” asks Rose.

“Yes!” the Doctor shouts, and everyone in the room jumps.

Rose crosses her arms, staring steely-eyed at him. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

Huffing in frustration, the Doctor turns on his heel, back toward Donna and the console—he hasn’t got the time for this, Donna hasn’t got the time, and at any rate, he’s got to hold onto this anger, got to stave off the crumbling of his resolve for as long as he possibly can, and the more he looks at Rose, the more difficult that gets.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?” he asks through gritted teeth. “Too late to turn back—the holes have sealed up properly, no returning now. So I suppose congratulations are in order—you’ve successfully stowed away, against my express wishes, never to see your mother or brother or father again, and you did it just in time to watch Donna die!”

The other Doctor’s head snaps to attention, and Rose’s mouth falls open in shock. An uncomfortable silence settles over the room, thick and heavy, rife with static, the air before a thunderstorm.

Laughing, Donna waves one hand dismissively. “Oh, don’t listen to him,” she says, fiddling with buttons on the console. “He’s exaggerating for dramatic effect. I’m fine. There’s just a little wrench in the works, is all. Just a hitch. A hiccup.” She pulls a switch with a flourish, a cheerful smile plastered on her face. “A pickup. A pickaxe. An axel,” she continues, shooting the new Doctor a wink. “A castle. A passel. A vassal. A vessel. A mortar and pestle. A Nessalemian Chamber floating off the Isle of Baroo. An igloo. A hullabaloo—”

A sharp intake of breath cuts her words in half and she stops, eyes blown wide. Donna looks up at Rose with the ghost of a pleading grin, but the Doctor notices that she won’t meet his eyes—not for either of him in the room. Rose glances over his way, and he can see in his periphery that her gaze is full of concern. He ignores it.

“Donna?” Rose asks cautiously. “Are you all right?”

“‘Course I am,” Donna lies with a watery chuckle. “Never been better. Nice of you to worry about me, though.”

Leaning in, she says, in a conspiratorial stage whisper, “He’d never say it, but he always liked it when you worried about him.”

“And how do you know that?” the Doctor asks.

“Because it’s in your head. And if it’s in your head, it’s in mine!”

He locks eyes with his other self. The other Doctor does not look away; it’s unnerving, the sensation of watching your reflection blink a second out of sync with you.

“And how does that feel?” the other Doctor asks, his voice soft.

“Brilliant. Fantastic. Molto bene!” cries Donna. “Great big universe, packed into my brain. You know, you could fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hotbinding the fragment links and superseding the binary—binary—binary binary binary—”

The Doctor closes his eyes. Gods, he wishes he could close his ears, too, that he couldn’t hear Donna’s life force draining away with every passing attosecond, her voice rising in pitch as life drips out of her like water plinking from a leaky faucet. She’s a broken record, now, the needle jumping furiously over the same vinyl groove in perfect metronome, regardless of the friction (fiction, fixing, mixing, Rickston, Brixton—)

Donna sucks in a ragged lungful of air. She sounds like she might be sick. “Oh, my god,” she whimpers, slumping over the console.

The Doctor frowns as Rose dashes to Donna’s side, steadying her with a hand to the bicep. “All right,” Rose says firmly. “We’re getting you to the medbay—can you walk?”

“That isn’t going to help, Rose,” says the other Doctor.

“Well, it’s better than just standing here, doing nothing,” Rose retorts. “Come on, get over here and help me—both of you!”

Neither Doctor moves. Looping Donna’s arm around her shoulders, Rose glances between the two Doctors, growing more incredulous with each passing second. “Now!” she shouts.

“Do you know what’s happening?” the other Doctor asks Donna.

She nods miserably. “Yeah.”

“There’s never been a human-Time Lord metacrisis before,” says the Doctor. “And you know why.”

“Because there can’t be,” Donna whispers.

“That’s not true,” Rose hisses. “Or—I don’t know, maybe it is. But whatever’s going on, we can fix it. We just have to try.” She inches toward the medbay, her free hand clasping Donna by the waist as she shuffles along. “Or don’t you remember what trying is?” she shoots over her shoulder.

