#regroup

[macknus]

Dead Inside

“Why are there so many flies around them?” Youngest asked, curling their lips back in disgust.

“Probably because I’m dead inside,” Whumpee replied melodramatically, while Rogue said at the same time, “probably because they stink.”

Whumpee nodded sagely. “Mmm… yes. I would like to change my answer to Rogue’s. I have become nose blind at this point. The flies and I are one.”

“Are they okay?” Youngest whispered to Leader, who simply sighed.

Second answered instead, pinching their nose. “Yup. They were always this weird.”

Whumpee gasped indignantly. “Give me some credit, Second.” They jutted their chin into the air, “torture has really added some weight to my insanity now. I feel I am more well rounded because of it.”

Medic, who was meticulously lifting Whumpee’s shirt all this time, peeling the sticky, heavy fabric from the gaping wound in Whumpee’s side, gasped. The rest of the team stiffened as they all saw the size and seriousness of the gaping hole in Whumpee’s torso. It seemed to vomit blood, the edges sticky with shirt fibres and scabs that had healed through the fabric.

Whumpee, taking this silence for reverence for their new wise torturee persona, waved them away. “Oh come on guys, please. I’m still one of—”

“Whumpee!” Medic snapped. Whumpee shut up and glanced at Medic. “When did you get this?”

Whumpee blinked and peered down at the wound and hummed, bringing a bloodstained hand to their chin. “Hmm… I don’t know. It all gets fuzzy from the excitement of the rescue,” they answered with a grin. “Which I am very grateful for by the way.”

“Whumpee…” Leader said, drawing their attention back to them. Whumpee frowned at the concern etched into Leader’s face. “How are you so nonchalant about this?”

Whumpee let out a bark of riotous laughter, slapping their knee and then hissing as their wound stung. “Ow! Leader, please! This? This is nothing. Whumper was going easy on me. I’ve had worse,” they assured with a grin. They didn’t notice with their crinkled, smiling eyes how everyone else on the team stiffened at their attempt to reassure. “Now. I think I may pass out. If you’ll excuse me—”

And Whumpee fainted. Medic cursed and sprung into action, barking orders at Rogue and Second who had medical training too, as the rest of the team stared on helplessly.

***

General Tag-list (lmk if you wanna be added/removed) : @sunflower1000 @anxious-mess19 @scoundrelwithboba @distinguished-ruler @whumplicity (i’m tagging you here too, you will not escape)

[beccawise7]

Take a moment.

Breathe.

Enjoy the beauty in this world.

Reset.

Then begin again.

~beccawise7💜🖤

[www-avengersassemble]

Frank Regroups: A Punisher Mini-Fic

The boy was smaller than Frank expected. That was the first thing that stuck with him. Billy Russo’s son sat on the edge of a metal folding chair in a bare precinct interview room, sneakers not quite touching the floor. His hands were folded tight in his lap, knuckles pale, like he was holding himself together by force alone. Too quiet. Too still. Survivor.

Frank didn’t step in right away. He watched through the narrow window in the door, arms crossed, jaw set. Counted exits. Clocked the flicker in the fluorescent light. Noted the way the kid flinched at raised voices down the hall. “Same look Amy had,” Frank muttered. Rachel Cole stood beside him. “When you first met her?”

Frank nodded once. “Before she trusted anyone.” Rachel glanced through the glass again. “You didn’t scare her off.” “No,” Frank said. “She scared me first.” That earned the faintest smile from Rachel before she opened the door and went in. She crouched to the boy’s level. “Someone wants to meet you,” she said gently. “He’s not a cop.”

Henry's eyes lifted, sharp and guarded. Frank stepped inside. He didn’t smile. Didn’t soften his posture. Instead, he stopped a few feet away and dropped to one knee—so he wasn’t looming. So the kid had space. “My name’s Frank,” he said. Henry studied him. “Frank what?” “Just Frank.” A long pause.

“You knew my dad,” the boy said. Frank met his eyes. “Yeah.” “Everyone keeps saying different things about him.” “They will,” Frank said quietly. The boy hesitated, then asked, “Was he bad?” Rachel stiffened. Frank didn’t. “He made choices,” Frank said. “Some hurt people.”

Henry's voice dropped. “Does that mean I’m bad too?” Frank answered instantly. “No.” The boy searched his face. “You sure?” “You don’t inherit someone else’s sins,” Frank said. “You make your own choices.” That landed. Henry exhaled, just a little. “Why are you here?” he asked.

