Gansey had a new journal when he returned to Henrietta from the road trip. Certainly, he still carried the old one he’d had for the Glendower search. It had so many pieces of his heart in it, and maps to places he hadn’t yet seen on his quest. If he was to come across one of the places on those maps, he wanted to be sure he recorded it. But this new journal had started to catch pieces of his heart in a completely different manner. It too was leather, with ties to hold it closed when it wasn’t in use. He’d picked it up in the bookstore of a small town somewhere in the midwest. The pages of this journal were also pleasant to touch, hand bound and with textured edges, he was caught running his fingertips along them quite often when he couldn’t keep still.
The first several pages of the journal were all about Blue and Henry. Ramblings about places they wanted to go, a recording of the places Blue wanted to protest. Henry’s favorite places to eat and the random bits of history they picked off trail signs and faded brochures under glass at rest stops. Little sketches were in the margin, like the shape of Blue’s face with a hint of her smile, doodles of Henry’s hair standing tall. Where there wasn’t writing, sometimes there were leaves pressed in the center, the little fuzzy resolution printouts bought from photobooths where they barely managed to squeeze all three of them inside. Gansey took note of ley line coordinates and picked up things that felt like magic, let the trees tell him how to shift the rocks more pleasantly and cleared obstructions from tiny little rivers no one knew the names to. He never wanted to forget any of it, so the journal never strayed far from his hands.
When he returned home, settling in at the Barns so he could fill out college paperwork, he added more to it. Pages and pages of Ronan’s dreams and the things he made them for breakfast. Sketches of the strange and skittish ox-vapor creature Ronan called Gasoline, deer in the treeline, black feathers between his scrawling text. Gansey took more pictures than he owned up to, snuck out to places he could print them and stick them in this journal. Leaves from the trees at the Barns, a Cambridge maple leaf that stuck to Adam’s wool coat when he visited on fall break. Pictures of Adam, doodles of the Harvard emblem, some more detailed sketches of the smiles Ronan and Adam gave each other.
This new journal carried the memories of Gansey’s heart living in the people he loved. He would do anything for them, he would give them anything. What he wanted in return, what he craved without being brave enough to ask, was for their memories. So little by little, he plucked them out of the lives they lived and carefully preserved them, carried them close to him, loved them with all he was.
[written for @ganseyweek - Day 7: Journal / Passionate / Body language]
About time I did something tarot-ish for TRC! The Chariot is a card of willpower, determination and strength, and I read it can even mean a road trip if you interpret it literally, so it seemed more than fitting for the Pig (and its driver).
Saturday: Ley Lines/Death & Rebirth/I Would Take All of You Anywhere
Sunday: Journal/Passionate/Body Language
You’ve got a whole month to create for this year’s Gansey Week and we can’t wait to see all the wonderful new works! You can create for however many strike your fancy, we just ask that you wait to post until the day of the prompt.
He’d spent so many hours sitting in it like this — doing his homework before going in to class, or stranded by the side of the road, or wondering what he would do if he never found Glendower — that it felt like home. Even when it wasn’t running, the car smelled intimately of old vinyl and gasoline.
I see your green witch Adam Parrish vibes and raise you reborn-of-Cabeswater-green-witch Gansey.
After the second death, he could always feel a rustle of trees in his heart and soul.
As he took hikes in forests around the country and the world, he could feel a closeness that logic could never explain. It almost felt like he was one with the planet and he was treated like family.
He would feel a hum of companionship as he’d rest his palm on a tree trunk or dug his hands in the dirt. A rush of energy flowed into him, as if the earth had sensed Cabeswater and said, “Hello, there you are.”
Whenever he held Blue, his true love and soulmate, the massive forest in his heart seemed overjoyed with her and her connections to the trees. Artemus’ blood ran through her veins, leaves swirling in every single blood cell.
As he spoke to his mint plant at home, he thought he could hear it whispering back, Cabeswater singing satisfaction in his soul at the little plant’s life.
Little by little, he collected more little potted plants and succulents. As they appeared on his window sills and upon his desk at Monmouth, Cabeswater would welcome them into their little family.
When his friends questioned him about it, concerned, he told them the truth.
He told them about how the energy of the plants rejuvenated him.
How connected he felt when he was near or in nature.
How the trees made him feel less alone when they were away.
As he held a potted ficus close to his heart, his friends wrapped their arms around him. The warmth of their bodies warmed his very core, sliding a smile onto his face as he leaned into their embrace.
Underneath his skin, Cabeswater basked in their presence. Their love glowed joyously in its boughs and roots, making him soar ever higher.