“What’s the point when it won’t make a difference?” snaps the Doctor. “You’re only delaying the inevitable—either her memories go, or she does.”

“Bollocks!”

The Doctor’s eyebrow shoots up in surprise. “Beg your pardon?”

“You just said it yourself, there’s never been a human-Time Lord meta-thingy before,” Rose grits out, heaving with effort as she half-helps, half-drags Donna down the hall. “So how do you know what’s gonna happen?”

The Doctor looks to his other self for help, hands spread open in a silent plea, but the traitorous half-human just responds with a shrug. “She’s got a point,” he admits, darting over to support Donna from the other side.

“No,” says the Doctor angrily, hands balling into fists as panic rises in his throat. “No, no, no! You’re wasting all the time she’s got left!” he shouts at their retreating forms. “If we don’t extract the foreign elements now, she’s dead—we haven’t got time for anything else!”

“We’re Time Lords,” his other self replies. “We’ll make the time.”

Approximately 3.17 seconds pass as the Doctor, frozen in place, watches the three humans stumble down the corridor, getting further away from him with every labored step. On a better day, Rose and his other self may have fared better supporting Donna between them, but Rose clearly hasn’t slept for days, the other Doctor exhausted from the trauma of regeneration, and progress is slow, stumbling.

They’re not going to get Donna to the medbay in time.

Silently, the Doctor curses them both—they don’t understand, but then, how could they? They aren’t cursed with his gift; they can’t pluck stray timelines out of the air and skip to the end, read how the fairy tale ends; they’ll just follow the breadcrumbs and end up at the gingerbread house regardless, warnings and common-sense be damned.

(Even his other self doesn’t get it—are his senses really so dulled? Could he really be so human?)

From far away, he hears Donna slip and fall, pulling Rose down with her. A scuffle, a curse, a shout, and Rose is yelling for Donna to wake up.

Right on schedule, the Doctor thinks miserably, swallowing the lump of anxiety lodged in his gullet.

“Doctor!” cries Rose. “Help!”

Her voice cuts through him, sets him trembling with indecision. Probably she’s talking to the other one, the one closer to her, the one who so foolishly stepped forward to help like it would actually do anything—the one who trusted her, the Doctor tries not to think—but the thought that she might need him still tugs at something deep in his gut, still sends his body screaming for her.

The Doctor bites his lip so hard he could draw blood.

Damn it. Damn it all.

“You, help me,” he says roughly to the other Doctor as he surges forward, bending down to scoop Donna’s limp body off the floor. “And you,” he says to Rose, voice sharp, “Stay out of the way.”

He only glimpses Rose’s face long enough to see it darken with hurt. “Like hell I will.”

“Yeah,” mutters the Doctor, and his other self rushes to his aid, supporting the unconscious Donna between them, “I know.”

***

Previous: Prologue | Next: Chapter Two

#ficandchips #tenrose #tentoorose #doctorrose #doctordonna #angst #picandchips #journey's end fixit #mbb fic

[theeroticbookreview]

Release Blitz: When the Handyman Comes by Lana Brazen

    Title: When the Handyman Comes Author: Lana Brazen Genre: Erotica Romance Novella Release Date: February 13, 2020 Blurb When Andrew Harden is on a routine repair job, things go a bit off course. The Handyman special is asked for and received, and thus begins another tale of pure pleasure. Annette Flick needs her faucet fixed. Referred by a friend to this handyman, she’s heard he restores more than busted plumbing. I’m just curious, she says, questioning his experience in matters other than home renovation. How is he at rebuilding the feminine spirit? Andrew Harden has experience with broken things. When he gets this particular call, he quickly learns it’s more than a routine repair. To his surprise, she’s intrigued with his past endeavors in the world of pleasure. But how is she at restoring his faith in matters of the heart? In a relationship that quickly turns from curiosity to compassion, emotions wreak havoc on this handyman. How could he know, he’s the one who might need fixing? ‘When the Handyman Comes’ is a quick and steamy tale of pure pleasure. This story follows ‘The Doctor Will See You’ but can be read as a standalone. ADD TO GOODREADS

