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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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Besides, thinking was somewhat beyond her, at the moment. Her head throbbed. Actually, her entire body throbbed, her head was just the worst offender.
Fox tried to sit up, but couldn’t quite muster the strength to do so, so instead she sank back onto the bed with a groan.
There was a scrape of chair legs on stone and a moment later Av’ry appeared at the bars, a stern-faced guard shadowing his steps.
“You’re finally awake! You really had me worried this time, Fox,” he said.
“I’m not dead, then?” she croaked. “I wasn’t certain.”
“Not quite. Though it was a close thing.”
She could tell. Heavy-duty healing left a mark, and she had been subjected to it often enough to recognize the familiar ache. Not just the mending of a trifling wound, either. Someone with skill had reached into her every vein, power burning through her like a wildfire.
It wasn’t an experience she would ever recommend. It was better than being dead, but only by the slimmest of margins. If you had a low pain tolerance, it could easily tip the other way.
“What exactly happened? I’m a little fuzzy on the details.”

He pinches the light with his thumb and forefinger and stretches it, putty-like, until it’s long and fibrous. Then he loops it over his finger and shapes it into a tiny knot.
He flicks it in my face.
I sputter and sneeze. My head fills with a warm, fuzzy glow.
“What’s the Moth King planning?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” my mouth replies.
Shit. My brain did not authorize those words.

WIPSnips a bluesky writing community tag
October 10 - fuzzy
Share a line from your WIP with the daily word for inspiration
Use #WIPSnips. Don't forget Alt Text for graphics
Synonyms, variation and vibes are fine.
Support others on the #WIPSnips tag!
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The image behind the text is a border that is dark blue with gold stars with a black background with neon blue border. An illustrated caticorn holding a pencil and writing in a book with a rose behind one ear is in the lower right corner. A different version of the same illustrated caticorn is curled up writing in the lower left corner

More bullets cut through the wood, but this time they were accompanied by a metallic scream. The sound a VTOL makes when Pahaliah attacks, and the psychic attack fell away suddenly, leaving a momentary, shocked, absence of sensation in its wake.

Snapshot of dark mode document: A BRAVE SACRIFICE, Chapter 7:

“That’s not good enough. I know what this information is worth. To not only the Council but all preternaturals,” I said, and a smirk crossed Doctor Tragedy’s thin lips. He turned his full attention to me, and Mister Sky adjusted his necktie.

“What do you think it’s worth?” he asked, leaning forward. I gazed deep into his eyes and searched for memories of Beryx. He knew Beryx, was friends with him, and was at the trial that ended in the wrongful imprisonment. Now was my chance to save my soulmate.

“I want to go with them when they raid the Haven. I want a sentence, not mine, absolved,” I offered, folding my hands on the table. He blinked at me, and Mister Sky turned to me, unsure of my sanity. There was a good reason I hadn’t told him about this. I didn’t know if it were possible.

“Name the being,” Doctor Tragedy responded without hesitation. Mister Sky turned to him, lips parted, and eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Beryx, The General of the Council of Fire.”

Snippet from A BORN ANGEL (Anniversary edition coming Nov 2027):
(from Chapter 16 of 24)
“Don’t be nervous. The Dark Angel isn’t the nastiest creature to call the Haven home,” he tried to soothe my worries but only made them worse. I pulled my cape tighter and looked around the large entry. Today, it was bright and the hearth to the far left held a blazing fire.

“I’m not from the sector and everything about the Haven is new to me,” I said as he gestured to the overstuffed furniture near the fire. I walked over, and we sat in armchairs opposite each other. He ran a hand through his short raven hair, and his grass green, almond-shaped eyes, caught the light of the fire. I watched them, noticing that the pupil was a slit instead of a circle.

“Lizard,” my mind whispered, and I shook my head. I sat back, and he tilted his head staring at me a bit too closely. I pulled my bag onto my lap and wished the gun was inside as he locked eyes with me.

