Welcome to the official headquarters of the Underland Chronicles Fandom Week, or TUC Week for short! Navigate the blog to find information about this year’s celebration or review past years’ creations! Graphics made by @deliver-the-light
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Hello, all! In lieu of a regular TUC Week, this year, we’ve combined forces with #TUC20! You’ll have a year off from our traditional week format, and instead, you’ll receive a prompt dump. As always, your responses can be in any medium: art, fic, poetry, memes, you name it! But instead of posting on a specific day, you can post your responses at any time up to TUC Week next year.
This format is a lot more casual, and in turn, we don’t anticipate the same number of responses we usually receive. We just hope to harness some of the creative spirit brought about by the community (re)read. In 2024, we'll return to our usual format.
Prompts this year are based on Collins’ subtitles for each book. If you usually make a submission for each day of TUC Week and you’d like to do the equivalent for this event, that would mean five submissions total, with one based on the prompts from each of the five books. Choose one prompt from each group of three, or combine two or three into one submission — it’s entirely up to you! As always, the themes are supposed to be interpreted at your will. There’s no right or wrong way to use them, even if you leave the premise of the book they come from.
As always, if you have any questions, please send an ask.
THE PROMPTS:
From Gregor the Overlander:
The Fall
The Quest
The Rat
From Gregor and the Prophecy of Bane:
The Mission
The Hunt
The Maze
From Gregor and the Curse of the Warmbloods:
The Plague
The Jungle
The Mirror
From Gregor and the Marks of Secret:
The Crown
The Marks
The Queen
From Gregor and the Code of Claw:
The Code
The Ticking
The Warrior
hello hello! this september 1st marks the 20 year anniversary of gregor the overlander, the first book in the underland chronicles series by suzanne collins! i wanted to do something special to celebrate and i thought a little (re)read event would be a lot of fun!
all of the details are in the images above (image descriptions provided), but here are the dates once more:
Aug. 7th-11th --- Gregor the Overlander
Aug. 12th-16th --- Prophecy of Bane
Aug 17th-21st --- Curse of the Warmbloods
Aug 22nd-26th --- Marks of Secret
Aug 27th-Sept. 1st --- Code of Claw
and remember to use the tag #TUC20 during the event to meet and interact with other fans + #TUC spoilers for any new readers we may have during this time. i'll be going through and reblogging posts, so feel free to tag me (@prophecyofgray) as well!
one more thing: i think it'd be a lot of fun if we did something extra special on the anniversary itself, but im not sure what. feel free to share ideas in the tags <3
that's it for now! boost this if u can + spread the underland chronicles agenda to your friends >:)
It's long overdue, but the navigation page is updated with this year's submissions. This year, we had 42 entries, bringing the total over our five years to 215 new, unique pieces of content based on The Underland Chronicles. Special shoutout to @applesandpavenders, @blanketed-in-stars and @badlydrawntuc for having a contribution for all seven days this year.
It's tough being a content creator in a small fandom for a little-known book series from the early 2000s. It takes all of us to keep it going, even if that just means reblogging someone's work. Thank you for all that you do. See you next year!
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A simple one today, partially because I’m sick and don’t have much energy to expend and partially because it’s such a powerful symbol that I don’t know if it needs much else. As you can see there’s a cross along the mark, which is based off of something from @rin-solo’s A Henry Story, which you should totally check out here. https://www.quotev.com/RinSolo/published
Day 3 of tuc week! Bit of a stretch for this prompt but this is supposed to be them at some point during prophecy of Bane but also, most prophecies end up with Gregor and Boots walking around in the dark with a flashlight so that fits.
A very late and very chaotic submission to Day Three: Prophecy/Bane
The prophecy of Bane, and the five senses.
Sight
Ares looks at the two sleeping forms – one his bond, one a pup. One the Warrior, one the Bane. The little rat rolled over in his sleep, into Ares’s outstretched wing. He almost recoiled at that, a lifetime of hating rats behind him. But he was also bonded to Gregor now, he’d protected Boots enough times, to understand why the Bane could not be killed. And so Ares wrapped himself around the pup, to keep it warm.
Against his charcoal wing, its fur looked so much whiter. It was strange, for an all-powerful being to be so vulnerable. White fur in the Underland, Ares could not think of a worse predicament. Had he not used his own dark robe many a time to escape notice? Perhaps it was poetic justice then, that the Bane, who was supposed to have everything – speed, strength, spirit – was easy to spot. Perhaps they would have one advantage, then, if it came down to fighting it. And Ares had little doubt that the Bane would rise to power, eventually. Power, leadership, they were too tempting gifts to refuse (Henry had not). But Ares actually had a little doubt, a small sliver of hope in him, that perhaps this tale would end well. Gregor had given him that.