Purchase Links 99c for a limited time! AMAZON US / UK / CA / AU Free in Kindle Unlimited

Excerpt “Harden Handy,” I announce, holding out a hand to introduce myself. The woman who answers the door is built like a pinup girl—hourglass shape, pert breasts, and eyeglasses—but the tightness of her smile gives away her age as do the stripes of gray in her hair. I’d place her just above forty like myself. “Nice place you have,” I say, noting the open-concept layout as I follow her. Clean lines, water-tone colors, a real beach house minus the beach. It’s Florida but not every home is on the coast. This is an older neighborhood, meaning the majority of the residents are old. I’m talking retirees and geriatrics, but not her. “The issue’s in the bathroom,” she states, leading me down a hallway. I’m not a plumber by trade. I was formerly in construction, but the market in southern Florida is either feast or famine. To make ends meet, I began working odd jobs, handyman style. I’m here as a favor, and I can see I’ve walked in on a mess—sink cabinet open and faucet handle missing. “I was able to shut the water off myself yesterday,” she says. “Looks good,” I lie. It looks like she broke the faucet. As I begin assessing the damage, she leans against the doorjamb. “You know, I was surprised when Lana told me about you. You really are a legit handyman.” I try not to flinch. I’d like to say I don’t know what she means, but I do. I helped a friend of mine a time or two and met Lana Blasen, her friend. Is she accusing me of something? “I’m the real deal,” I tease, lowering for the base cabinet. My knees crack with the effort. “So you’re a gigolo?” I pause, the term startling, but I’ve been called worse. “The sixties called. They want their word back,” I tease. She’s silent a second, and when I look up, I feel bad, as if I insulted her instead of her insulting me. “I was just curious,” she says quietly, and now I feel extra bad. Slowly, I stand to my full height. I’m taller than her by half a foot at least. She’s barefoot but still dressed in a tight skirt and fancy blouse. “It isn’t called that, or maybe it still is, if I were a male hooker or a player, or whatever, but I’m not like that.” I don’t know why I’m defending myself to this woman I don’t know, even if she is a friend of Lana’s. Maybe it’s been the most recent events. I’d been with the same couple a few times. They called me. James warned me to take on only the most stable of married couples or recommendations from others, and this couple was on shaky ground at best. I’m a swinger. The third party at the table set for a threesome. But recently, I’ve been in a funk. The last scene broke me a bit, especially after the guy broke my nose. I don’t blame him. No husband wants his wife to say the other guy in the bedroom is better than him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” She pauses, reflecting on something near her feet, and then her expression changes as though she’s changed her mind about what she would say next. “I’ll be down the hall, if you need anything. My son is at his father’s tonight, so there’s no rush here. Take your time.” I watch her walk away in that hip-hugging skirt and loose blouse, open an extra button close to her cleavage. Curious, she said. I’m curious about her, but she didn’t call for the handyman special, only this plumbing disaster. An hour later, I have things temporarily fixed, but she needs a new faucet. “If I could show you what I did,” I suggest, interrupting her once I find her sitting at her dining room table. She nods, removing her glasses and I gaze down at them. “Getting older sucks,” she teases. “They say the eyesight is the first thing to go.” “You aren’t old.” “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment,” she states, good natured but still self-deprecating. “So if I tell you you’re beautiful, you’ll take it?” She tilts her head as she stands to follow me to the bathroom. “If you aren’t a player, you are charming.” Once back inside the bathroom, I explain, “You’ll need to turn the handle only this far or it will snap again. If you pick out a new faucet, I can come back and install it another day.” She reaches for the handle to test it, and without thinking, I reach for her hand as well, covering it as we collectively twist the knob. Like a toaster dropped in a full tub, electricity ripples up my arm, the connection stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. We look at one another at the same time, and I’m certain she felt it as well, but she draws back, resting her body on the doorjamb again. Her eyes search mine, and I know that look. The hungry curiosity of the forbidden. “Tell me how it works.” She doesn’t mean the faucet. “This isn’t why I’m here,” I remind her. “I know.” The sadness in her eyes squeezes at my chest. “And Lana told you?” I question. I’m not upset Lana shared with others what I did for her and James, but it also isn’t friendly conversation. “She only mentioned the basics. No details.” “And you aren’t married? Boyfriend who can kick my ass?” Her eyes widen, taking in my size. I’m six feet one, solid and stocky, or so I’m told. I’d hold my own in a fight. The broken nose caught me off guard. “Are you upgrading to the handyman special?” I ask. “Does it cost more?” “Not a thing.” I laugh. “And that’s the first difference,” I joke. She slowly smiles. The melancholy still in her eyes and her expression anxious. “I start with an assessment of your needs. As this is a plumbing job, we can use this as the scenario.” My voice lowers, but I wink to relax her. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you answer with your comfort level, guiding how far we go.” She nods. “I need you to verbally agree.” I typically have consent forms for legalese and understanding on both sides, but I’m making an exception here. She isn’t a regular at this. “Yes, Mr. Harden.” I smile at the formality. “You can just call me Andrew.”

