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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-16 08:00:47 EDT

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Ben took a seat, letting his gaze wander across the waiting room. Shelves upon shelves of pet food and accessories surrounded him, in between which were motivational posters featuring animals. One showed four dogs carrying a giant stick with the caption: “Teamwork makes everything paw-ssible!” Another had a picture of cute fluffy puppies with their heads cocked that said: “Had a ruff day? Pet a puppy!”
If only it were that simple.

His eyesight has always been better than mine. That's yet another thing I can't get fixed; it's even more nonessential than correcting my blood condition. I've learned to live with my world being blurred at a distance, and my shoddy vision is one reason I don't mind sitting on the dune with Pablo as three people prepare to row out to their deaths. I'll see the tentacles rise from the water, see the vague shape of the unfortunate souls as they're dragged from their vessel into the churning sea, but I won't see the gory details. The blood, the chunks of flesh, the severed limbs; those will be lost to my sight.
I will hear their screams, but not everyone cries out when the devils find them. I wonder which these fishermen will be.

Wraith and the Revolution is available wide.
https://ajcalvin.net/books/wraith-and-the-revolution/

A short flight of narrow steps leads to an expansive basement speakeasy, dimly lit and hazy with smoke. Alcoves line the perimeter, fitted with tables and cushions, as well as heavy curtains for privacy. Soft jazz floats beneath the murmur of conversation. Even quieter is the chorus of hearts above my head, so muffled and distant that I bite my bottom lip against the frustration of my yawning appetite. This dark space is a morbid facsimile of the riotous life upstairs, devoid of everything, even humanity.

—The Heart Is a Weapon, draft #3, work in progress

Text excerpt from NOMARA, a science fiction WIP by L.L. Stephens. This snip from an early stage of Kate's partnership with Oandah shows the imminent arrival of a queen's nuptial phase--an overpowering desire to dominate and mate.

A glance at the ceiling portal showed a pinkish cast tainting the grey of dawn. Almost morning. Soon the nom would stir for the day. Grimacing at the dull pain still throbbing in her shoulder and jaw, Kate pushed herself up from her pallet and went to the water bowl to wash herself. The cold water at least was clean. She’d filled the bowl herself the night before. A glance at the bed showed Oandah still deep in exhausted sleep. Where the silken coverlet had slipped from Oandah’s limbs, her skin had a misty, golden glow like that of firelight, molding her lush flesh, tipping one rounded breast with fire. Flushed, Kate tore her gaze from the sight. She recalled the remnants of the last night’s conversation.
It’s her damn nuptial phase. No wonder I’m thinking and dreaming of men. She’s at her peak. Today was the day Oandah would be forced by the Piram nomari to mate. Whenever Kate thought about that, a clenching fear laid hold of her throat. Miserable as her slavery was, at least it was predictable. Oandah’s bizarre sexuality wasn’t.

Photo, no description

Excerpt from Song and Dance, a sage Owen romance novel wip. Text as follows:

The light creak of a hinge preceded Billy in the doorway, and at the sight of him, Lark forgot the book completely. He wore only a towel around his hips, covering from his navel to just above his knees. He had a second smaller one to hand scrubbing his hair dry, but he froze mid-motion when he saw her, like he hadn't expected her there.
"Well." He said.
"Well." She echoed, and just like wanting to have him alone, she made a point of letting him see her taking it all in and admiring him.
He was built strong, sturdy, without an underwear model's crisp sculptural muscle definition. Sandy-colored hair clung to glistening damp skin. The only thing she could critique was the fuzzy outline of a t-shirt where his chest wasn't as sun-kissed as his arms and face. No, Billy was old-fashioned. He wasn't the sort to get his shirt off at every opportunity.
He hovered in the doorway, uncertainly resumed drying his hair, dropped the little towel in the laundry, and raked his hair back with a hand.

Kindle screenshot of a page from The Devil Card by Chris Holcombe.

