#wall crack repairing services

[mripl]

“Structural Damage Solutions: Best Repair Contractors Near Me”

Introduction:

Dealing with structural damage to your home or building can be a stressful experience. From cracks in walls to sagging floors, addressing these issues promptly and effectively is essential to maintain the safety and integrity of your property. If you’re seeking the best repair contractors near me in Mumbai, look no further than MRIPL. With our expertise in structural repair services and a comprehensive range of offerings, we’re here to provide solutions tailored to your needs.

Understanding Structural Repair Services

Structural repair services encompass a wide range of solutions aimed at addressing issues affecting the stability and integrity of a building. From repairing cracks and reinforcing walls to waterproofing and interior design, these services are essential for ensuring the long-term durability and safety of your property.

MRIPL: Your Trusted Structural Repair Contractors

1. Best Wall Crack Repair Services: At MRIPL, we specialize in wall crack repair services. Whether it’s due to foundation issues, settling, or environmental factors, we have the expertise to identify the root cause of wall cracks and implement effective repair solutions. Our team uses advanced techniques and high-quality materials to restore the structural integrity of your walls and prevent further damage.

2. Excellent Tile Grout Services: In addition to wall crack repair, MRIPL offers excellent tile grout services in mumbai. Proper grouting is essential for maintaining the appearance and functionality of tiled surfaces. Our skilled technicians ensure precise grout application, seamless finishes, and long-lasting results, enhancing the aesthetic appeal of your space.

3. Comprehensive Waterproofing Services: Waterproofing is critical for protecting your property from water damage and ensuring its longevity. MRIPL has best waterproofing contractors offering best waterproofing services, including roof waterproofing, cement waterproofing, and more. We utilize innovative waterproofing techniques and premium materials to safeguard your building against leaks, moisture intrusion, and structural deterioration.

4. Painting Contractors: Enhance the beauty of your property with MRIPL’s painting services. Our experienced painting contractors deliver flawless finishes and vibrant colors that elevate the look and feel of your space. Whether it’s interior or exterior painting, we pay attention to detail and quality craftsmanship to exceed your expectations.

5. Commercial Interior Designers: Transform your commercial space into a functional and aesthetically pleasing environment with MRIPL’s commercial interior design services. Our talented designers collaborate with you to create customized solutions that reflect your brand identity and optimize the use of space for productivity and comfort.

6. BOT Contractors: As leaders in the construction industry, MRIPL also specializes in BOT (Build-Operate-Transfer) projects. From conceptualization to execution, we manage every aspect of BOT projects with precision and expertise, delivering infrastructure solutions that meet the highest standards of quality and efficiency. We are the best builders in Mumbai.

Contact MRIPL Today

When it comes to structural damage solutions and comprehensive construction services, MRIPL is your trusted partner and best construction companies near me. With our commitment to excellence, attention to detail, and customer satisfaction, we ensure that your property receives the care and attention it deserves. Contact us today to schedule a consultation and experience the difference that MRIPL can make for your project.

Tags: building contractors near me, best wall crack repair services, roof waterproofing services in Mumbai, top commercial builders, builder in Mumbai, Best Painting Contractors, tile grout services in Mumbai, Best Waterproofing Contractors , best commercial interior design services, construction companies near me, cement waterproofing contractors in Mumbai, top construction company in Mumbai.

[conrepfortworth]

Our in-house engineers can help fabricate custom-made products and treat whole structures. We provide long-lasting solutions and never quickly fill cracks on the foundation and call it a day.

Our company is well-educated, fully insured, and licensed, with years of on-the-job experience in the foundation repair industry. Our crew will be there if there are workshops on foundation repair that need attending.

We value traditional foundation repair methods using modern technology. So, you can feel assured that your foundation will be in tip-top condition.

Whether it be your basement, piers & beams, crawl spaces, or slab foundations, you will get state-of-the-art services. We make it our priority to respond fast to fix all your foundation problems. We use industry-leading equipment and tools with warranties backing all labor and material.

Our prices are competitive, and we work with major insurance companies.

[preciserestumping]

Repairing Cracked Brick Walls

Brick walls can be a beautiful addition to your home’s exterior and provide lasting strength and protection against the elements. However, a crack in one of your brick walls isn’t just unsightly; it can also be a sign of serious structural issues that could compromise the safety and integrity of your entire house.

If you’ve recently noticed a crack in your brick wall, there are several reasons it might be happening. Some brick cracks are just natural occurrences, while others indicate more serious issues with your foundation or soil conditions. Understanding the different types of cracked brick walls can help you determine what’s causing the problem and take steps to correct it.

Stair-Step Brick Cracks

While they may look alarming at first, stair-step brick cracks are actually the least severe type of brick crack you can encounter in your brick home. This type of crack occurs when the foundation settles unevenly, causing some areas to sink or shift while other parts remain intact. While stair-step cracks aren’t as dangerous as other types of brick cracks, they’re still signs that you should contact a foundation expert right away to prevent further damage to your brick home and potential collapse of the structure.

Widening Cracks

If your brick wall is experiencing widening cracks, it may be due to the expansion and contraction of the clay that’s used to make the bricks. When clay expands during hot weather and shrinks in colder temperatures, it can cause the walls to develop cracks. You can repair these type of cracks by using a masonry repair caulk and applying it to the affected area.

Vertical Cracks

Vertical cracks in a brick wall are more concerning than the other types of cracks discussed because they typically indicate that your foundation has shifted. These cracks can be caused by a number of things, including extreme heat that causes the brick to expand at a faster rate than it should and then cool down again. You can repair these types of cracks by using a masonry caulk to fill in the cracks and then cleaning and painting the area around them.

Horizontal Cracks

Horizontal cracks in a brick wall are an immediate red flag that the foundation of your home is failing. These type of cracks can indicate that the soil beneath your foundation is deteriorating and pushing against the brick foundation, creating high-pressure that will eventually weaken the brick wall and lead to further structural issues throughout your home.