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  Lana Brazen is the alter ego of a bestselling contemporary romance author who believes romance doesn’t need to end just because you crossed over forty. In a fantasy life, she was an anthropologist, a journalist and a world-famous novelist on the level of F. Scott Fitzgerald. None of that has happened. Instead, she’s written over twenty romances, mothered four children and remains with the one and only. Sometimes, she likes things a little hotter, spicier, raunchier than contemporary trysts, and so begins this chapter. Author Links FACEBOOK NEWSLETTER GOODREADS BOOKBUB AMAZON

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[andrewdburton]

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn't had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn't kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn't how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink's pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it's some of the best sixty bucks I've ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn't missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn't replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren't a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make repairs. And so on.

Still, I didn't feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you're going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There's a ton wrong with the house — and that's just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I'm older now, and I'm actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I'll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we've deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It's much slower this way, but it's also cheaper. Plus, it's more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we've:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It's still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don't feel overwhelmed. I'm able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It's a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it's because I'm old.

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I've learned to love DIY, how I've shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I've learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the parts, tools, or kits that they're using. Instruction sheets and manuals are tedious, yes, and they don't always make sense when you read them without context, but they also provide a vital framework for the project you're about to undertake. Don't skip this step!

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who've done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He's an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I'm not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn't work or didn't fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I'm smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it's not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you'll encounter situations where the instructions don't apply. Normal solutions don't work. When this happens, you'll have to be creative. You'll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I'll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I'm never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It's tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It's tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn't have to repeat the project. Plus, it's nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you're stuck, take a break. One reason I've avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you'll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you'll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you're building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here's another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you'd rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I've learned to consider the reason I'm doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we'll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we'll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we've spent six hours staining the deck, we'll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I'll have an ideal space to work in.

Don't focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don't own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/learning-to-love-diy/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[michaeljtraylor]

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn’t missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn’t replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make repairs. And so on.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There’s a ton wrong with the house — and that’s just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this way, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it’s because I’m old.

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the parts, tools, or kits that they’re using. Instruction sheets and manuals are tedious, yes, and they don’t always make sense when you read them without context, but they also provide a vital framework for the project you’re about to undertake. Don’t skip this step!

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He’s an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t work. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It’s tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you’d rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we’ve spent six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/ from Garko Media https://garkomedia1.tumblr.com/post/183753220979

[garkomedia1]

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn’t missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn’t replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make repairs. And so on.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There’s a ton wrong with the house — and that’s just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this way, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it’s because I’m old.

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the parts, tools, or kits that they’re using. Instruction sheets and manuals are tedious, yes, and they don’t always make sense when you read them without context, but they also provide a vital framework for the project you’re about to undertake. Don’t skip this step!