Ares watches over his bond, his dark skin and hair. They were well-matched, it seemed, after all. For Ares had loved Henry, deeply, but he found himself actually liking Gregor, thinking of him as a good person. In his sleep, the boy looked younger, too young to have lost a sister, only a pup himself. Ares will stand by him, through the trials to come. He settles next to him, his dark fur blending with Gregor’s curls, watches over him.
In dark, in flame, in war, in strife.
Touch
All her life, Twitchip had navigated through scent. Scents were her first memories, her mother’s fur, the warm smell of milk, the familiar scent of her litter. They are her best memories as well: decadent feasts, a lover’s arms, the apples in the Garden. Her worst memories too of course, were driven by smell: the sharp scent of her cave by the serpents, the stench of hate in the air as gnawers encircled her. But now, with her nose smashed, Twitchtip is nothing more than a normal rat, or perhaps even less.
She is stripped of everything here. It has been days since she has eaten anything. They cut off her tongue, and it is so quiet and dark here, it is difficult to rely on echolocation. And even when she can, well, there’s not much to see in the pit.
But she can touch. She can slowly go around it, feeling every crevasse, the sharp edges, the smooth dips in the stone. She explores it’s a great big landscape instead of a few feet of stone. Twitchtip had always seen things others did not, entire worlds wafting in through her nose. And so she curls up in a corner, paw sliding on the wall, breathes in deeply through the pain. She thinks of Queen Luxa fighting back to back with her, of Gregor’s warm leg against her fur, of little Boots trying to tap on her wound to cure her. Ow! I no touch. She thinks of the feeling of Gregor’s life jacket, gripping him for dear life, closes her eyes, and tries to hold on.
Smell
No one asks Temp, but he smells it too.
Something is wrong with the water. They have a word for it in crawler, but in the human tongue he cannot think of one. The water is dancing in strange ways, circling itself, round and round and round again. Temp does not speak up, because no one will listen, besides the Princess of course. The Princess always listens to Temp. And the Warrior might, perhaps, although he is easily distracted, and, as all humans, he trusts his own more.
Temp clings to the princess, ready to defend her, but the fliers are fast, and he distracts her enough so that she does not dive after her brother. When Gregor comes back, coughing up water and holding on to a gnawer, Temp thinks it is not surprising that they are of the same blood.
And so Temp learns his lesson, and speaks up when they reach the island. Twitchtip is right, it is recent. The island still quakes like a young one, eager to grow. But the bugs, oh the bugs. Temp knows their smell. They are… the word is… Yet again, there is no one here to understand the clicking, and so they do not listen. The flier goes down in seconds, like Temp had known she would, because he had seen many a warmblood collapse under thousands of bugs. How they always underestimate the insects.
Flesh-eating. Whirlpool. Temp stores the words away as new vocabulary, and keeps protecting the Princess, waiting for the next danger he will not be able to name.
Hearing
At every pitter-patter of feet in front of their door, Grace jumps up. It’s never them though, never her son and daughter coming home. She sits at the kitchen table for hours in the night, watching the withering shadow of a man who wears her husband’s face. Whenever there’s a little crack or an echo, she’s up, running out, wrenching the door open. But the hallway is empty, and so Grace sits back down, and continues to wait, the faint melody of Christmas songs reaching her from the street. She tries to convince herself that they came back after mere weeks last time, but Jonathan had taken years to come back, long, hollow years.
Sometimes, she sits in the laundry room and stares into the tunnel that has swallowed her children, and listens to the faint hum of the currents. If she scooted a little bit closer, they would swallow her whole. She would join them down there, and defend them, and bring them home. But Grace has Lizzie, and Jonathan, and Grandmother. She has other people sitting on her hunched shoulders. But she does allow herself this moment, to kneel in front of the tunnel and listen to the currents, wait for them to spit her children back.
Taste
Andromeda laid down a few fishes next to him, gave him a sympathetic nudge, and then promptly fell asleep on the raft, wings wrapped around Mareth’s unconscious form. Even if he could not feel it, or her warmth, she still held him close. Because that was what a bond was: devotion, no matter the conditions. That was what Howard should have been, for Pandora. He should have gone after her somehow, he should have helped her, he should have been more careful… Despite the journey, the wounds, the loss of Luxa, nothing feels sharper than the pain of losing his bat.
