I started this week looking for closure and instead I ripped my heart apart just little bit more.
You, who sided with the sky
took a lover from the stars
and joined heaven and earth.
You, bent knees and bent back
holding the heavenly sphere on your shoulders,
teach me how to endure.
And I—well, I can’t look at roses anymore
since they bloomed from your temple
its petals littering where you eternally sleep.
Your scent of leather and earth
has seeped into my skin.
Our lips, a meeting of velvet and satin.
Our tongues have written novels
unfinished and destroyed.
You self-flagellate like you breathe.
Naturally. Fluidly.
Day 6: I have no clue but if you want to learn about my headcanon of how nontu!Lincoln will be, please go ahead under the cut.
Lincoln has this thing for covering/protecting Octavia’s stomach before they find out she’s pregnant. Once she finds out it kinda clicks into place what he was doing subconsciously.
He draws her a lot as she grows bigger.
He finds her SO attractive as she gets bigger. He jokes it’s because he’s proud of his virility but he just loves knowing it’s his child she’s growing with.
He talks to the kid so much. Like constantly. All the damn time. Even after she’s born he keeps a string of convo with her like she can understand what he’s saying.
They name her Lilith after Adam's first wife (in my own headcanon obv) and though Octavia calls her Lilith quite often, Lincoln opts for Lily instead, after the lilies he used to guide Octavia to his cave with.
When Lily is born and she begins to cry in that heartbreaking way babies first cry as she’s getting cleaned up all, he begins speaking to her like he usually did when she was still in Octavia’s belly and she gets real quiet and relaxed, even looking in his direction. After that all he has to do is talk to her and she usually quiets up.
He doesn’t get overly protective until the last two months of Octavia’s pregnancy because she’s HUGE and complaining of pains etc and he has no idea what to do.
He likes sleeping with his daughter on top of his chest even though Octavia says he’ll spoil her. He only takes naps with her tho because he can’t sleep properly with the fear that he might turn and crush her.
Lily’s first words are dada because Octavia is always teaching her to say it. When she has better language skills Octavia teaches her to say nontu but Lily says nohtu instead and it’s the cutest thing in the world and they both die, ok?
They both take turns taking her to whatever they have to do that day but since Lincoln is usually in meetings between the clans (cause he’s the main ambassador for both tri kru and Sky kru) he will take her to those meetings. It’s normal for tri kru but some other clans who have trouble having children (they protect the children they have with their lives and think of this as endangering their child) and especially sky kru, they all find it a bit strange. Here’s this big mountain of a man talking serious business with a wrap across his torso and the smallest bundle across his chest. When Lily wakes up or fusses he turns into the biggest mother hen and when they have a break he’s feeding Lily a bottle and talking to her like she understand everything.
He has no plans on dying as long as Lily needs him. Death himself couldn’t pry him away from her.
She’s super spoiled by him but because she’s their kid she doesn’t take advantage unless she wants sweets.
Chaley rose is my Lily’s face claim and hair claim. Lily has what I imagined Hermione’s hair was (because from the get go I legit thought hermione was black).
Please feel free to add because this has been the only post that hasn’t made me cry the whole week.
Describe what we have, he asks of her late at night, when the nights are cold and they huddle under the thick covers after a long day. There are no words for what they have, she thinks, but because it's Lincoln she takes the time to ponder his question. What they have is fights---fights that shake the foundation of their small home, fights that leave her breathless and clutching her chest, fights that make her bottom lip tremble until the tears spill down from her eyes like summer rain. They have the type of scars only lovers can inflict, unseen by the naked eye unless one notices the way the corner of her lips turn downward periodically or how his temper is quick to surge. They have a hurricane of a relationship but she'll be damned if she ever gives it up.