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He’s an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t work. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It’s tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you’d rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we’ve spent six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

[garkodigitalmedia]

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn’t missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn’t replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make repairs. And so on.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There’s a ton wrong with the house — and that’s just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this way, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it’s because I’m old.

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the parts, tools, or kits that they’re using. Instruction sheets and manuals are tedious, yes, and they don’t always make sense when you read them without context, but they also provide a vital framework for the project you’re about to undertake. Don’t skip this step!

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He’s an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t work. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It’s tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you’d rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we’ve spent six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

The post How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

* This article was originally published here

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8312273 https://proshoppingservice.com/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-diy/

[nicholerestrada]

How I learned to stop worrying and love DIY

“Oh good,” Kim said when I rolled out of bed yesterday morning. “I’m glad you’re up.” She gets up at 5:30 for work most days, but I tend to sleep in. Especially during allergy season.

“Huh?” I grunted. It was 6:10 and I was very groggy. My evening allergy meds kick my butt. Plus, I hadn’t had my coffee yet.

“Something’s wrong with the bathroom sink,” she said. “Look. It’s leaking. The floor is soaked.” She wasn’t kidding. The bathmat was drenched. When I looked under the vanity, I was greeted by a small lake.

“Ugh,” I grunted. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my day.

Kim kissed me goodbye and hurried off to work. I pulled on a pair of pants, poured some coffee, pulled out the vanity drawers, and got to work.

I was worried that I might have caused the leak when I replaced the sink’s pop-up assembly last month, but no. The problem was obvious: The hot water line to the bidet (which I installed in October) had worked itself loose. (By the way, I love my bidet. Too much information, perhaps, but it’s some of the best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent.)

Fortunately, the fix was simple. I reattached everything, then added a light layer of tape to prevent similar problems in the future.

Note: As a safety measure — to make sure I wasn’t missing anything — I took photos of the issue and made a trip to the hardware store to ask their advice. They told me everything should be fine.

This might seem like a small thing to some folks but it’s a big deal in my world. You see, I’ve never really been a DIY type of guy. I used to get overwhelmed by home improvement. I felt unprepared, incompetent.

More and more, though, I’m learning that I can do it myself. It just takes patience and perseverance. And the more projects I complete, the more confidence I gain.

Learning to Love DIY

When I was younger, I avoided do-it-yourself projects whenever possible. As a boy, I never learned how to be handy around the house. I could program (or build) a computer. I could write. I could do accounting or analyze literature. But I couldn’t replace a broken window or repair a leak.

My ex-wife and I bought our first house in 1993. Fortunately, it was in great shape. During our ten years in the place, there weren’t a lot of things that needed to be repaired.

And when things did need work, they were obviously beyond our abilities. The water heater exploded on Christmas morning. The electric wall heater caught fire. We discovered an infestation of carpenter ants. These were problems I was never going to fix myself. We hired experts to solve them for us.

In 2004, we moved to a hundred-year-old farmhouse. The previous owner had lived there for fifty years and had done a lot of lazy repairs himself.

Because buying the place tapped nearly all of our financial resources, we were forced to handle some of the repairs and remodeling ourselves. We hired somebody to hang drywall for us, but we tore down the old walls ourselves. To fix the faulty wiring, we asked an electrician friend to help us find problems and make repairs. And so on.

Still, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with DIY projects around the house. I did them when I had to, but mostly I tried to put them off — or to pay somebody else to solve the problem.

After our divorce, I deliberately sought a place where I did not have to deal with home improvement. I bought a condo. All exterior work was handled by somebody else. Sure, I was on the hook for problems inside my unit, but those were easy to foist on contractors. For five years, I completely avoided home repairs and home improvement.

When Kim and I bought our current country cottage, we had a chat. “You know you’re going to have to do lots of DIY projects,” she said. “There’s a ton wrong with the house — and that’s just the stuff we know about.”

“I know,” I said. “But I’m older now, and I’m actually looking forward to developing my DIY skills. I have a better attitude. I think I’ll be fine.”