Brick cracks can be repaired, but it’s important to understand that addressing the underlying issue is necessary for a permanent solution. While temporary fixes like crack fillers may seem tempting, they don’t address the root of the problem and will only create further problems in the future. Trust Ohio Basement Authority for professional brick repair services and a long-lasting solution to your brick cracks. Call us today to learn more about our services and how we can help you protect your home from unforeseen issues!

Precise Restumping & Underpinning successfully maintains a reputation for delivering quality, reliable and sound services to clients all over New South Wales, with a licensed builder that personally oversee all work.

[a1foundationcrackrepair]

Residential Wall Crack and Foundation Repairs: Ensuring Structural Integrity

In the realm of homeownership, residential wall crack and foundation repairs loom as critical endeavors, safeguarding the very foundation upon which households stand. The integrity of a home's structure hinges on the vigilance and efficacy with which these repairs are executed. As pioneers in residential wall crack and foundation repairs services, we undertake the solemn duty of fortifying domiciles against the erosive forces of time and nature.

Understanding the Importance of Residential Wall Crack and Foundation Repairs

Fortifying Foundations: The Backbone of Home Stability

Foundations serve as the bedrock of a home's stability, providing the necessary support to withstand external pressures and internal stresses. However, over time, the foundation may succumb to various factors such as soil settlement, moisture intrusion, or seismic activity, resulting in cracks that compromise its integrity. Addressing these fissures promptly is paramount to prevent further deterioration and ensure the longevity of the structure.

Mitigating Risks: A Proactive Approach to Home Maintenance

Wall cracks, though seemingly innocuous at first glance, can signify underlying structural issues that demand immediate attention. Ignoring these signs can exacerbate the problem, leading to costly repairs and, in severe cases, jeopardizing the safety of occupants. By enlisting professional residential wall crack repair services, homeowners can nip potential problems in the bud, mitigating risks and preserving the value of their investment.

Our Comprehensive Approach to Residential Foundation Repair Services

Diagnostic Assessment: Uncovering Hidden Vulnerabilities

At the heart of our residential foundation repair services lies a meticulous diagnostic process aimed at identifying the root causes of structural deficiencies. Through state-of-the-art technology and seasoned expertise, we delve beneath the surface to unearth hidden vulnerabilities, enabling us to devise targeted solutions tailored to each unique scenario.

Customized Solutions: Engineering Excellence for Every Project

No two foundation repair projects are alike, necessitating a bespoke approach that caters to the specific needs of each property. Our team of skilled engineers and technicians leverages years of experience and innovative techniques to deliver customized solutions that prioritize durability, longevity, and cost-effectiveness. Whether it's reinforcing existing foundations, stabilizing shifting soil, or waterproofing basements, we employ a multifaceted strategy aimed at fortifying the structural integrity of residential properties.

Quality Craftsmanship: Exceeding Expectations, Every Time

Craftsmanship is the cornerstone of our residential wall crack and foundation repairs ethos, underpinning every aspect of our operations. From the selection of premium materials to the execution of precise techniques, we uphold the highest standards of excellence to ensure unparalleled results that stand the test of time. Our commitment to quality extends beyond the completion of a project, as we provide ongoing support and maintenance to uphold the structural integrity of our clients' homes for generations to come.

Elevating Standards in Residential Structural Integrity

In the realm of residential wall crack and foundation repairs, precision, diligence, and expertise are paramount. As stewards of structural integrity, we take pride in our ability to safeguard homes against the ravages of time and nature. Through our comprehensive residential wall crack and foundation repairs services, we endeavor to exceed expectations, delivering peace of mind and unparalleled value to homeowners seeking to fortify their most cherished asset. Trust us to elevate standards in residential structural integrity, one crack at a time.

[abbaroseville]

Floor How to Use a Floor Levelling Service to Repair Uneven Concrete FloorsContractors

Concrete floors can become uneven over time. This is often due to shifting soil or sub-surface water infiltration underneath the concrete. Uneven floors are not only an unsightly safety hazard, but they can also lead to structural problems and damage the integrity of your home or business. A floor levelling service is a quick and inexpensive solution to uneven concrete floors.

Whether you want to add value to your property or simply transform your garage into a functional room, it is important that the floor surface is even and smooth before flooring is laid down. Uneven surfaces can cause premature wear and tear on your new flooring, reducing its lifespan and costing you money in the long run.

A professional concrete floor grinding and levelling contractor can help you restore your property’s concrete to a smooth, safe and aesthetically pleasing surface. This is a quick, cost-effective option to repair your concrete floor that will last for years to come.

Self-leveling concrete is a thick, polymer-modified concrete that has become very popular for repairing floors. It is typically used as an underlying material to lay vinyl or tile on top of, but can also be used on its own. It is much quicker to apply and dry than traditional concrete, making it an ideal choice for renovation projects.

To use self-leveling concrete, first ensure there is no structural damage to the slab. It is also a good idea to test the slab’s moisture levels. All concrete contains moisture, but if the level is too high it can degrade the concrete over time.

Once the slab has been tested and the cracks have been filled, it is a good idea to prime the surface. This will prevent the leveling compound from damaging the surface in the future. A quality primer can be bought from any building supply store and is simple to use.

Once the primer has been applied, it is time to pour the leveling concrete. It is a good idea to have some help with this process so that the leveling compound can be poured evenly and smoothly. Once the concrete has been poured, it will need to sit for six hours before it can be used.

Precise Restumping & Underpinning successfully maintains a reputation for delivering quality, reliable and sound services to clients all over New South Wales, with a licensed builder that personally oversee all works.

[foundationdiego]

Our in-house engineers can help fabricate custom-made products and treat whole structures. We provide long-lasting solutions and never quickly fill cracks on the foundation and call it a day.

Our company is well-educated, fully insured, and licensed, with years of on-the-job experience in the foundation repair industry. Our crew will be there if there are workshops on foundation repair that need attending.