He carefully scrapes his knife against the scales, cuts through the fish, takes out the innards and rinses the flesh in the clean water. He removes the head, and cuts himself little heaps of it. He leaves a half for Andromeda, and then slowly gulps down the rest, taking bits at a time. He stares out at the Waterway, and weeps. The fish tastes like long afternoons swimming with Pandora, sharing shellfish and squid, afternoons escaping his family always too full of children and crying, Susannah counting her loved ones and always coming up short. Howard was an eldest, and a proud one; he helped people, he loved people, he invented songs. But with Pandora, spending hours eating raw fish and seafood, there he could rest, and think only of himself and his bond for a few hours. He thinks about giving Boots his portion of bread, her indignant yuck! at the taste of raw fish as he chews, the iodine taste spreading on his tongue. Somewhere behind him, Gregor was wandering through a maze, avenging his sister. Howard had not lost a sibling just yet, but he had been old enough when Hamnet had died. He hadn’t been shielded at all, and so he had seen his mother collapse to the ground at the news. Yes, somewhere, Gregor was doing what he could to survive this loss.
The fish is almost done. He pauses for a second, thinking about how he would have good-naturedly bickered with Pandora about getting the last bit. About the fact that she’d died exploring, tasting, the way she would have wanted to.
He knows it’s silly, and wasteful. But he doesn’t take the last bit, drops it into the water, watches it disappear into the deep.
Okay, missed a few days, but here I am. The prompt today was Code/Claw, but I mostly focused on the last book in general.
So here's an AU where Gregor actually dies in battle. You have been warned!
By the time her cell door opens, Luxa is a little less angry at Gregor. Aurora pointed out many a time in the last days that Luxa may have done the same in other circumstances, and Luxa just wants to see Gregor again, even though she may not. Will not.
It is Mareth who opens the door, and after one look at his face, she falls to her knees. She barely has enough strength to raise her arms and reach for Aurora, who wraps her in her golden wings. Her bat chokes out “Ares?” and Mareth shakes his head. Luxa weeps, like she had a year before in Vikus’s arms, losing her best friend. She sobs, shameless, for this boy and this love and a lifetime she will never have. She cries for his sacrifice, his bravery, his delicate smile. The clip-clop of Mareth’s footsteps comes closer, but she shakes her head. This is a time for no one but her and Aurora. They stay entangled for a while longer, until Luxa remembers who she is, a queen, a leader, and gets up. Her grief is dragging her down, as it has for years, but still she takes a few steps toward Mareth, toward the stairs, the light, the rest of her life.
“Wait.” Mareth says, grabbing her wrist. “It is not just Gregor.” Her heart hammers, and she leans against the wall, closes her eyes. “Tell me.”
“Solovet.” Her first sword lesson. Holding her hand at her parents’ funeral. Bright, blinding force passed down to her. She breathes in. “Who else?” “Vikus had a heart failure. He is in the hospital, between life and death.” Luxa buries her face in Aurora’s fur, smells the warm scent of her bond, and hopes it will be enough to bring her back together. “We have reason to believe Ripred is gone as well.” The sharp pain in her, she had not expected. Ripred could not die, could he? Luxa had thought she would build back the Underland hand in paw with him. No, she had not expected this.
“And the Bane?” Mareth gives a tired smile. “Gregor and Ares killed him.” Luxa smiles, too, and climbs out.
*
In the days to come, Luxa is whisked from meeting to meeting, held upright by Aurora and Howard and Mareth. She finds the time to read Gregor’s last letter to her, sitting in the museum one night, and whispers “I love you too”, indulges in the pain for a moment, as during the rest of the day, she has no place for it. She carves out a half-hour here or there to sit with Hazard and the orphaned nibbler pups and wash them, and look at Boots play with them. She doesn’t know, yet. And who is there to tell her? Lizzie is in shatters, Grace is at the Fount, the rest of the family in the Overland somewhere. No, this task is also Luxa’s. But she does not have the time, or the heart, to tell her.
Sometimes, she has dinner with Vikus, leaning on the bed, feeding him bits of mashed food. He holds her hand, and she relaxes a fraction, lets go of the tension in her shoulders. She even falls asleep once, wakes up snuggled up to her Grandpapa like she did as a little girl. It is dark, the hospital has turned off almost all torches. She buries herself further under the blankets and falls back asleep.
