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: 2026-10-17 18:04:42 EDT

Photos Videos All People

#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.”

Silence from the bathroom invaded his thoughts and drew him closer. A small whimper raised his fist, and he knocked on the door.

“Viv, are you okay?”

A sniffle escaped under the door before the water turned on full blast. “Almost done.”

Asshole thy name is no longer Kyle or Daniel, but Caden.

Next day, the crew slowly appeared, shit faced, their night plain on their faces. Even Jarvis couldn’t see straight, and the captain seemed rough too, but he managed to walk up to the wheel.
Facing Alex with a smirk. “You shaved, Dog? Cute…” He burped. “Let’s get ready… we ‘ave this race to win.”
Alex’s eyes went wide. “Now?”
“Whaddaya think, scum? Now.” He spat, glancing at Seb who was getting taking their spare clothes off the ropes. “Ye don’t scrub today, Rat. Today, we race and then plunder that ship.”
Alex’s back drenched in ice. “Plunder?”
Billy laughed. “Yeah, tas’ right. Plunder. If we get there first, and we get there first, righto?”
Alex nodded, swallowing. Plunder. If he took part in this… there might not be any way back. How to explain, if he ever gets back? “Right, captain…”
“Get going! Tis’ the map of sort’a where we going, but we’ll see that ship soon enough. Oy! Tas’ our ship we need to race. They leaving, aye? Come on, you scums! Off we go!” Howling to the crew who started to climb, let the sails down. The ropes swung off the posts.
Alex quickly calculated where they had to go, his worried eyes on that sluggish crew, the dangling ropes as the sails unfurled. Flapping, not tightened fast enough as men were trying to walk straight. Fuck. Watching as that other ship started leaving port, waiting for the sails to catch the wind too, as they got finally tightened when that other boat had soared onto open waters. How? Mad worried, but he clenched his jaw, steering the ship as it lazily caught some wind, finally. That leap there which he was waiting for, racing towards that other ship which already seemed far. Feeling the wind in his hair, on his skin. Still fine…

“Fuck if I know, Zoe. I’m just saying you hardly need foreign money coming in to set barbarians off raiding civilized lands or disaffected warriors to turn their skills to their own profit.”

“Uncivilized’ people are hardly a rampaging horde,” Zoe objected.

“Of course you’d say that, you’re one of them! But we both know for some people, raiding Macedonia or their other neighbors is a way of life. As long as they don’t catch you or they go after some other group, it’s very lucrative. I know you know this.”

Photo, no description

“There are no coincidences,” Richard said as he stood. He looked out to the sector. “I made a grave error in thinking I was ensuring Veronica’s safety by keeping her sequestered. She left during the raid because we were all distracted and couldn’t stop her. The Circle picked her up because Decimus wanted to use her against us.” He turned back to Ferris. His expression reflected the weight of their choices. “Don’t you find it odd that Ort’s men attacked Rollan over tainting a vat of cream with dye? Decimus has been messing with Rollan from the shadows for a very long time. Now he can’t. Rollan has caught on. He is gaining power. Decimus is going to strike. It is up to us to be prepared.”
Ferris winced as he pushed away from the wall. The plasma wounds on his back stung with the release of pressure. “It has been astonishing,” Ferris said as he centered his breath. The pain lessened as his muscles relaxed. “Rollan has nearly destroyed everything that Titus created.”

"Those seventeen men were members of the Larizian vanguard," the Sazade explains. "The same Larizian vanguard that, for decades, have fended off the Bandit King's raids upon their land—and the ones who, one fateful day, about three years ago, led the assault against the retinue of a young bellatrice, and paid the price dearest for her capture. But what are the lives of a few hundred men against the prize of a lifetime?"

Smith grumbled, like Tomas expected him to do, so Tomas added a smile. “S’il vous plaît.”

“Your French makes you sound like a sissy girl.”

Tomas sighed. Yes, the primary language that Tomas had learned to communicate with came from a cantankerous French pirate, but his Spanish wasn’t terrible. It was becoming second nature to him. He leaned in for a more private exchange. “Do you think we are safe because a Spaniard makes promises?” The promises he was referring to came from a letter delivered by an anxious messenger a week ago. REDACTED had sent word that the king of Spain had given the Cimarrones the right to be free as long as they stopped their raids on the mule trains that traversed the Panamas through Las Cruces. REDACTED was the same man who had taken their king, months ago. Tomas shouldn’t have believed in the promises then. He certainly wasn’t going to believe in more promises now.

“See? He owns the police!”

“Abby…we can’t just…” I said, my head spinning. I tried to imagine what would happen if Abby went off full-cocked like this. Exalted Church buried under controversy and conspiracy; twenty-four-seven news coverage; police or FBI raids on the church; spotlights all around.

Spotlights on me. Endless questions from journalists and detectives from every agency in America. Dalton having an aneurysm at yet another media-discourse cycle, this one the biggest of them all. Say goodbye to the Grammy he was sure I was about to win; no way they’d give it to a singer linked to hate groups and domestic terrorists.