explore | Grilled Cheese

Explore Log in Sign up

Terms of Use Privacy Policy Community Standards Help Get the app

Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

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

Photos Videos All People

“I told you my name is Callix,” the Seeker said. “And you never told me yours.”

“Because I don't think that's relevant information to you.” Rowan paused, watching the man's body language. He was not coiled and on edge as Rowan was, assessing every little thing in the forest. He was calm, collected, almost appearing bored with the interaction. “Are we done now? Or would you like to continue your meaningless interrogation? I have nothing of substance to offer you.”

The Seeker – Callix, if that's what he demanded to be called – cracked his neck and leaned against the tree, crossing his arms over his chest. Too at ease. He wasn't worried for his safety at all. “Your Order has been rather quiet lately,” he said. “Most Rekshimyr Orders have been, actually. No raids or riots, no destruction of S'kekshayran temples. I haven't even seen any of you in the city recently.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Okay. So what's the question?”

Callix shrugged. “Not really a question. More of a comment. The queen grows concerned when she hasn't heard from certain citizens of Vayashtos in a while, and with the child missing…well, you can imagine. She's been very on edge.”

Photo, no description

“Mira! There's a…” Bert trailed off as he saw an unknown man sitting at the large table, drinking slowly from a cup of water.
“Sit, Bert,” Mira said quietly. “You were saying?” she said the man.
“Yes,” he took a drink of water again. “Fastriver was attacked by a large group of men on horseback. Thousands. We had been warned about half a day early, but we weren't aware of the numbers—they managed to conceal most of their forces in the woods south of the town. We had set up defenses expecting maybe a tenth of the numbers that arrived. Even Bee’Fa’Ga could only fight for so long. She took one of those oversized arrows to her tail.” He caught Mira’s reaction.
“Relax! I rested her on an empty hill as we flew here and treated it as best I could. The healer, Nock, is looking at her now and says she will be fine.”
“Bertram, this is Spine, a wyrmrider from Fastriver,” Mira said quickly, clearly wanting to get back to the issue at hand.
“Well met, brother,” Spine said and reached his hand across the table. “Word of your deeds has reached us all.”
Bert happily clasped the man’s hand, but wanted to hear more. “How are the people of your town?”
“We sent our young, old and infirm into the woods in advance of the attack. We lost many dozen fighters, but took hundreds of theirs.” He gave a grunt and rough smile. Clearly, he was proud of how they fought, but knew their losses were great. “They didn’t kill us all. We learned later that it was a distraction. Our Earth Mother was not harmed, but she said a lean man with Fox insignia raided her home.”
Mira slammed her fist on the table. “That’s where he was!”

The sight of him floating made Tink’s eyes widened, and shock vanished, only to be replaced with fury. Her body lit up with a shining aura.”Y-You did that as a joke?! You scared me to death for fun! Peter, you stupid ass!” She charged at him and landed her tiny fist on his nose. Despite being ten-inches tall, her punch was hard. She dived forward and punched him in his stomach now.
Peter felt the air being knocked out of him. He yelped as she was on his shoulder pulling on his ear, and hair. He caught Tink and shook her up and down. His thumb and index finger rubbed against her hair, ruining her ponytail and dazing her. When it came to size, he had the advantage.
This didn’t stop her, as Tink lifted his thumb and bit down. “Ouch! Tink, what’s the deal?” He cried out, releasing her.

“Why does he hate humans so much, anyway?” Valir asked.

“I’m not entirely sure. He didn’t talk about it, but there have been rumors. A long time ago, years before I’ve been born, he had a run-in with a soldier who raided the region where he lived with his family. The others said she hurt him, but wouldn’t say how. They got all weird on that topic, so I didn’t ask further. Probably all the broken bones.”

“All other characteristics aside, they look like toads.” Without thinking, she touched one wart-like nodule on the head of the nearest creature. Instantly, it and all of its companions leapt backward on their short, muscular legs. The group around Owen retreated likewise. The sudden jolt of movement all over their moonlit campsite spooked Pest, making the pony trumpet and kick. The night dissolved into a mad flurry as every one of the small creatures scrambled and bounced off one another before vanishing down well-hidden tunnels between rocks or leaping gracelessly into the pond. Within seconds, only one remained, careening around their campsite, bouncing off trees and boulders, blinded by the knapsack it had been raiding, now stuck on its head.

“Where’d you get the gun?”
Boden touched the sparkgun hanging at his belt. “Cache. Back in the woods.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Duona’s Kettle,” he said. “Raided it before Lavoie. Hid a few things in case everything went sour.”
She studied his face. “Weapons of war. Aren’t you retired?”
“Trust me,” was all Boden could think of to say.
“I used to,” she said at last. “Crowbar?”
“Thief left it behind. Tried to steal our motor. We dealt with her. Thought it’d come in handy.”
“In a fight?”
“That,” said Boden, “or all sorts of situations.”
She looked satisfied with that answer, at least.

Reading hadn't been a thing for Mac. The occasional magazine, or maybe he'd pick up something Marcia kept around the house, but he tended toward television when he had idle time. Of course, the television in Valladolid – also its few small movie houses – were shockingly negligent where English-language material was concerned. Mac had taken to raiding Amazon for trashy action stories.
So he found a bench beneath a sheltering tree, folded open the dog-eared book, re-inserted the pages that tried their best to fall out, and leaned over, elbows on knees, to lose himself for a while in the exploits of forgettable characters.

A First Degree Chuntey Breach at Bootlesquith Manor sounded like a TED Talk on the history of alarms rattled out in a single lesson at Surbiton High, squeezed in between Philosophy and double French to the utter bamboozlement of both Year 9 and the entire faculty. Loud electronic wails and rotating beacons competed with awooga horns, an World War 2 air raid siren, and eventually the tinkling of bells desperately hoping to summon assistance from an Edwardian butler lost deep inside the mansion. Somewhere a bonobo was probably banging rocks together frantically.