In the morning, she gets the first reliable numbers of the victims. She crumples the paper in her hand. A third of her city is gone, most of the nibblers left with no home. She had asked her advisors to find out the numbers of the gnawer victims as well, which had surprised them. She stares at the number at the bottom of the list, and wonders if that is enough paid. Gregor’s bright brown eyes appear in her mind and she thinks nothing will ever be enough.
*
Luxa is crossed-legged in the code room, staring at a map of the human territory, wracking her brain for a solution to the water supply problem, when they enter.
“Luxa?” Lizzie’s small voice echoes in the room. Her parents stand behind her, arms on her shoulders, Grace leaning heavily on her husband. Boots is standing next to them, her little face flooded with tears, her lower lip wobbling. Luxa opens her arms, and the girl stomps all over the map as she rushes to her, messing up her plans. “Gregor is dead, yes?” Her little voice asks in Luxa’s ear. She opens another arm for Lizzie to fall into, and has to say “Yes, Boots.” And then, because it’s what he would have wanted, she adds “You said his name, sweetie. Good job.” Lizzie is sobbing in earnest now, finally looking her own age. And then, something amazing happens. Grace and Jonathan join them, fall to their knees, and suddenly Luxa is the one wrapped in someone’s arms, Luxa is allowed to cry into someone’s chest. She squeezes the girls closer, and leans into Grace. “It will be okay, sweetie. I promise.” And Luxa enjoys a mother’s hand passing through her hair, and dreams about those words ringing true, one day.
“I keep him here?” Boots asks, pointing at her chest.
“Yes, Boots. I keep him here too.” Luxa folds her fist on her heartbeat. “We all do.” Jonathan adds. Boots still looks scared and confused. Luxa feels a pang of melancholy at how little Boots will remember of Gregor. She thinks about how he had always put her first, pushed her onto Ares as he inhaled poisonous fumes, asked Ares to break his vow and save her first, cried in desperation as he searched for her in the Swag. Gregor sacrificing his food for Boots, reaching for her, turning into a rager just to protect her. A million other moments none of them knew about because they had only happened between them, a brother and a sister. Luxa did not grow up with siblings. But she’d learned everything about it from him, and it had given her the courage to take Hazard in.
They stay, hugging close, a little while longer. And then Luxa has to get up, has to compose herself, and head into a council meeting. Just as she crosses the threshold of the door, Grace catches up with her, wheezing slightly from the effort. She reaches for the crown on Luxa’s head, and rearranges it neatly. “There.”. Luxa’s eyes almost fill up with tears again – it has been so long since a mother’s touch. Instead, she asks, “Will you have dinner with me? All of you?” and Grace smiles.
*
And so the family practically moves into her quarters. Sometimes, when she’s passing through between meetings and obituaries, she sees Jonathan explaining things to Hazard: the functioning of an exoskeleton, the hierarchy visible in anthills, the mating rituals of worms. Hazard hangs on to his every word, Boots dutifully by his side, playing with Temp. She still plays, still sings, still eats and smiles. But sometimes she catches herself turning around and looking for her brother, and then she will burst into hot angry tears. Lizzie mostly sits at Luxa’s old desk and writes, using the tree of transmission, the code of claw, or her own invented ones. She writes out all the prophecies neatly, and asks Luxa for stories about her brother completing them. Luxa tells her all she knows, all she can bear to tell, and then sends for Mareth, Dulcet, Howard or Temp. Some of the anecdotes even make Lizzie smile, however briefly.
Every night, Grace comes pounding at the Council door and says she has come to retrieve Luxa for dinner. No one in the Council dares object, because she is the Mother of Light, and because, frankly, Grace is a little bit scary. Luxa appreciates the protection, more than she thought she would.
She asks them, one night, what they want to do with Gregor’s body, once Lizzie and Boots are asleep, curled up with Hazard in his room. Grace and Jonathan both still, look at each other. It is an entirely different kind of love than Vikus and Solovet had, than even her parents had. Unburdened by royal blood and diverging ideals, there is a sense of friendship to them, of being a team through it all, that Luxa so admires. And a little part of her thinks that perhaps, she and Gregor might have had that, given time. Of course, it is foolish; if Gregor had lived, he would have returned home. But still, her heart is treacherous enough to imagine.
“We would like to take him home, and bury him with our family.” Luxa nods. “Then we shall do that.” But they share a look, and Luxa braces herself. “Luxa… no one has made any plans to take us home. There has been no talk of it. We are starting to get worried.”