You know what? I have been fine. After paying a small fortune to get the major things handled — roof, siding, floors — we’ve deliberately been taking on the day-to-day stuff ourselves. It’s much slower this way, but it’s also cheaper. Plus, it’s more satisfying.

In the past eighteen months, we’ve:

Painted several rooms in the house, and have plans to paint the others.

Installed new molding and trim in several rooms.

Painted the kitchen cabinets and installed new hardware.

Replaced the kitchen faucet (on Super Bowl Sunday).

Repaired the bathroom sink pop-up assembly.

Replaced our only toilet.

Installed a bidet attachment on the toilet.

Built out the inside of a Tuff Shed to make it my writing studio.

Built a porch for the writing studio.

Stained our new back deck (which we did not build ourselves).

Begun work on a fire pit for summer gatherings.

Installed raised beds for vegetable gardening.

Removed a cedar tree and planted a small orchard.

Hung lighting in the laundry room.

Installed a car stereo.

Some of these projects (the writing studio, for instance) were major. Some (like the laundry-room lighting) were minor. All of them have helped me gain confidence that yes, I can do things myself.

It’s still no fun when I wake up to find that a leak has flooded the bathroom. But at least now I don’t feel overwhelmed. I’m able to pause, think about what needs done, and then tackle the job. It’s a totally different feeling than I had even three years ago. Three years ago, stuff like this would overwhelm me. Now, I almost love these DIY projects. (For real!) Maybe it’s because I’m old.

Nine Steps to DIY Success

Yesterday as I was crawling under the bathroom sink, I thought about how I’ve learned to love DIY, how I’ve shifted from viewing these tasks as chores to viewing them as opportunities to learn.

As I fixed the leak, I made a mental list of the things I’ve learned over the past couple of years, the guidelines I follow to make sure my home-improvement projects are productive and fun instead of something I dread.

I believe these nine “rules” have helped me embrace the do-it-yourself mindset:

Read the instructions. This point is obvious enough for some folks that it ought not even be listed. But for others, this is a vital first step. I know too many people who rush into DIY projects without bothering to read the directions that come with the parts, tools, or kits that they’re using. Instruction sheets and manuals are tedious, yes, and they don’t always make sense when you read them without context, but they also provide a vital framework for the project you’re about to undertake. Don’t skip this step!

Tap your social network. While you may have never tackled a particular project, you probably have family or friends who’ve done something similar in the past. Draw on their experience and expertise. Ask questions. Seek advice. While replacing our kitchen faucet, I texted Mr. Money Mustache for help. When installing my car stereo, I asked my brother lots of questions. (He’s an audio nerd.) When Kim and I work in the yard, I often ask my ex-wife for advice. And, of course, I’m not shy about posting to Facebook to draw on the power of the hivemind.

Practice patience. DIY projects can be long and tedious. They can be frustrating. When I replaced our kitchen faucet, I was stymied from the start. The space was small. Tools didn’t work or didn’t fit. We had plans with the neighbors that put a time limit on the project. The old me would have been angry and irritable. The new me stayed calm. I forced myself to practice patience, to pause and think about the situation from a variety of angles. I had to make three trips to the hardware store. Ultimately, my patience paid off. I replaced the faucet and made it next door in time to watch the big game.

Be methodical. Another reason DIY projects used to frustrate me stemmed from my lack of organization. As I disassembled things, I put them in a common pile. When it came time to put things back together, I was lost. Nowadays, I’m smarter. I put small parts in ziploc bags and label the bags so I know what they are and where they go. If it’s not obvious what large parts are for, I label them too. At each stage of the project, I take photos with my phone so that I have a reference when I put things back together. I take notes in the manual to provide clarity in the future. Then I store the manuals in a drawer. Being methodical makes the process so much easier.

Think outside the box. Sometimes you’ll encounter situations where the instructions don’t apply. Normal solutions don’t work. When this happens, you’ll have to be creative. You’ll need to think outside the box. Using the kitchen faucet as an example again, none of the recommended methods would work to remove the old faucet. It was stuck, and there was no space to work with typical tools. In the end, I had to purchase a Dremel and cut into the collar, then hammer at it for five minutes before it came loose. It took a long time (and was frustrating), but it worked.