They waited for the pot to gurgle. Tully returned to the truck for aluminum camp mugs, spoons, and packets of sugar and dry creamer. He also brought a battery-operated lantern and plopped it down in the middle of the group, right beside the hot plate. The sky drifted toward black and the stars appeared one after the other, like divas gracing a stage. The diva of divas was the Milky Way, which Hostetter hadn't seen in years. Too much light pollution, a point against the modern world. The river of stars angled across the black like a thick painter's stroke of fuzzy grays and blues, its constituent stars marked as millions of diamonds in white, blue, and red. So haunting and vast, that eternity above. How could it be threatened by one angry beast beyond nature's bounds?

The comms relay was buzzing with infoshards whizzing back and forth. Blue glistening circles formed endless holographic walls around the space. Outside a fuzzy darkness of encryption and hardware isolation kept the whole thing hidden among Alliance infrastructure. The primary Enclave intel circuit hummed with data on the latest incident bordering the blue abyss. Comments were forming some sort of productive plan.
- This could be a one time opportunity. - Ledger #259 2nd gen is being actively tracked after potential void incursion -
- Invoke Red Dragon. I'm sending my liason to the border, don't let the scientific division clean the plate. They surely are making a move already. -
- Redirecting shell-company funds. - Setup a just-in-time grid ...
A sharp zap and the connection blacked out.

The sun was setting fast, the hazy light startling me as I slipped out of the castle and into the wider world.

‘So, tell me more about that diagnosis that you don’t like hugs. You’ve probably made history now by being the first boy alive to hug a Hévan girl today, just for a goodbye even.’
‘Oh, eh… They always said that. Boys in The Nation don’t hug much anyway. How could I know that it’s wrong? But it’s true that I don’t want to be hugged by most people, so it’s not completely wrong.’
‘But it’s still inaccurate. I can tell you that.’
‘I’m used to that sort of thing. They always told me what I could and couldn’t do. What I would and wouldn’t like. Because of my diagnosis, you see?’
‘Why do you even have that stupid diagnosis? I mean, you have some traits of Cogittio three as a neurotype, but you’re certainly not heavily disabled or so. And if I hear how that diagnosis describes you you should be incapable to do almost anything, instead of just being a bit socially awkward and easily overwhelmed. And they ignore how smart you are too.
‘I was very young, but I remember those tests very well. It was a scary place, and there were men in white clothes. They looked at me and they asked questions, all kinds of weird questions. And I think I didn’t answer at all, I was just sitting there panicking and couldn't move or react. In the end everything became fuzzy.’
‘They diagnosed you, based on a panic attack? That’s so wrong. Unprofessional too.’
‘I was completely frozen, outside and inside. It was much worse than what happened on the plane.’
‘So an extreme stress reaction, a melt-down, shut-down, what is even the word? But That’s still no reason to say all the weird stuff they do about you. It might be an autism symptom as they call it, sort of, but not in that way. And I’ve been very close to you for almost a week now, and I've read books about it that your doctors cannot even dream of, so I can tell you more about yourself than weirdos in white clothes who see you for the first time in a state of freeze reaction.’

After the adrenaline began to die down, things grew even fuzzier. My memory of events after that were left in fragmented pieces. According to Lusana, I had suffered a nasty concussion.

Vague recollections of walking back through the tunnel were marred by conflicting memories of being carried by Char. I could recall being helped out of the truck, but never getting in. And at some point, after being laid down in a bed, I closed my eyes with a silent prayer that I would wake in the morning.

That silence as he turned back to that black TV on the wall. Fuck. So alone, he almost rushed after Troy, but then heard the truck. Not fair. Not fair when he had gone above and beyond. Get a grip, pixie Paul. Smiling to himself, to the ghosts of his thoughts, he went and opened the fridge. All the beers gone, a few ready-made dishes he could warm up, neat on the shelves. Fruit juice. Coke. A note with a smiley, stuck to a shelf.
Eat something. Don’t forget our coffee. Troy
Paul plucked it off, moved, reading it again. A small smile. Eat something. It sounded as if he would boss him around, but Paul had read it in that warm, deep voice he knew, those kind eyes swimming in his mind. This man, who had thought that his pathetic life was worth it. That Paul should exist in this world. He took a dish and pushed it in the microwave. Eat something. Coffee on Friday. Two small days. You can make it. Two days. Knowing he had gotten meds to take. They were in his bag, but they made him fuzzy, and he wanted to be sharp. Knowing what his meds had done to Randy. Fuck meds.