Of course, there has been talk of it. Almost every day in the Council, Luxa is battling the same arguments: the usefulness of Boots to rally the Crawlers; Lizzie’s sharp, young mind against codes to come. These extraordinary children, given away to the Underland, Gregor laying down his life for them. Every day, Luxa has been fighting them off, but there is little she can say, despite a weak it would not be right. “This is not what Gregor died for” she whispers to Vikus over and over, and he agrees. If it comes to it, Luxa will fly them out herself, if she can find a way out of the palace. Surely she could enlist Temp’s help. She so wishes Ripred were here.
“I will get you home. Do not worry. But perhaps after the surrender, if that is alright? The warrior’s family should be here.” Grace looks uncomfortable. “And I shall like to have you by my side. It will be a little like…” She cannot say the words. But Grace covers her hand with her dark one and nods. “Okay, Luxa. We’ll be there.” And it is so like Gregor, the shortening of syllables, the intonation of okay, that Luxa really does feel like a part of him is here with her.
*
The day of the surrender, Luxa carefully fills the deep pockets of her dress. She takes the two photographs of her and Gregor, a drawing Hazard made of her and Hamnet together, the blue fish stone, and Vikus’s ring in her right pocket. In her left, she rests Solovet’s ring, a stone from her father’s coronation crown, and the crown the nibblers had used as their signal to her. The Council tells her to fly out with Aurora, but she walks through the city. She fills her eyes and her heart with her destructed home, promises justice to all who ask.
In the arena, everyone turns to her. She wishes Vikus were here. She wishes a lot of people were here.
But she holds her head high, sidestepping the holes on the ground. Her eyes sweep over the bleachers: Gregor’s family is huddled with the Crawlers, though Lapblood is near them, her tail wrapped protectively around Lizzie; Hazard sits with them, and he gives an encouraging smile, as Aurora lands; Howard, York and Susannah, practically the last of her mother’s side of the family, are also there, looking at her expectantly; and Nerissa, tired and frail, does not look at her, and Luxa wonders what that means.
A part of her wants to run. Wants to say no, I am only twelve, hop on Aurora and run away to Ares’s cave, pretend that Gregor will round the corner in a minute and they can finally have their picnic. Instead, she calls upon the gnawer’s representative, expecting it to be Baereleg, who does open his mouth, but -
Of course, nothing in Luxa’s life has ever quite gone to plan.
She has no time to be happy that he is alive. As she watches Lizzie jump onto him, laughing for the first time in weeks, Luxa squares her shoulders, shares a look with York. The game has changed, with the Peacemaker appearing (she almost snorts – there is no doubt in her mind that this wound is self-inflicted). Luxa is weakened, and so she does what she has been taught to do: attack.
“Good. Then you should have no problem peacefully leading your fellow gnawers to the Uncharted lands.” She says icily.
“Yes, I do have a problem with that, Your Highness. And I am willing to bet I am not the only one. What have you done with my little warrior, huh? What does he think of this?”
Luxa grows cold. Even for Ripred, that is a low blow. To taunt her, to make her say what has been prophesied for so long. What she has known since the first time she laid eyes on Gregor: he would be taken from her.
“What do you think, Ripred? Gregor’s light has faded.” She watches the smallest glimmer of hope faint from Ripred, watches a flicker of genuine sadness be replaced quickly. Right there, in the moment Ripred has waited for his entire life, the moment he has worked and bled and killed for, he crouches next to Lizzie and abandons all negotiations in order to care for her. Luxa is stunned, staring at the huge rat, oozing blood, wrapping his paws around the girl. She can guess where this is going, if she stands her ground and he stands his: such moments will not happen again. Such genuine friendships between human and rat, Killer and Gnawer, will not come around again. She thinks about Gregor crying over Tick, Hazard being the first of his kind to learn another language. She thinks about Boots feeding the stingers, earning the title of Princess because of her kindness, not her blood. She thinks about Gregor sparing the Bane, and is sure, in that moment, that even if he had known the future, that foolish, idealistic, wonderful boy would not have killed it. Suddenly, she is very, very tired.
The gnawer is back to negotiation mode, rambling about justice and guarantees, cutters at the border and treaties, but Luxa interrupts him.
“Ripred.” Her voice is not queenly, or controlled. It is hoarse, and human, and grief-stricken. It is genuine.
He turns to her, snarls, “I will give you a war if it is one you want, your Highness.”.
Luxa thinks about One of us has to live, and steps toward the gnawer with a raised hand.