What they have is the way they make love, sometimes gentle, sometimes rough, sometimes with nails and teeth and curses, and sometimes only with whisper-like caresses.It's the way he bites her collarbone, harsh and unforgiving; his callous tongue against sensitive skin, the bruises his hands leave behind on her hips. It's his smell in the pillows, in the sheets, in the clothes she steals from him when they get too old to mend and wears around the house. It's his fingers in her hair, upbraiding her locks when they snuggle deep under the covers, drowsiness overcoming them quickly and leaving her hair half undone.
What do we have? he asks of her. A type of heaven, she wants to tell him. It's Lincoln always coming home at night. Every single night. It's the reassurance that he will not leave her behind--- that his hand will always find his way to hers. It’s knowing that, like the moon leaves the sky only momentarily, Lincoln will always find his way back to her. All she has to do is wait.
What they have is a fault line running through both their hearts, deep and capable of great damage. The temblors they’ve felt so far are nothing compared to the big one in store for them in the future and they both know it. So they hold on, broken pieces and cracking armor, in hopes that when it hits, they will be strong enough to face it together.
What do they have? A fairy tale story perhaps, with their own dragons to fight, their own demons to overcome, and what she hopes is a happy ending in their future but their story is not yet finished.
He found it. Not in Octavia, or his people, much less in her people. He definitely didn’t find it in himself. He found it in her.
Lily is tiny, absolutely the smallest thing he's ever held in his arms and yet she's enough to bring him to his knees. She's only a few days old but already she's opened her eyes, hazily looking at him and he's not sure if she can see him properly but she grabs onto his finger with a force that shocks him and refuses to let go. Octavia hands her to him, happily fed and satisfied, making gurgling noises in the back of her throat and Lincoln rejoices in having her back in his arms. While Octavia gets into bed after a long day, Lincoln walks around their small house, patting Lily's back and congratulating her on every small burp she makes. He consoles her when she cries after vomiting, cleaning her up quickly and keeps a one-sided conversation with her as he continues to walk around the room in order to lull her to sleep.
This is his daughter. Even after nine months of watching Octavia's body grow with their child, it still hasn't hit him quite yet. Lincoln thought he couldn't love anyone more than he did Octavia, didn't think anything would make him want to fight harder than his morals, he just couldn’t begin to fathom this type of love was even possible but it was. It is. His love for his daughter is all-consuming, on a completely different level than what he felt for his houmon. Octavia wasn't able to cure him of his martyr syndrome but Lily certainly was. Now there's nothing in this world that would take him away from her, not battle, not circumstance, not even death. He would watch his daughter grow, he would make sure of that; Lily would not grow up without a father.
When she's done burping and starts getting fussy, Lincoln climbs into bed, removing his shirt and placing Lily right on top of his chest. Tri-Kru culture believes in as much skin to skin contact from parent to child as possible; from breastfeeding to carrying her around in a wrap, a child should always come in contact with their parents' skin. And though Octavia insists that Lincoln will spoil her by having her sleep on him, he doesn't care. She's his daughter and he still can't believe they're here, a family of three.
It's like something has lit up inside him. Whatever he had felt before, the blood in his hands at such a young age, the uncleanliness after the Mountain, the hopelessness when he had first moved into Arkadia, all of that has been erased. Now he only sees her, dark skin and dark curls; his future has turned into hers and it's far more beautiful than he ever thought it could be. His little one would have everything he never had, she would grow up safe and sound and free. Lily wouldn’t taste the same bitterness life had handed him, he would make sure of it.
"She took my spot, huh?" Octavia teases, her eyes heavy with drowsiness. Lincoln grins at her, his fingers very gently caressing the curls off Lily's face.
"She's less heavy than some people," he teases back as she wiggles closer to him, rubbing her nose against the side of his chest as his arm envelops her and draws her closer. She snorts a laugh, the explosion of air against his skin raising goosebumps. Octavia doesn't respond, finding easy sleep after a long day but Lincoln remains awake, looking at his two girls and unable to hold back the smile that grows on his face.