Photo, no description

The librarian did not tell her to stop talking. He only unlocked the archive door and held it open.
The archives were colder than the rest of the building and smelled faintly of damp paper. The librarian pointed her toward a run of drawers labeled 1888-1905, reminded her not to tear anything, and left her alone.
Clara worked quickly.

#WIPSnips prompt: raid

Or maybe not insects; Poe had taken time in the middle of the chaos of everyone jumping awake to the new crawling hordes to say something about the number of legs and them not being insects – but certainly insectile at the least. Honestly, Tennyson couldn’t care less if they were insects or just some creepy crawly sentient buttons. There were too fucking many of them, and most of them could fly, and they seemed drawn to humans like moths to a flame. Worse, Tennyson could swear they were working together, like some crazy hivemind.
So far, none of them had bit or stung Tennyson, but he wasn’t going to give them the chance to try. What he wouldn’t give for a can of fucking Raid.

A dark image with white text that reads:

One part of Leo's mind was focused on getting Paige out. The other part was gnawing on how everything had gone from bad, to worse, to catastrophic.
Venatori. Here. Now, of all times.
Leo had run into Venatori before. The religious order had been established millennia before he'd gone through his passage to post-mortal. Alder had shared that the Venatori hunted anyone even tangentially associated with post-mortals.
Leo hadn't really understood. Not until they killed the entire human village that had been helping him and Alder.
He'd barely escaped the ambush the Venatori had set. But he’d lost control in his efforts to avoid their trapwires and hidden blades, his wings setting fire to the houses. Somehow the Venatori had been expecting his fire, and had doused the remaining houses with some kind of accelerant. The fleeing people had been...
Leo forced the memory away. His wounds hadn't healed for months, but it was nothing compared to the torture the humans had suffered.

- from NO SKY LIKE MIDNIGHT, by Nora Shear

The word "Ambush" is in bold pink font. There are star decorations in each corner and a meteor decoration above the text.

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

Something Nostriano had said during their fight drifted back to Tyson, words he had been playing over in his head while he worried. It was mockery, something he could do nothing about for now and maybe ever, but as Renee stared at him and thumbed at the nice leather jacket it howled like an air raid siren from the back of his mind- “I’ve found you and I share some very nice social connections, ones very valuable to me.”
She was getting paid too much and saying too little about it. He was paranoid. He was on a lot of painkillers. That was an insane thing to accuse his girlfriend’s daughter of. But if he asked for her boss’s name, what would she say?

Background: A large house at night. It's all lit up and cars are parked outside.

I'm leaving a list of names on your desk. These are members of a pedophilia ring ...

That's not what I'm investigating!

I'm not entirely sure it's unrelated. A lot of the members live in Jalmid and some members were killed in Siglanti and Beit Ha-Am or trying to escape Rendamar. Jalmid temple only has volunteer prostitutes who are at least fifteen years old, so they don't cater to certain tastes. Not that I think those tastes should be catered for, I do have some morals! I'm also giving you the details of a meeting they'll be having soon. I suggest you raid it and arrest these biowaste. There should be plenty of evidence. Is there anything else you need to talk about?

Chapter Eight
The Laughing Dragon
The Laughing Dragon Inn was very similar to essentially every other inn that’s ever been featured in a work of fantasy fiction. A squat two-story building with a cobblestone first floor and wooden second floor, it was the kind of place which might be raided in the night by mercenaries sent by an evil lord, or where a genuine tavern brawl might break out. Though there was a cluster of nearby farms, there was no real village around it so to speak, so the tavern itself served as a gathering place for everybody from farmers to highwaymen and ruffians to just-set-out adventurers looking to form their first party and go off adventuring for hire to kill whatever’s been taking Old Farmer Barchichy’s sheep in the night.
When Domnall entered through the saloon-style double door, he half expected conversation to drop, to get weird looks from everybody in the room, or to be side-eyed by a mysterious hooded stranger smoking a pipe in the corner. Instead, when he entered, the din of music and chatter and silverware scraping against grimy earthenware bowls of perpetual stew hardly slowed for a second, and he was greeted instead by a friendly large man who seemed to be made almost entirely of long blonde hair.
“Helloo,” the man said cheerfully, sticking out a sticky hand for Domnall to shake. “My name is Geraard, and I’ll be your tavern-keeper for the evening! Do we prefer a booth or a table tonight?”
“Erm,” said Domnall, hardly having time to think. “Booth, please.”
5 - Most silverware on The Frisbee was actually made of lead pewter, as it was substantially cheaper than the real thing. However, ‘silverware’ stuck as a sort of marketing term, because ‘pass me some clean lead-pewter-ware, please’ sounds a lot less appetizing.