We value traditional foundation repair methods using modern technology. So, you can feel assured that your foundation will be in tip-top condition.

Whether it be your basement, piers & beams, crawl spaces, or slab foundations, you will get state-of-the-art services. We make it our priority to respond fast to fix all your foundation problems. We use industry-leading equipment and tools with warranties backing all labor and material.

Our prices are competitive, and we work with major insurance companies.

[rahuratna]

The transformation of Nanami Kento, part 6

In which things get more serious as the team track down the curse user!

Yuuji had set an alarm to wake him early that morning. Stirring slightly, he reached out an arm, fingers groping blindly, and turned off the blaring sound from his phone. Something felt a little different from normal. There was a warm, soft weight against his cheek, fluffy hair tickling his nose. He cracked one eye open.

Nanami-pom was asleep on his pillow, curled against his head. Yuuji lay still for a minute, taking in the soft breathing emanating from the tiny snout, the paws pushed against his chin and the warm puppy-scent wafting from Nanami-pom’s fur.

Something must have alerted Nanami-pom to his wakefulness, because the small mouth opened in a yawn and the hazel eyes blinked once, twice. Stretching his short limbs, the transformed sorcerer rose, swaying slightly, and pressed his cold nose against Yuuji’s in what seemed to be a greeting.

He padded off to the side, mouth turning down in a grumpy expression as he hopped off the bed. Yuuji heard him giving off small grumbling sounds and snorts as he ambled around the room, waking himself up. The student grinned and sat up, stretching his own limbs. Nanami had never been a morning person, but he’d never seen it firsthand before.

Megumi was already up and dressed. He glanced over at Nanami-pom, mouth twitching as he took in his sullen face and dishevelled fur. He warmed some milk for the sorcerer in the microwave and helped him into his suit, making sure to strap the harness and small blade into a position on his back where he could reach it easily. After some brushing and a small piece of egg on toast, courtesy of room service, Nanami-pom looked more alert and well-groomed.

They met Nobara, Ino and Gojo in the foyer, before taking the car waiting outside to their destination. The ride was more subdued this time around, with each member of their team focusing their thoughts on the tricky task that lay ahead.

The car stopped near a nondescript side entrance, a simple gate set in a high wall with peeling blue paint. Although rusted, the gate showed signs of recent disturbance. This was probably the same route taken by the curse user to gain entry. Gojo pushed the door open and they trailed in after him, Nanami-pom riding on Yuuji’s shoulder once more. The amusement park wasn’t quite as decrepit as Yuuji had imagined. As much as most of the rides, buildings, open-air arenas and booths were worn down, they weren’t falling apart.

Gojo gestured for them to split and they nodded in understanding. Ino, Yuuji and Nobara forming one group and Megumi joining the tall, striding form of Gojo as they headed to the west and east entrances of the park respectively. Nanami-pom kept his nose in the air, sniffing carefully as they checked each building. Yuuji supposed that his sense of smell was heightened in this form.

Suddenly, Nanami-pom stiffened, his paw bent and raised in the air at an angle, snout directed towards what looked like a haunted house exhibit. Ino, Nobara and Yuuji exchanged glances before heading that way cautiously, on the lookout for any signs of movement.

____________________________________________

He’d just wanted them to stop complaining. Was that too much to ask? The daycare had been a special dream of his, a haven for children! So why, why, wouldn’t they do as they were told? All he asked for was a smile. A smile.

Happy, smiling faces.

Happy, smiling faces.

He’d repeated it over and over, at all of their staff meetings. All they’d done was whisper and mutter and complain and moan about how difficult their lives were. What about all the things he’d done? What about the new murals he’d painted on the walls? What about the repairs he’d made to the bathrooms? What about all the fundraising he’d done so that they could have a new play area.

Happy, smiling faces.

That was all he’d asked for. And then that Himiko had come to his office, begging with her wet, disgusting, snotty face, asking for her salary for the last month because she needed to pay rent and feed her kids. He wasn’t a monster. He knew he’d have to pay sooner or later. But why, why, couldn’t they see the bigger picture? Why couldn’t they see all the sacrifices he’d made on a daily basis, just to keep this place open and running?

Himiko hadn’t been smiling. He’d got to his feet, placing hands on her shoulders to shake her, make her remember her duty to smile, but then something had happened. Himiko had started to change right in front of his eyes. She’d shrunk down, her black hair turning snow-white, her eyes turning small, dark and bright, two of the cutest cat ears he had ever seen popping up on her skull.

She was no longer human, but she was perfect. He’d never realised how much he’d wanted something like this, a way to make everyone smile. For them to be the best for the kids that they could be. Himiko had tried to run. He giggled when he remembered how her small legs had pinwheeled in the air when he’d snatched her up.

Oh no. Naughty! He couldn’t have her warning the others. They’d come looking for each other, and one by one, they transformed so beautifully under his fingers. How precious! The kids loved them. And as long as he kept them all inside the daycare, nobody would ever know! Any pesky relatives came looking? Well, they’d just join his cohort of cute little helpers. Everything had been a dream, after that. He’d finally got the set-up he’d always wanted.

And all the happy, smiling faces.

But then, they’d arrived. The tall, blonde man with a face that looked as if it had been carved from marble. Remembering him gave him the shudders. That face looked like it had never smiled a day. And that boy. The one who seemed happy-go-lucky but had something huge and terrible inside him. They’d found out about him, somehow. He hadn’t been able to stop to think about it, because then they’d given chase.

When they’d cornered him, he’d aimed for the boy first, because he’d seemed like the biggest threat. But the tall man had jumped between him and the boy, taking the transformation beam square in the chest.

Breathing had become a tad difficult then. Seeing such a stern countenance, such a muscular, imposing form, reduced to this? Oh, the delight! Seeing his long limbs shrink to little stubs? Seeing the sharp-edged face grow round and the slicked-back blonde hair lose its shape and sprout everywhere on his body? Seeing the slow movements of the small, golden form as he'd picked himself up and looked down, seeing the confusion and shock in those soft brown eyes as he beheld his transformed shape?

