ChillYourBrain
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“Goodnight, Uncle Roberto!” Milly chirps happily.
“Goodnight, sugar,” Roberto grumbles softly, kissing Milly’s temple like he always does. He gives her a squeeze before beckoning Meryl in with a burly arm.
Nearly stumbling over her feet, Meryl tucks herself against his chest. He wraps his arm around her for her hug, enveloping her in his body's smoky, warm scent. He presses a kiss to the top of her head, just like he always does. Only, before he pulls away, he mutters something low.
“Come to my study in a bit.”
Bookmarked by ChillYourBrain
25 Jan 2026
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“How do two grown men not have eight hundred double dollars between them?!”
“Wha—” Vash was averting Meryl’s eyes, which was frankly ridiculous considering he had sought her out for help in the first place, “Meryl! The economy is in shambles!”
The economy was decidedly not in shambles.
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A normal life is recovering from an ongoing series of cataclysms.Bookmarked by ChillYourBrain
03 Jan 2026
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Pancakes were easy to make. Pancakes were an old favorite, something that was just similar enough in ingredient list (flour; sugar; eggs; milk) to donuts that it was Vash’s God-given right to learn how to make ‘em. No leavening agent made them a faster throw-together dessert, but that didn’t mean they didn’t require patience and a skilled hand. One could easily fuck up pancakes as easily as one could, say, blow a giant hole in the moon. He’d made many-a burnt circle of ash in his time as a sometimes-useless baker and most of those weren’t even his fault. You try making a perfect pancake while in an active shootout. You try attending to that sensitive little bubble of dough while dodging your own customers rallying for your head on a sixty-billion double-dollar pike. Vash might’ve been a free man, now, but he was not taking any chances with something being made for someone as special as Milly Thompson.
Series
- Part 4 of Post-Canon Polygun
Bookmarked by ChillYourBrain
02 Jan 2026
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Elendira jabs the nail she’s spinning into the desk — hardwood, fancy, expensive — and it makes Legato’s corpse’s card tower tremble. Legato continues to glare at her through the slits of his eyelids. Circling the desk, she comes to a stop by his side and leaves a sticky red handprint on the chair next to his head as she leans into his line of sight.
“Having fun?” she asks sweetly.
“No,” Legato replies. “I’m practicing.”
Bookmarked by ChillYourBrain
02 Jan 2026
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“Heya, missus,” Razlo says, too polite for her liking.
“Hello, Razlo,” says Meryl. “—Show me the cat.”
Razlo’s grin stretches wider. “No cat, ma’am.”
“I know there’s a cat. An ugly one,” Meryl insists, crossing her arms. “If it’s a mess, it might have worms. I could hear you two talking down the hall. What did you find?”
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Bookmarked by ChillYourBrain
02 Jan 2026