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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-10 01:38:52 EDT

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@meredithpraed.bsky.socialSep 19, 2026, 9:00 PM

Pushing publication of Pendragon to 2027 🙃 #WritingCommunity #AuthorCommunity #IndieAuthor #BookSky #SelPublishing #KingArthur #Pendragon #TheFutureKing #Editing #Rewrite

@meredithpraed.bsky.socialSep 10, 2026, 7:56 AM

Huge, ginormous, MASSIVE spoiler for The Future King: Pendragon - readers who don't want to know, l👀k away! #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #WritingPrompts #TheFutureKing #Pendragon #KingArthur #Dystopian #MeanGirls #Orwellian #IndieAuthor #BookSky #ArthurianLit #Uther #Arthur

Chloe’s dead gaze flashed into Arthur’s mind. ‘I should have helped more. Excuse me if I don’t see the good in cold-blooded murder.’ ‘We execute people for less,’ Luther went on. ‘You tell us every boy has to wear that uniform, yet it seems to fit you pretty well.’ Wildness filled Arthur’s eyes. ‘You nearly did. Execute me. I knelt in a room where twenty-three people were shot in the head. If that woman hadn’t checked her list… you’d be scrubbing my brains off the floor.’ His teeth bared. ‘But it’s been twelve years. What do you care? You abandoned me and left me alone.’ ‘I did no such thing. You had Rosaline, and you had Robert. They looked after you better than I ever could.’ ‘OK, I’m sorry. I guess you left before then. You fucked off seventeen years ago when you found a bottle of scotch more interesting than your own son.’ ‘I wasn’t drinking when you were born,’ Luther ground out. ‘And when I did drink, I wasn’t drinking long.’ ‘You were; I remember it.’ ‘What do you remember? You were five. Half of what you think you know, you were told. Can you even remember me, properly? Or do you only know me from old photographs?’ Arthur jumped to his feet. ‘You don’t get to question my reality. Not when yours is such a lie.’ Luther rose to match him. ‘I am doing what I have to for the sake of this country. What are you doing, boy?’ Luther was taller and broader than Arthur, but not as tall as Arthur remembered, because Arthur had grown, and New Morals had made him tougher, stronger. ‘More than you think.’
@meredithpraed.bsky.socialSep 7, 2026, 12:12 PM

Not done one of these for a while. Only one occurrence of "elevator" in my WIP. Spoilers! #TheFutureKing #Pendragon #KingArthur #ArthurianLiterature #Dystopian #WriteSky #WritingCommunity #BookSky

Gwenhwyfar turned her back on Victoria’s satisfied expression and strode down the corridor. As the Watchman trailed behind her, Victoria’s words thumped her in the chest—Richard. Dead. And his wife, and his daughter—the daughter who had prompted him to show Isolde mercy, who had perhaps been the root of Richard’s empathy towards her. The tears that sprang to Gwenhwyfar’s eyes were unexpected, but by the time they stepped into the elevator she had blinked them away. Then she and her escort were upstairs in reception, and she got her mobile phone back—suspiciously unchanged. Now she had to get a new one. A policeman drove her home. While in the car she almost messaged Arthur to tell him where she’d been, but then she remembered they weren’t doing that anymore, and was left with a profound feeling of loss. By the time she walked through the front door and into the Swans’ dining room, Melissa, Grace, George and their remaining refugee family were eating dinner. ‘Gwen,’ Melissa said, eyes wide. ‘Everything all right?’ Up until that moment she had been certain she would tell them. Now, however, there seemed little point. ‘Sorry I’m late, I was at Emily’s and forgot to charge my phone.’ Melissa was already on her feet. ‘Are you eating? I made you a plate.’ Nodding gratefully, Gwenhwyfar dumped her bag in the corner and followed her aunt into the kitchen. She hovered while Melissa retrieved her supper from the fridge. ‘How long do we leave it?’ she asked. ‘Until we say my mother’s probably dead?’ Melissa set the dinner plate on the kitchen counter. ‘Forever. We don’t give up hope, Gwen. Not until she’s found.’ ‘But everyone else who’s missing is presumed to be…’ Dead. ‘And statistically speaking, it’s likely that she’s…’ Dead. She swallowed the words. ‘Is there anything else we can do?’