Oh, it was beautiful. It gave him a rush of power, but not before he’d registered the threat from the boy.

He’d bounded forward, aiming a hard kick right for the small golden creature that was still disoriented and stumbling. His foot had connected with the soft belly, watching the confusion turn rapidly into pain as the Pompompurin he’d created tumbled head over heels and smacked into a crumbling brick wall with a yelp. The boy had cried out in horror, rushing forward to help his transformed companion.

Which was precisely what he’d wanted. It had enabled him to make his quick –

But wait … what was this? Voices? And footsteps, approaching?

Damn them all to hell! Who were these people? How were they tracking him? Wouldn’t they just leave him alone?

Oh, they’d done it now. He’d managed to get past them the first time and they wouldn’t get him now. He’d still see his dream come to fruition, no matter who tried to stop him!

______________________________________________

The moment he’d smelt the man, Nanami-pom knew. That sickening, cloying scent of wax crayons, cheap cologne and sweat. It was unmistakable. In his current body, he knew that his strength was nowhere near what it had been in his human form. And so, Nanami-pom had read the mission report carefully, listened in on the briefings with full attention and had given this issue his usual meticulous analysis.

What his body lacked in strength, it had now gained in speed and accuracy. His small, light frame, if boosted with cursed energy, would be able to move much faster than anything he had ever achieved in human form. His blade was also much lighter, but the keen edge to it would serve him well. His senses were also enhanced well beyond any human’s and he planned to use this to his advantage.

When the small team stopped outside the haunted manor, Ino raised a fist and waved a signal to Yuuji and Nobara. They split and surrounded the place, keeping a careful eye on the entrances. Yuuji and Ino approached from the back and side entrance, Nobara keeping a careful lookout, her hammer clenched hard in her hand. It was at this point that Nanami-pom slipped from Yuuji’s shoulder, his light footfalls carrying him undetected into the shadows of the house.

[comatosebunny09]

You've been putting off that oil change for far too long, sis.

You can't ignore that angry, red oil lamp leering at you from the dash much longer. So, you call a mom-and-pop shop to schedule an appointment for an oil change. And to your surprise, they have an opening right now!

Sure, you don't want to shell out the coins to keep your car running. Rather spend your money on booze, food, and whatever other oddities get you through the weekend. But you're an adult now. You've got 'sponsibilities. You want to trade that car in for a Mercedes someday.

Right?

You whip down the sunny highway, weaving through traffic. Pull up to the quaint repair shop you'd phoned earlier, still wearing your uniform and smelling like the struggle—it's inventory week. Lots of heavy lifting, sweating, and hating your life. 

It's surprisingly clean inside despite being low-key. Freshly painted, ivory walls. Glittering tile floors. Smells like bubblegum and lemon interweaved with motor oil. Warm and homely in contrast to the biting cold outside.

A neatly-arranged lobby sits on your left, two rows of chairs flanking the wall-mounted T.V., abuzz with the weather. Ceiling high windows permit sun rays to shine through. To your right is a marbled counter with a black top, unmanned, tidy stacks of paper, and intricately arranged business cards adorning it.

The door behind the counter is cracked open, a conglomerate of drilling, whirring, and shouting over heavy machinery pouring in. You ring the bell perched on the counter's edge to get serviced. Wait a few beats. Convinced no one will hear you over all the ruckus going on outside, you turn around to lean against the counter, thoroughly engrossed by your phone.

You don't notice when he sneaks in. Situational awareness has always been shit despite your profession. Hear him before you see him, his tone like static tearing into a quiet room. You flinch, spinning around to face the room's new occupant with squinted eyes.

"Good morning, Miss!" says this blond mountain of a man, throwing you off kilter. "How may I assist you?"

He's all teeth and sunshine, this guy. Towers a good foot over you. He wears sandy skin stretched over sharp features. Wiry, dark brows. Freckles stipple his nose. Dimples crater his cheeks. Wheat-colored hair bleeds into a deep crimson on his shoulders and frames his jaws. His face is smudged with what you assume is oil. But it does nothing to detract from how incredible he looks.

You can make out the virility of his body through the confines of his royal blue jumpsuit. Arms lean and bulging with veins pouring from his rolled-up sleeves. Homie clearly works out. He drums his thick fingers on the countertop. You gnaw on your lip, unconsciously imagining them wrapped around your throat...

Despite majoring in linguistics, you've suddenly forgotten how to speak. Mouth gaping like a fish. Eyes blinking rapidly. Your heart is pounding over time in your ears. You're scorching hot.

Breathe, girl.

Breathe.

When you've found your voice again, you clear your throat. Try to act all casual, like you didn't almost wet your panties. "I-I'm here for a nine-o-clock oil change."

"Ah!" he remarks as if you've unearthed the meaning of life. You resist snorting, watching this ball of electricity bounce around and fiddle with a clipboard. He passes it to you, grin never faltering, your nerves slowly draining away. "Please fill out all of the highlighted areas with your information!"

He's intense, sure. Like an ecstatic puppy waiting for its owner to toss a tennis ball. But he gives you good vibes. Smile is infectious. You can't help the ghost of one sliding past your lips as you grab a pen. Feel heat pervading your cheeks, and you glance down to jot down your info.

You slide the beach boy your documents and keys when you're done. He dangles them between you, chuckling at your choice of keychain. A gaudy, fuzzy, pink ball that's been through some things. You're suddenly self-conscious. A little more self-aware, with your hair sticking up at odd angles, your uniform coated with a film of dust, and the laces of your boots peeking out. Though, dude doesn't seem to notice or care.

He tells you to make yourself comfortable halfway out the door again. Motions to the coffee bar nestled beneath the T.V. Flashes you another thousand-watt smile. Says, "my name is Kyojuro, by the way," before going outside to bring your ride around back.

As you plop your weary bones into a chair in the lobby, you can't help wondering how someone that hot ended up working at a place like this.