Decide on rules for buying tools. The unfortunate reality of DIY projects is that they often require specialized tools. When I replaced the kitchen faucet, I needed a basin wrench. Then I needed a Dremel. When Kim and I re-seeded our lawn, we needed an aerator. Sometimes it makes sense to simply buy the tool(s) you need. (I know I’ll use the Dremel again in the future.) Other times, it makes much more sense to borrow or rent. (I’m never going to need a $1500 aerator again, so I rented.)

Do things right. It’s tempting to cut corners when you do projects yourself. It’s tempting to skip steps, to not work to code, to do the minimum required to get things working right now. Please, do your future self a favor: Do things right the first time. Yes, it takes longer and costs more, but it also means you shouldn’t have to repeat the project. Plus, it’s nicer for whoever inherits your work. The folks who owned our house before us seemed to live by the motto, “Why do something right when you can do it half-ass?” Kim and I inherited a stack of shitty fixes that have made life miserable for the past two years.

When you’re stuck, take a break. One reason I’ve avoided DIY projects in the past is that I inevitably get stuck. I reach a tricky and/or confusing step and become frustrated. This used to be a disheartening deal-breaker. Now, though, I accept this as part of the process. When I do get stuck, I take it as a sign to slow down — or stop. I go do something else for a while. I do more research on the interwebs. I re-read the instructions. I contact somebody I know who has done a similar project. I give time for the frustration to fade, then return to the project with fresh eyes.

Have fun. Most importantly, enjoy the process. Accept it for what it is. Yes, you’ll have moments of frustration. Yes, it sucks to make repeated trips to the hardware store. Yes, most jobs take two or three times longer than anticipated. Once you agree that this is part of what DIY is all about, you’ll have a better attitude and be better able to enjoy the work instead of resent it. Plus, remind yourself that each time you tackle a task yourself, you’re building a library of knowledge that can be applied to future jobs.

Here’s another guideline: Keep the end in mind.

Home repair and home improvement can be annoying because there are other things you’d rather be doing. You could be hanging out with friends. You could be reading a book. You could be playing a game. The last thing you want to do is replace a broken window.

I’ve learned to consider the reason I’m doing the work. I know that when I replace the kitchen faucet, we’ll no longer have to worry about leaks. Plus, we’ll have a better, more attractive fixture. After we’ve spent six hours staining the deck, we’ll get years of enjoyment from the space. Once I build out the writing studio, I’ll have an ideal space to work in.

Don’t focus on the drudgery of the moment. Remind yourself of the ultimate payoff.

Choosing DIY Just for Fun

Last weekend, I tackled a DIY project for fun (gasp). I installed a car stereo.

Three months ago, I bought a 1993 Toyota pickup for projects around our little acre. Fittingly for the era, the truck came with a tape deck. Unfortunately, I don’t own any tapes. I purged the last of them over a decade ago.

Still, I couldn’t resist an indulgence. “I wonder if you can get Taylor Swift on cassette,” I thought to myself. I checked Amazon. Sure enough, if you’re dumb and determined like I am, you can order Reputation on cassette for 30 bucks. So I did.

When the tape came, I was disappointed to discover that while the radio worked fine, the tape player was busted. What to do? What to do? Should I write off the T Swift tape as a $30 loss? Or should I go all in, take the risk of buying a new tape deck?

I think you all know the (irrational) course of action I chose.

I found a $70 tape deck on Amazon and ordered it. Last weekend, as a birthday present to myself, I spent an entire day installing the thing — despite having no clue what I was doing.

The project was fun! (Frustrating but fun.)

I got to take apart the truck’s front console, puzzle out the messed up wiring (a previous owner had spliced new speakers incorrectly), connect the new tape deck, then put everything back together. On my drive to work at the box factory Monday morning, I cranked up the Taylor Swift. The dog was unimpressed but I had fun.

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