Photo, no description

The youth bureau had been checking in with the parents, with the kid, but the rift was already established.
Not super uncommon, in a post scarcity society material independence weakens bonds that might be necessity on other worlds.
Nori was sent to check on him, the UPA had already picked up bits and pieces of cult activity. She sighed. The buggers were already pelting the hospital's skimmer with rocks and pieces from the windows of a dejected highrise she landed in front of.
Gaudily dark painted 18 year olds lingered in the entryway, but they shyed away from her concious strides, and probably moreso the tattoos and iridisciently patched leather apparel. She found the boy quickly, he already lived with two others of the same age.
Makeshift apartment units were restacked in a skyscrapers hull. The adults deemed responsible were nowhere to be seen, great luck in hindsight.
"Did he return ?" Vela asked, but she probably had guessed the answer. Nori shook her head lightly.
"No, it was too late. The UPA raided a few days later." Nori swallowed.

Photo, no description

Soft brown eyes looked down upon us from the throne, seeming heavy, cheeks wet from tears. Her long golden hair was messed and knotted, and her breathing weak and tired. Yet even still, in her billowing white gown, she was beautiful.

As her eyes drifted towards Liz, her smile faded, and her regal voice gave way to a more casual tone. “Are those… my sister’s clothes?”

As if oblivious to the mood in the room, Liz smiled and spoke brightly. “Hey Cat! Raided Iris’ wardrobe at the villa. Glad to see you’re in good health, and all that. Wish I could say the same but…” She shrugged. “Well, you know...”

My mother stared, but eventually returned a small smile, speaking with genuine concern in her voice. “I’m so sorry, Elissa. I wish we had reunited under better circumstances.”

What am I?
As if this was the cue it had been waiting for, the resistance surges to a new height, pushing the green further and further back than ever. At the same time the taloned hands reach up and grasp something on my forehead, as if they’re trying to remove a hat or a pair of glasses. They grasp something both tangible and ethereal at the same time, something that sparks and flickers right above my eyes as it protests the attempted eviction.
“What are you doing?” I can no longer tell who is saying what, as the whole of my mind is now focused on this one act of removal, of defiance, of asserting autonomy once again. The green energy is pushed out completely, and my hands rip off something… something that I hold in both hands in front of me. It crackles and splutters as it decays from the onslaught, and I quickly drop it too the floor where it dances and burns like a lump of sodium dropped into water. Marks are left on the wooden floor as it jumps around, giving no doubt to my mind that whatever happened is indeed real, that there are real life markings that can bear witness to it.
My mind, my soul, my body and everything inbetween is filled with the furiously defiant purple, and I stand there with my still betaloned hands held in front of me. These are mine, I’m sure of it, but how?

With the exception of the banmoi, there was little in way of light or colour. As if the whole district had been dipped in mud. Even the residents had a subdued feeling to them, like all colour and feelings had been stripped from them.

The last time Halla had seen people like this was when her uncle had taken her one of their villages that had been recently raided. Most of the homes had been stripped off possessions before being burnt down. The few survivors were being escorted back to the family stronghold, the castle of Caldhyl. They'd build up their strength, try to contact any relations via the castle clerk and then attempt to find a new home. The people of the Dip had the same look in their eyes as the raid survivors. Everything had been taken from them and all they had were their lives. Only the Dip citizens had no one arriving to help them.

Photo, no description

Theo adjusted his tie as he walked into the study. “Sir.” His voice was cool and collected, just like I had always known Theo to be.

“How many times do I have to tell you that it is ‘Eron’ to you? ‘Sir’ is so ... formal and weirdly BDSM-y.”

That got a look from Enzo that was something between amusement and surprise, “Everyone calls you ‘Sir’, Eron. Like, literally, all of your men. I can’t think of one of them that calls you your name.” He pauses, “And lives to tell the tale that is.”

Theo clears his throat, “Sir... Eron... the raid is happening at the strip club in Devensport. Are you sure you want to be there for it? It could get ugly. This new organization doesn’t seem to understand the rules of this city yet. They will kill you on sight if needed.”

I shake my hand dismissively, “It’s fine. They are small-timers, Theo. We send ten or so of us there and decimate them almost immediately.”

Enzo lets out a soft groan. “God, you’re so hot when you sound so confident. I’m currently forgetting to be worried.”

With a cold, reptilian calculation, I dropped the packet next to the trash can rather than throwing it away and left the ripped-off top on the counter near the microwave to give the impression of half-functional illness, and then raided the fridge and the pantry for some other food that I could smuggle up to my room.

Elm was lying on her back on the mossy rocks of the Gargant Foothills after the RAID that had earnt her a name. About her were piled the bodies of friends and foes. The clans didn’t habitually fight this hard or earn this much dead in one day. Life was precious, said the old ways. But talks had gone poorly, and neither side had been willing to back down when the fists had started flying. A blade had been drawn. Now, Elm was one of five who would make it home. A hero’s welcome, which was horribly ironic considering the catastrophic failure of their diplomacy.
For now, all she could do was lie there. She had blood on her face and aches in her bones. Her vision was swimming. Someone had knocked her on the head early in the fight, but she’d thought she’d shaken the concussion off. Turns out, she’d just delayed it. She’d brought a staff with her, the traditional weapon on the Unnamed, but it had shattered after a couple of swings. Some of its splinters still dug into her palm. Hair matted, hanging in her eyes. Teeth broken. And the birds… The sound of the birds chirruping in the distance was achingly, agonising loud!
And then she awoke. The birdsong was still there.
“Oh… fuck!"