But dammit, if you don't enjoy having something nice to look at while you wait.

Masterlist

[rainbow-nerdss]

on that you can rely

Written for @augustwritingchallenge day 13: Behind the Mirror Stucky, 3.3k Read on AO3

It took months for Bucky to find a place, and when he did, it was a dump. The interior looked like it hadn't been decorated since the seventies, and as for the structural elements…

Well, it was intact. It was mostly mold-free. And best of all, he could afford it.

The owners were renovating the building, and they didn’t have the overhead to pay a decent contractor, so they gave him the apartment at a steep discount in exchange for his services.

It was shady as fuck, and definitely illegal, but it was a place to live.

He started with his own apartment, the plumbing needing the most work. Room by room, then unit by unit, Bucky started tearing out broken fixtures, repairing original features, and working with the plumbing and electrical teams whose qualifications Bucky didn’t ask to see.

There was a mirror over the blocked-up, broken old fireplace in his own unit, cracked and damaged by age. Bucky took it down from the wall and set it aside. If he could, he'd try to get it repaired, but there was no way he could keep it in its current condition. Under the mirror, the wall was old, exposed brick — original to the building, not even plastered over. 

When Bucky examined the bricks, he found one was loose. He wriggled it, grabbing the corners with his fingertips, and finally pulled it free. Bucky shone the light from his phone into the space, and saw a small bundle of paper wedged in behind.

He grinned. 

It was why he loved working in old buildings like this, finding little treasures — whether it was an old doorknob, painted over time and again which he could clean and reveal gleaming bronze or silver, or something like this, usually useless receipts and grocery lists lost under floorboards, a little glimpse into somebody's life from decades before.

He reached in and pulled out the papers, realizing as he did that this was something more. It wasn't a receipt, or some old lists. It was bound, a journal or sketchbook probably, and it was old.

Frayed, yellowed pages with a well-worn leather cover, tied shut with what looked like butcher's twine. 

Bucky sat on the floor and slowly, carefully, untied the knot holding it all together.

The book was full of sketches, drawings in pencil of people, places and things Bucky only half recognised, snapshots of someone's life drawn in stunning detail.

The front page, on the top right corner, bore a note:

To Steve, Happy birthday, my wonderful boy.  Love Mom July, 1935

1935. Wow.

Bucky pored over the pages, the delicate lines, how the artist captured the expressions in the faces of the people he drew.

Whoever Steve had been, he was talented. Each sketch was dated and signed with a cursive S, and Bucky could see he used this paper sparingly. Some sheets of cheaper paper held rougher sketches, and those were folded and pressed between pages, but they had mostly faded over the years.

The early pages held a lot of sketches of the same people, including a woman Bucky assumed must be Steve's mother, slim and straight-backed but always smiling. Alongside her, were a few Bucky thought must be self-portraits, though Steve never gave his own face the same level of detail as his mother's.

There were some children, some strangers —neighbors, maybe, or family Steve didn't see as much.

In late 1936, Steve stopped drawing for almost three months, and from that point on there were fewer and fewer pictures of his mother, growing fainter and less detailed each time.

More new people made their way to the page as Steve's talent grew—figure studies that might have been practiced for an art class, and other, more intimate sketches. 

Bucky's breath caught in his chest as he looked through them, as he fully comprehended what he had just uncovered.

Here in his hands were stunning, carefully rendered drawings of men in varying states of undress, one rolling a pair of stockings up his leg, a pair of women kissing, drag queens and queer couples and then snapshots, an eye here, a hand there, a pair of lips, each sketch full of desire, of love.

Steve, whoever he was, had devoted at least half of the pages in this book, this precious, scarce paper, to queerness in every form. 

This here, rescued from the brick of Bucky's apartment, was history.

The last sketch was a self-portrait—Bucky could tell, though Steve had only drawn himself from the jaw down. He recognised the curve of the spine, the freckles on Steve's arm, and the way he tended to use more hard lines when drawing himself than he did with others.

In this portrait, Steve was naked, save for what looked like a sheet draped over his lap. The focus was on his chest, a series of what Bucky thought might be love bites covering his skin. The small piece of his face which was visible looked to be smiling.

It was dated April of 1943.

Bucky couldn't help but wonder what had happened, why the book was never drawn in again. 

He pictured Steve, the morning after a night of pleasure, sitting in front of the mirror, drawing this. Had his partner still been there, or was he alone?

He pictured Steve receiving a letter — had he volunteered, or had he been drafted? Bucky pictured him standing here, in this apartment, in his uniform, ready to ship out with those bruises fading underneath. Bucky imagined Steve taking down the mirror and pulling out the loose brick. Was it a hiding place Steve used often? 

Bucky saw Steve replace the mirror, and walk away.

Had he known he'd never return to retrieve it? 

Had Steve made it back from the war at all, or had he simply never made it back here, to this apartment?

Bucky went online, searching the building's records for some record of someone called Steve, but they were poorly kept. The owner at the time either operated off the books, or the records had been lost in the intervening years.

Bucky didn't know if Steve had lived there the entire time, or if this was somewhere he'd been less than a week before shipping out.

With no sign of who Steve might have been — beyond a first name, a July birthday, and an enlistment date sometime after April of 1943— Bucky resigned himself to never learning more about the man. That didn't mean it wasn't important, though.

He began to share snippets of it on social media. He kept the address private, and only referred to Steve by that first initial he used to sign the drawings, just S. 

There was always a chance that Steve had made it back from the war, that he had lived a long and happy life, that he had even left this behind on purpose. Maybe he'd married a woman, had a family — maybe a grandchild of his might recognise the art style, connect these pictures with their grandfather.

Bucky didn't know if he was comfortable with that possibility, so he did what he could to protect Steve's privacy online.

All the same, Bucky kept up the search. He looked up census records for the years in the journal, and found no fewer than six Stevens, Stephens and Stefanos in the building in 1940. He immediately dismissed the two children under the age of ten, and the man in his late fifties. 