“This is what I offer. A bond between all humans and gnawers. A vow, to defend one another. To fight side by side, to learn about and from each other. To teach our pups differently. No treaties, no promises – but bonds.” Luxa smiles at the stunned crowd, and then turns back to Ripred. “Do you dare take it?”
Ripred’s smile is genuinely proud. He presses his claw against her palm, and so Luxa gains a new bond.
Aurora, Hazard, and Howard launch themselves at her, showering her in congratulations and expressions of pride. “Grandmama is rolling around in her grave.” She tells Howard. He laughs. “But Gregor would be so proud.” A shadow of sadness falls over Luxa, but she smiles. “You know what, I think you’re right.”
*
Lizzie’s solution is ingenious, and the compromise is sure to be a success, but Luxa is anxiously watching the Council members, their carnivorous smiles at Lizzie. Oh, how useful she and her little mind would be. She wraps an arm around the girl, and shares a look with Ripred.
They feast, and Luxa points out the shrimp in cream sauce to the rat. But he shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think I can bear it quite yet.” She frowns. Hazard takes a spoonful of it, and says “Oh, this is what Gregor brough to the jungle for you, is it not?” And Ripred nods. “Yes. Yes it is.” But he does not elaborate. Instead, he launches into a conversation with Hazard about echolocation lessons, and Luxa makes herself a sandwich.
They get them out that very night, secretly. Lizzie clings to the rat until the very last minute, and Temp weeps as Boots says “See you soon!”. Aurora flies them all out, even though they’re heavy on her back, but it was the only way. She orders them to lay on their bellies, hidden from guards, and places trusted soldiers at the gates.
She hugs Boots close, and Lizzie too. “Thank you.” The girl says. “For what?” Lizzie smiles, looking beyond her age. “You made him happy. A lot.” And then she’s stepping out, into the mysterious Overland. Luxa pokes her head out, just to see Gregor’s world for a second. The moon curves elegantly in the sky. Jonathan kisses her cheek, Grace hugs her close. “Sweetie, you will make such a wonderful queen.” Luxa buries her face in the woman’s shoulder.
She’s crying by the time they land back at the docks. Ripred, Mareth, Temp, Lapblood and Hazard are still there. She catches the last bit of dialogue, Lapblood saying “Shame, I would have been proud to bond with the warrior.” and smiles. Hazard takes her hand, asks her if she is alright. “I will be.” And she brings him close to her side.
“Now, we have work to do.”
Ripred narrows his eyes. “We do?”
“Oh, have I not told you? You are all part of my new Council. I am getting rid of Solovet’s lieutenants.” There’s silence, and then Lapblood is whooping loudly, Ripred and Mareth already deep in negotiation.
“Me, in the Council, me?” Temp asks, bewildered. Luxa crouches next to the creature that had welcomed Gregor here, that had taught her so much, and smiles.
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Please message this account if your submissions have not been reblogged yet!
As always, late submissions are accepted! If you do have any, please be sure to tag this account as you post them. Look out for a recap of this year’s event and an update to the nav page at the end of the week.
As always, thank you so much for your participation. Whether you contributed by creating something or by sharing other people’s work, this event could not happen without you. In such a small random, for a book series released nearly 20 years ago, it takes a strong community.
day 7: free/future!! i’m looking forward to making more bats, especially nike, athena, andromeda, and icarus!!
THANK YOU FOR FIVE YEARS OF TUC!!!! @tucweek
Older Gregor. College Gregor. Gregor training to be a social worker so he can help people in impossible situations without having to fight anyone. Pacifist Gregor who is trying not to get into fights but somehow ended up with a black eye anyway. Future Gregor.
Thought it was about time to write some of my headcanons about what happened after the series because I wanted to know more!
Gregor is still The Warrior, but he’s trying to do it a different way. No more wars, no more fighting, no more sides, no more death. Is he bored out of his mind with school and people who just don’t get it? Yes. But that’s why he’s studying so he can help people who went through what he did, kids in wars overseas who make rules with themselves about imaging after, or tell themselves thar this is their last day to live just so they can get up in the morning. Kids who deny themselves hope, because, what’s the point?
Anyway, I loved this week. Can’t believe I didn’t find these books sooner!
For this day I decided to focus on something that definitely happened canonically after the ending of the series. Ripred marries the shrimp that he always loved throughout the entire series ❤️💕💖
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Here’s our girl for the Code of Claw prompt, princess Lizzie! She looks surprisingly confident here, but trust me, she’s got a death grip on that pencil.
amandla
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
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vaporwave