Frank shifted his weight. “Because things your father did made the world dangerous for you. And because kids deserve someone who doesn’t lie to them.” Henry frowned. “You do this a lot? Help kids?” Frank thought of Amy Bendix—smart mouth, stolen backpack, eyes that never stopped scanning for exits.

“I’ve got a friend,” Frank said. “She’s about your age. Didn’t trust me either.” Henry blinked. “What happened?” “She stuck around anyway,” Frank said. “Turns out she’s tougher than most adults I know.” Rachel smiled softly. Henry considered that. “She okay?” Frank nodded. “Yeah. She’s okay.”

That seemed to matter. “Are you gonna lock me up?” Henry asked. “No.” “Send me away?” “No.” A beat. Then, barely audible: “Hurt me?” Frank’s voice didn’t waver. “Never.” The boy slid off the chair and stood on his own. “You don’t talk like grown-ups.” Frank snorted under his breath. “I get that a lot.” Henry studied him, then said, “You look tired.” “Yeah.” “From fighting?” “From surviving.”

That earned a small, surprised laugh—the first crack in the armor. As Frank opened the door, Henry paused. “Frank?” “Yeah.” “You’re not like my dad.” Frank held the door open, letting the hallway light spill in. “No,” he said quietly. “I’m not.” And for the first time, Frank felt something unfamiliar settle in his chest—not rage, not grief. Responsibility.

[balluprojects]

work on progress, 2025

when feeling tired, rest first, then get to transform your lost energy into something new.. new mantra maybe?

a well rested saturns'day*

[ameensilence]

Cette nuit-là

allongé dans mon lit, les fenêtres grandes ouvertes,

le vent effleure ma peau

tandis que la musique berce doucement mon âme.

Et dans ce calme apparent,

une partie de moi s’avance,

seule, en première ligne,

face à un combat silencieux

entre mon esprit et mon corps.

Un combat sanglant,

peint d’un bleu profond.

Ce bleu qui habille mes journées,

terne, monotone,

si lourd qu’il étouffe tout le reste,

si vaste qu’il ne laisse presque plus de place au jaune.

Le jaune…

celui qui autrefois brillait,

et qui aujourd’hui s’efface,

jour après jour.

Alors il ne reste que quelques mots,

qui résonnent en écho dans ce vide :

« vide »

« abandon »

« être trop »

Des mots qui dansent lentement

dans une étrange harmonie avec ce bleu.

Pour masquer le chaos,

je recouvre tout d’un voile jaune,

fragile, presque transparent…

juste assez pour faire croire que tout va bien,

juste assez pour ne pas déranger,

pour ne pas faire fuir.

Alors je cours.

Je fuis.

Je fuis cet adversaire invisible

qui porte pourtant mon propre visage.

Je fuis ces instants de lucidité

où mes pensées deviennent trop lourdes,

trop tranchantes…

Car à chaque fois,

je me fissure un peu plus.

Et un jour,

il ne restera plus assez de moi

pour tenir debout.

Le Amin que tout le monde connaît

s’effacera,

doucement…

jusqu’à disparaître.

Et ça…

ça me fait peur.

[geoffmuckley]

I'm in dire need of a debrief

[medicus-mortem]

@thenorthblues liked [+] for a starter with Shachi.

   Trafalgar Law snarls as he skids to a stop, dirt dusting his boots. He’s hearing voices coming from ahead of them, angry voices to accompany the angry ones coming from behind them. Guess these dumbasses have some grasp of strategy. They’ve tried to cut him and Shachi off. Irritating but not an impossible situation to escape from.

   Thinking quick, Law summons a small Room around him and his friend. He doesn’t make it big enough to be seen by either group of angry pirates, but it is big enough to achieve his goal. With a gesture the dirt beneath their boots is thrown into the air about them, swirling as Law creates a small dust cloud to obscure them and confuse their tracks. A hand reaches out, snatching his friend by the collar and dragging him along with him. They duck into a building as the Room vanishes, the place long abandoned and empty.

   “Why the fuck did you punch him?” the young captain hisses, voice low.

   This is not what he wanted to happen when they walked into that run down bar. He had questions and the pirate crew milling about that shit hole had the answers. It was just going to be a little drinking and conversation. Law’s sixteen and looks like he can’t take a single drink, what with his gangly, underdeveloped body, but he was going to use that to his advantage but apparently Shachi couldn’t control himself. Funny, because Law thought he was the one that was going to lose his shit when the asshole captain looked at him like that.

   “Now we’re separated from Pen and Bepo,” he continues, dragging Shachi down behind a fallen bookcase. “Fuckin’ hell Shach!”