One of the remaining men had a wife and an infant daughter in 1940, and Bucky wanted to rule him out, too. 

Of the remaining two, Stefano Rossi had marked himself as a dock laborer, and Bucky might have been wrong, but Steve didn't strike him as the type.

Steve also didn't seem the type to be a soldier, though.

The final name on the list, though, there was something about it that drew Bucky towards it, made him dismiss the other options. It almost seemed… familiar.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Steve Rogers.

A common enough name, sure, but Bucky's search results were impaired by the name being shared by Captain America, forcing him to dig through search results for anything on his Steve — past articles about the battle of New York and terrible B movies and comic books and trading card eBay listings.

Until one day, Bucky gave up, and clicked on one of those articles about Captain America out of sheer boredom.

There was a photograph, a rare one, of Cap before he became Cap. Of Steve Rogers, the day he joined the army, an enlistment photograph of him standing in front of a plain white wall. He was all sharp angles, pale skin, freckles on his arm, and… the last lingering trace of bruising down his chest.

It was him.

It was Steve.

Steve, most likely less than a week after that final portrait. 

The portrait Bucky had scanned and uploaded the night before.

Steve, who was queer, or at the very least immersed in queer culture.

Steve, who lost his mother in 1936.

Steve, who enlisted despite being turned away again and again.

Steve, who was very much alive, and very much well known.

Bucky deleted his account. He wasn't an expert, but he did what he could to scrape the pictures from the internet. The account had gained popularity, though, and his sudden disappearance caused a stir.

First it was one article. Then another. People had screenshots of his posts, and those were included in the articles.

Bucky tried making a post on a new account, asking people to stop, making up some story about the family of S reaching out, asking for the pictures to be taken down.

People accused him of faking the whole thing. Others claimed the new account was the fake one, while others still were up in arms that the "family" would dare ask for control over their grandfather's private information.

Bucky was putting the finishing touches on the apartment and trying to forget the internet existed when there was a knock on his door. 

He figured it must be the landlord, or one of the few tenants who had been able to return to the building, asking about repairs or progress on his work.

It wasn't.

It was him. Steve.

“Are you Bucky?” he asked. All Bucky could do was nod.

"Can I… would it be alright if I came in?"

Bucky stepped aside, speechless, letting him in. 

Bucky may have worked with his hands, but he’d always enjoyed history. The small things, though. Personal letters, everyday people and things. Wars had never been an area he was interested in reading about — he’d had enough war to last a lifetime, thanks. After putting the pieces together, though, he’d started looking further into the story of Captain America — during the war, and since he’d come back.

It was difficult to reconcile the image of Steve he’d built up in his head since finding the book with the figure in the history books, but here, seeing him walk in the door, look around at the place he’d once called home, Bucky could see it. He could see the artist he’d gotten to know through sketches, the man who had sat in this room, drawing his mother, drawing his friends, his lovers, himself.

Though he was taller, broader, and more muscular than the man in those drawings, though he was dressed in modern clothes, this man was, as far as Bucky could see, much more Steve than Captain America.

Neither of them spoke for almost a full minute.

“I— I should apologize,” Bucky said, breaking the silence and finding his tongue at last. Steve tore his eyes from the bare wall in front of him to look at Bucky.

“Apologize?”

Bucky crossed the room to pull the book out of the cabinet he kept it in, and Steve’s eyes zeroed onto it. 

“If I’d known it was yours,” Bucky began. “Or even that it was by anyone still alive, still out there — I shouldn’t have posted them.”

Steve had tears in his eyes as he took the book from Bucky’s hand, running his fingers over the cover reverently.

“It’s… I’m glad you posted it.”

Bucky frowned. Steve was still staring at the book, so Bucky offered him a seat and a drink. “Water’s fine, if that’s… if that’s alright.”

Bucky fetched the water, then sat next to Steve on the couch. The place was a mess — renovations just finishing, furniture all either tossed or dirty, waiting to be repaired or replaced, but Steve didn’t seem to mind or even notice.

Steve sipped his water and then set it aside to open the book up. His eyes landed on the inscription, and Bucky saw one of the tears in his eyes fall. Neither of them acknowledged it. 

“If you hadn’t posted the drawings, I’d never have known this was still out there.You didn’t share anything people could use to trace it back to me, but even if you had… Thank you.”

Bucky didn’t know what to do with that, so he just watched, as Steve slowly turned the pages of the book. 

“She was a nurse,” Steve said, pausing on a portrait of the woman Bucky had assumed to be his mother. The words felt rehearsed, like Steve had said them hundreds of times already, until they lost meaning. “Worked on a TB ward. Got hit, couldn’t shake it.”

“Shit, that’s… I’m sorry, man.”

Steve turned the page, and he smiled at the image. “I remember this day.” It was another portrait of her. Steve spoke about it, about the day out they took together, how he’d taken the book along and drawn her sitting on the grass where they ate a picnic lunch. 

“Tell me about the rest?” Bucky asked. “If… If you want to.”

Steve sniffed. “I haven’t spoken about these people in so long,” he admitted.

He flicks through the pages, telling Bucky about the people held within these pages. His mom, his neighbors and friends, and the others. As he spoke, the carefully controlled speech pattern slipped, replaced with a looser Brooklyn accent.

“I started going after Ma died. This little bar, hidden away. I only found it because I’d been walking along and I heard —” Steve snorted. “Well, I thought it was a fight, some poor guy getting beaten up.”

“It wasn’t?” 

Steve shook his head. “Nope. They looked scared when I walked in, but I guess they musta seen somethin’ in my face, because next thing I knew, I was downstairs, and all these people around me, they were… They were like me, you know?”

Bucky remembered his first time in a gay bar, the sense of belonging he’d felt, nineteen years old with a fake ID. He imagined that feeling, multiplied by about a  hundred for Steve.

Steve continued through, telling Bucky story after story from the club, the people he’d known there. 

