morgerwyn



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    Wolfwood looks different. Different than even the hundreds of ghosts—threads of shimmering grey shot through his temples and fine lines splintered out around his eyes like someone dragged a feather through damp clay. Like he’s aged almost decade in the year since he—

    “Died,” Vash rasps. “You died.”

    Wolfwood’s eyebrows shoot up in an expression that Vash has remembered so many times that his own faulty memory rewrote over the real thing.

    “This isn’t—how?” he asks, voice warping around the cold static clogging his mouth.

    “You ever hear of Jesus Christ?” Wolfwood grins, and it’s exactly the same. Like no time has passed. Like he’s so proud of his stupid joke. Like Vash didn’t lay his still-warm corpse in the ground and bury him on the other side of that building.

    Like the inexorable inspiral of a binary star, Vash is drawn back to the orphanage in December and the unexpectedly empty grave of his dearest friend.

    Or, Vash and Wolfwood and all their tomorrows.

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    07 Apr 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    “Look me in the eye, Blondie, and repeat after me.”

    “Repeat after me,” Vash parrots dutifully, like the little shit he is.

    “I, Vash the Stampede, Broom for Brains, Dumb of Ass, Bearer of the Stupid Face—”

    “There you go hurting my feelings again,” Vash says, but he’s smiling. A real one. As soft as mashed fucking potatoes. It pisses Wolfwood off enough to slam that pretty face into the concrete. Or into his own face. He hasn’t decided just yet.

    “—will save my own life for once and get out of town without making an ass of myself.”

    “You’re talking about my ass a lot.”

    And then Vash kisses him.

    OR

    Nicholas, and the scars he doesn’t have.

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    27 Mar 2026

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    Dean’s minding his own business, sipping on a beer and leering at the bartender, when a guy that admittedly has about four inches and a good twenty pounds of muscle on him storms over and shoves him in the arm.

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    13 Mar 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Tim hacks into the Bat-Computer and finds Alfred's personal cell number.

    This is the result.

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    18 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    Alfred’s love is pressed shirts and warm food. And his love is a gleaming knife, too.

    He would bleed for his boys. He would make others bleed for them.

    And so he does.

    (Or: the Joker must die, and Alfred Pennyworth is not a man who waits on others to do his work.)

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    15 Feb 2026