“I shake the snow from my fur and turn around. Sayran is peeking out of her shelter. Her eyes are wide and fearful and a knife gleams in her hand. It sours my victory. A massive bear stands before her hideout; I’m terrifying her.
Sayran lowers the knife. “Terra?”
Her voice thaws the fear in my gut. Perhaps it’s okay? I grunt and take a careful step toward her.
“You look magnificent!”
My heart pounds. Magnificent? With all this fur and fluff?”

Excerpt From
Bear My Heart
Karen Lykkebo
This material may be protected by copyright.

Then lunch came and we ate, as usual, then prepared the dining hall for the afternoon class, as usual. Except this time, I was the student.
And now here I’m standing with Goran pulling back his arm to launch his ridiculously huge fist at me. Every time it lands it felt like getting hit by a truck, and I’m supposed to stand here and do something similar to what the students had said they saw me do with the walking suit of armour that night. I kinda remember it, but that whole thing is fuzzy now. Scales and claws they’d said. “And fangs! I remember, your mouth was full of fangs, more than any vampire! I don’t think you could close your mouth properly when you ran at the thing and shouted!” Christine had recounted, and I do remember my mouth being more crowded than usual.

Julie arrived just before nine with two cups of coffee and a tired smile. She handed one to Izzy and then stared incredulously at the handwritten directions and fuzzy map printout.
"Hey, so why don't we use my GPS? I brought it from LA"
"I've never used one before," Izzy admitted.
"It's easy," Julie said, already retrieving it from the car. "You punch in the destination, and it tells you where to go. Like magic---except bossier."
Mel Waverly - These Words Remain Unsaid, chapter 35

She thought of the phrase Gafeira had offered: restless contentment. And she thought of a girl, even younger than Gafeira, a girl who would float in a pool in the forest and contemplate mysteries like why do sticks float and stones sink?
And, too, a girl who would lie in the heather on Wisket Moss and gaze at the sky; a girl who had worked out for herself that there was a difference between stars and planets; a girl who had seen a fuzzy patch that was not a wisp of cloud, and wondered. Fifty years on, and more, she had seen it in vastly more detail, and yet she had even more questions.

Text excerpt from The Book Abattoir describing Alba’s friends discussing Gordon McManus, an alleged Edinburgh gang boss, and Alba’s fearsome mother-in-law, Doña Dolores, nicknamed La Dragona. Naomi later searches online for McManus and finds a Spanish news report and a photograph of the red-haired, middle-aged man.

Marcus found his way into her hair with his hand and stroked her tenderly. Fei made a pleased humming sound without realising she was doing it, and when her ears flicked playfully from the sensation of his touch, she knew she was tickling his chin with their fuzzy tips.“So, um, Fei?” said Marcus. His voice was muffled by her ears. “What did you want to talk about?”Confused, she pulled away so she could stare up into his eyes. His breath wisped against her face. “Talk?”“You said you wanted to talk, right?” he asked. “Up on the bridge?”“Hmm?” she said with a tilt of her head. “I did?”“Yeah.”“Oh. Um, then…”There was only one thing she felt the need to tell him, so she did, setting her brow fiercely and scowling up at him.“Too many girls, Marcus. You have enough, so stop finding more girls.”He stared, his lips parted. Cute. “Okay.”

He probably deserved the pounding head, though, for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why. Stirring on the bed, noting the brightness beyond his closed eyes, Manes started to sit up, to roll out of bed and reach for the pot underneath, only for a hand to press against his chest, easing him back down to a bed that would once have smelled of warm hair and honeysuckle. Those days were long gone, now, but he still only slept on one side.

Despite the throbbing in his head, he opened his eyes to see the sunlight cascading through the open shutters of the window and groaned again. Near half a day gone and he’d laid his sorry backside in bed. That was the drink. He’d swore off booze for Nekane, but she wasn’t around and it hurt less with a good belly full. Different kind of hurt. The pain in his jaw, however. That wasn’t down to drink and the peach fuzz in his mind began to fade away.

“Gods damn it.” He smacked his lips, looking to the cabinet beside the bed. “Fetch your Pa some water, son.”

“The boy is doing his chores.” Only now did Manes notice the soft clicking at the other side of the bed.