“Did you ever—” Bucky started to ask, then stopped himself, thinking it was probably too personal a question. 

Steve shrugged. “Nobody special. One or two I thought, maybe, but…” He shrugged. Turned the page. “That’s Bill. Got called up in ‘41. Johnny signed up right after, followed him out.”

One by one, Steve told Bucky about the people he lost, the ones who went off to fight and never came home, the ones who came home but didn’t live long enough for Steve to see again.. 

“And you?” Bucky asked. Steve turned to the last page. 

“This one… My buddy, he was… well. Maybe, if the war hadn’t happened, we could've made something of it. I… I could’ve loved him. This was the night before he shipped out, we just wanted… something. Something to remember, out there. It was a good night. Next day, I stashed the book behind the mirror, went out, and I met Erskine.”

“And here we are,” Bucky finished for him. 

“Here we are.”

Steve closed the book, held it up, and pressed his lips to the cover, eyes squeezed shut. 

"I looked him up, after they showed me the internet."

Bucky didn't ask, afraid of the answer. Steve's face said it all, though —whatever happened to Steve's friend, it wasn't good. Bucky saw the shadows in his eyes, and decided to change the subject slightly, to pull him out of that space.

"I grew up in a shitty little town in Indiana," he said. "It was… rough, honestly. The kids liked to throw around a lot of names, and I never really knew anyone else who was… well, I was going to say gay, but really I didn't know anyone queer growing up. My family is great, but it wasn't until I moved here for college that I found people I could really be myself with."

Steve put the book down on his lap and turned to listen to Bucky, resting his arm on the back of the couch. Bucky couldn't decide whether it was surprising how easy Steve Rogers was to talk to, to confide in.

"Although, looking back… there were these two women who lived in my neighborhood, they were both in their seventies, at least. Everyone called them sisters, but I never really saw a resemblance."

Slowly, Bucky saw Steve's expression turn lighter, almost a smile. "Well, I was reading up on local history, once, and I got my hands on a bunch of old yearbooks from the local high school."

"You've always been into history, then?" Steve asked.

"Personal histories. Social stuff. Things with real people, yeah."

"And the yearbook?"

"They were in one of them. Class of '46, I think?”

“Not much younger than me, then,” Steve said with a wry sort of smile. 

“I guess not,” Bucky agreed. “But there they were, both of them. Smiling on opposite pages.”

“Different surnames,” Steve deduced, and Bucky nodded.

“Yeah. I never asked them about it, of course, but you’re not the first person who I’ve looked up in census records. They were never sisters, they just let people go with whatever assumptions were made. Sisters, friends, whatever was easier. They lived together in that house since the 50’s. They had a life together. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for them, but…”

“But they did it,” Steve finished. “Are they—”

“Julia passed about five years back, but Betty’s still there, in that same house.”

Steve was quiet for a while, thinking. “I know there's still a long way to go, but… It’s easier now, right?”

He looked at Bucky, and their eyes met with a new sort of intensity. Bucky could tell Steve was searching for something in his face, but he didn’t know what it could be. 

“Yeah, it’s easier now.” 

Steve was still looking at him, and Bucky couldn’t look away. He’d imagined Steve’s face so often based on his self portraits, beyond the lines of his jaw and the intensity of his gaze. That intensity was there, in the real thing, but it was all… more. Bucky didn’t know if it was the serum, or simply the difference between the drawing and reality. 

His eyes dropped to Steve’s lips, and those… Steve had never done his own mouth justice in his sketches, Bucky decided. Soft, pink, beautiful. Bucky swallowed, and Steve released a breath, like he’d found what he was looking for. 

He leaned forward, hand reaching out to rest just above Bucky’s waist. Bucky wondered, absently, when they’d come to sit so close together, but the thought was quickly replaced by far more urgent ones as Steve crossed that small distance, slowly, giving Bucky every chance to pull away. 

He didn’t pull away. He met Steve in the middle, until their lips brushed, just a shadow of a kiss, really. They paused there, in the almost-but-not-quite.

“My life is really fucking complicated,” Steve whispered against his lips. “If you don’t want that, I get it.”

Bucky answered by sliding his fingers into Steve’s hair, holding the back of his head, and kissing him.

[beenjen]

These past weeks - and it is weeks, near on a month, because I had to look back - have been an exercise putting one foot in front of the other. I flag on what even to say, because it feels everything that comes out of my mouth is sad and I don’t want to be? It’s life though, so, honesty is the best policy? Who knows.

//mom was hospitalized for a small bowel obstruction. It was a super involved process where we had to rule out, as we did last year, a metastasis of her current cancer. It was such a suck if essence - I don’t know how else to say it. She was sick for a couple weeks before, was not forthright in her symptoms, was hospitalized on a Friday afternoon and spent the weekend.

It’s the first time I had to really poke my head up with my years of ICU experience and dictate her care and the steps we would be taking. I hesitate to ever share that I have the experience I do, because then people get super nervous about their performance and tend to steer clear, this group involved with her care though, embraced what I brought to the table, and we were able to institute a strict care plan and get her a$$ -no pun intended - on the go.

She’s home. Not had a great appetite, down to the 120s, and it’s take some Out of the box planning to get her revitalized. It’s been something.

\\ her follow up CT this week showed not only that the small bowel obstruction was gone, the previously spotted abdominal tumor was as well. That’s obviously incredible information, we are just so beat down with the perpetual bad news, none of us knows quite what to do with it. So, we persevere…. Will await some Other tests, and I may not ever be able to relax when it comes to moms monitoring. It’s been extensive. Hard. Traumatic.

//dads last biopsy through interventional radiology, was unable to produce a diagnostic result. He had a bronch this past week that was an attempt for more answers…. And it went over 2 hours, old colleagues coming out to talk to me, because apparently, everyone knows this is my dad, and the chief of the service came down to perform the tests…. It still was a no go… they are 50% positive even with cytology at bedside, we will know what we need to for diagnosis as the spots were very illusive - the bastards.