“No,” the doctor insisted. “Staying here is suicide. Getting up is trying.”

“Trying to die.”

Nat was back on her knees. Her face was stern, the blue eyes glittering with annoyance. “So what you’re telling me Vola Falone, is that you survived down here for days, killed a full-grown lizard with one eye shut, cracked their map with no resources, still managed to find the exit...and now you’re ready to give up?” Vola shrank at the judgement and disappointment on the normally-kind face. “Get the fuck up.”

“I--”

“Some psycho metal band was playing. Frontwoman was a demon that somehow got past the city wards. They’re saying some fan got alone time with the singer and beat her to death. Once they found the body, the city swarmed in and cracked down on the place hard. Word on the street is they’re still trying to figure out how a demon got past the protection wall. But now Wali’s on extra alert because he’s afraid the Cutting Room crowd is gonna be looking for a new place to hunt.” Leo shook his head. “Never did like that place. Plus they serve Vultures.” He turned his head to spit, then caught Amanda’s death glare and turned it into a cough.

“A mission?”
“You sound surprised.”
“Probably because I am. We’ve never been sent on a mission before. Ever.”
“I heard you saying earlier that you weren’t ready for any of this. I also heard you say that no one cares what you want. Both of those things are true.”
“Yes, sir.”
He set the refolded napkin on the metal tabletop, beside his now-empty plate.
“With our enemy’s communication disabled, now’s our chance to do some damage in the rim territories.”
“Sir?”
“The core worlds will still be too heavily fortified. We’d never be able to raid any of their facilities there. The rim worlds may not be as critical to the function of the kingdom, or whatever our enemies plan on replacing it with, but there are still targets of value, and no way for them to call for help. There’s an armory on the third planet of the Mardon system. We need to make sure that the weapons and supplies they have there aren’t used against our people. Presuming any of our people are still left to fight.”

Silhouette of an oak rtee against a green background.

Text: A Sylvan Tale #WIPSnips "raid" (theft)

Now Nin knew where the missing fifty gold staters from her fortune went, besides the five hundred for Willows dowry. Her gut tensed in nauseous knots; her father, Willow, her cousin, all knowing of the pregnancy. Alan and her own mother, Brer, probably knew as well.

Nin knew she was not truly loved by her own parents, but the duplicity, the lies, the scheming plans behind her back, on top of the theft of her money, made her question her own instincts. She had tried to convince herself over the years that what her parents said and did were always in her best interest, even if she got short shrift.

“I don’t like fighting archers,” Despard continued. “Let’s send Kalev back home to sabotage. Dump water on their bowstrings, notch their bows, bend their arrows. Pretend you’ve changed your mind and will lead the raid, but only after you’ve made the swordsmen think the archers are all cowards they can’t trust in a fight. If you can’t stop it, send word through Malgrim so we can slip out to the stables, before we get trapped inside.”
Kalev took the rag from his face. Darting quickly, he kissed Abber’s cheek, watching her surprised but not angry reaction. “I’ll come back when it’s safe.”
Kalev stumbled toward the door where Vetal blocked his way. With an upturned lip, Vetal stepped aside.
Grip forgotten, Tebfin pulled away from Despard and stomped over to Abber. “Ew! Abber! Why did you let him do that?”
Despard calculated how many steps would take him close enough to kiss Kahyla. Her frown suggested this might not be the best time to copy Kalev’s ploy.
“I didn’t, Tebbie,” Abber snapped. “He should have asked first.”