Fingers crossed we can get some answers. They outlined next steps in case we can’t, and that just sucks, because it means they had a much harder time than they lead on to…. So we wait.

\\it finally happened as well, that I missed something huge with all this stress. It was a big enough error I could have really put us in an awkward place, fortunately, it’s all worked out, and it’s still pending full resolution so I’m keeping my lips sealed.

\\shit hit the fan with my niece - again. This time, she is expelled from her school. It’s at least something everyone is taking seriously. She is getting the support she needs emotionally. We’ve had some tough talks with her parents, her, etc, that she is the person she is, and we are here to support that growth, not block it. It’s been good for my relationship with bro/S-I-l and it’s overdue. I guess the proof is in the pudding folks

//the back retaining wall deck has a foundation crack from the negative temps in December. Able to get that on the schedule for repair, some high dollars later and it’s a go. Just glad it’s not falling into the river as I adore that patio and c laughs when is at it’s why we bought this house - but it is friends.

//Lilith is in ballet and loving it. We take her to tour pre-k this weekend, and the kids will both be at the same place FINALLY. Amen.

//j is wanting to start drums and we are finding a local teacher. He’s doing excellent in school, aced an Einstein presentation. He’s awesome

// Found a yoga home.

//c is the best saved for last. With the stress of the past stretch. He’s stepped up time and time again. We butt heads as any couple, this past weekend expressly, when I messed up so hugely, he was unwavering, protective and encouraging. How is it possible after all these years, I keep finding I can lean more and more on him, that he has my back, that we are solid and it won’t change?

Real question for my relationship people? Is it a thing that you keep dipping deeper into your partners well and they just keep stepping up? That intimacy keeps unfolding like a flower or is it just me?

Down and dirty quick post about a lot of shit. Love you guys.

Blessed be friends xx

[rapidrepairpro]

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[mripl]

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[reactivatedrockstar]

Friends 'Til the End

Closed starter for @slaughterfell.

Bonnie had vague memories about what happened over the past year. Not that much of it mattered, considering he couldn't move anything during that time. He'd been staring at that crack in the wall for so long, he started to forget what the rest of the Pizzaplex looked like... almost.

So of course, when he finally saw a familiar face, when he finally saw a new environment, it should have stuck out to him. The last thing Bonnie remembered- that he wanted to remember was Freddy carrying him somewhere else. Then he was shut down properly and restarted.

Reactivated.

He opened his eyes and found himself on a repair table, fully charged and thoroughly confused. He recognized the area as parts and services, but he had a hazy recollection of how he got here.

"I... I function?"

[preciserestumping]

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[a1foundationcrackrepair]

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[quillheel]

@playedbetter // lyric starters; without mythologies by the weakerthans.

Maybe the scariest part of seeing Kim with a fever, hot-cold all the time and aching, was less about the fever itself; it was about seeing how that sickness pried back the composure on him like skinning a beetle of its shell, it was less the times he was asleep and more when he was awake; often irritated beneath a reluctance to engage at all and murmuring barely there mostly through the breath of wheezing, it was more about the times he murmured at all.

The Lieutenant's apartment is clean, and maybe it would've reminded you of the Pox if not for the fact you were allowed within it's walls where many weren't, and the various small details that filled itself in on it's own lived in qualities. Clean but imperfect, and unable to escape from the fact of the city you both lived in ━ Revachol whispering on the paint cracked window-sills as summer heat leaked in through them, on the smell of maybe something rotten. gasoline. vaguely something plantlike, like trees bending their leaves up to break up the noise.

There are exactly 11 trees along Kim's street. Maybe you would've noticed in the way here, or maybe not, since Kim invited Harry over after struggling; frustratingly inattentive; throughout the day on a case, and the first time Kim had handed over his place at the wheel of the Kineema so willingly since the beginning of it's service at the station ( it might've been the station's vehicle, one he was lucky to have been able to take with him when transferring over to station 41 after a major amount of string-pulling, ass kissing, and excuses about repairs, but in the end it was always Kim's baby ) to Harry. ━ so naturally, there were many other things to notice when one is entrusted with the golden ticket of a sick man almost begging him not to crash the damn thing than the amount of trees on Kim's street. But there are still 11 trees, and one way or another, you'd gotten home.

And in this home, Kim lays on his back on his couch, glasses removed and eyes covered with a cool wet cloth as a radio plays some random station quietly enough to be unintrusive but still filling a white noise ━ something classical, or at the very least, instrumental. the voices of the piece if you focused on it no more than a distant kind of cloud that wasps over hazily on compressed air waves ━ and occasionally he murmurs to himself, quiet and voice shot. this was the scary part, what he'd say. what it'd tell you. this was the scary part, to hear him through the softest electrical hum...

" si je pouvais, je ferais de toi une rivière déchaînée avec des rapides en colère alimentés en pluie, pour que tu puisses toujours serpenter et pouvoir toujours t'enfuir… " ━ breathe in. ( if i could, i would make you a raging river with angry rapids supplied with rain, so you could always meander, and forever be able to run away… )

sings to himself, rather, here. sings to you? the language hangs on his tongue, syllable after syllable.

" sans lutter… contre les mythes mal interprétés, contre la douleur… " ━ breathe out. ( without contending… with myths wrongly interpreted, with pain… )

he does, sing to you. the only person you can remember who would, regardless of intention. he breathes with the music, and with it comes over with the terror of an honesty so grandiose it becomes small again; marble-like; like an unfulfilled wish he offers out, downy feathered, anyways, because the sentiment matters more than whatever it is now. maybe he doesn't even realize he says it out loud to begin with, but he does, whispers in the gentle shuffle of the apartment's small spaces, composure a dream he hasn't woken into, rarely; rarely, a heart on his sleeve. ( like speaking in your sleep. like honesty when you don't realize it, laid back on the worn cushioning of a couch, allowing himself not to see, allowing himself to merely be, be there. to drive him home. trusting. trusting you. )