This is his life now. A husband. A father. After everything that happened, all the wars, all the tears, all the deaths, after sinking to his lowest low and somehow getting back up again, this was his life now. And Lily was his little ray of hope that things could get better. They do get better. A year ago he was still fighting off the Red, still believing himself to be that monster they created, still fighting the demons in his head. Today, he'll fall asleep with his daughter drooling on his chest and his houmon drooling on his side, and he doesn't think there could be a better life than this one.
I don’t even know what this is. I’m not following the list; I’m literally just barfing up all my feelings. I still can’t fucking believe he’s gone.
Bellamy hovers over her like a goddamn insect. Thankfully, Octavia is done trying to be kind to him so telling him to fuck off is easier than before. It's his fault anyway. That stain on the ground is his fault. The fact that Lincoln's smell has become a memory is his fault. Becoming a fucking widow at barely 18 years of age is his fault so he can float himself for all she cares. All that matters now is finding Pike and driving a bullet through his head---or better yet opening his stomach with her sword. It's so strange, this feeling, like she's truly going insane but her body is still surviving somehow, through the anguish and sadness. It's the need for retaliation, stronger than the need to curl into a corner and break down completely so she feeds it, hoping it will lead her to where she wants to go.
The plan the delinquents have is simple but she's not sure she understands most of it. She's in charge of something or other but all she hears is that Pike will be somewhere in the forest and they are to stay away from him and focus on the mission. Yeah right. She has the sword ready, sharp and thirsty for vengeance, the fire in her belly once burning so bright for love for Lincoln now turned into an entire other beast for vindication.
"Don't do anything stupid," Bellamy tells her, still the big brother in spite of it all. Octavia ignores him, pulling her hair back into a ponytail; Lincoln had liked her braids, always touching them, caressing them, messing them up and then apologizing for it. As soon as she could see straight again and that damn drug was out of her system (she means the tranq but it's really the numbing pain she felt as she watched the love of her life bleed out in the mud in front of her) she undid them and promised herself never again. A ponytail would suffice.
"I would say the same to you but you've been doing stupid stuff for too long now," she bites back, sliding the sword into the scabbard, very careful not to touch the sharp blade, shining with an oil-looking substance that Octavia had rubbed on a few moments before. That would be her revenge.
"Say whatever you want," Bellamy retorts, not even hurt anymore by her sharp tongue, "You're still my sister and I want you to listen to me."
Octavia ignores him and starts walking away, only to be stopped when he grabs her arm mid-swing and she has to fight every fiber of her being to stop from hitting him.
"Don't go looking for him."
It's a hard glare she gives him, one that makes grown men shrink (all except Lincoln, she remembers) and Bellamy steps back a little from the force of it all.
"I don't have any plans to die, if that's what you're scared of," she growls out, her stance defensive, all her hairs standing on end like a feral cat, "Not until he's dead, anyway."
She turns and walks away, letting him think what he wants of her words. They were true anyway. Even if she has to live a hundred years, she would get revenge. Jus drein jus daun.
Octavia goes after Pike, doing a bad job of sneaking out from camp and hurting a few people in the process when they try to stop her. She has a mission and it's the only thing keeping her from shattering into a million pieces. She feels herself being held together by only these thin pieces of anger and grief, like the frayed clothes she used to try to fix back at the Ark. Against Pike's gun, she knows she has little chance but all she needs is a small window. Just a nick and it would be enough.
So she bulldozes head first towards the man that took everything away from him and she barely understands what she's doing (Indra would be disappointed, she knows) before the gun goes off but she slashes across his chest and victory runs through her veins, even as the blood runs out of her. Octavia almost wishes the fight would have lasted longer, so that she could maybe get some relief at seeing this man bleed and hurt because of her, just as she had bled and hurt because of him. She falls to her knees, her body heavy enough to have her legs spread apart in a W and she's fixed in that position, watching as Pike glances at the gash on his chest and not the river of blood from her stomach.
"You missed," he says, not teasing but very seriously. She smiles at that.
"Just wait."
His brows furrow in confusion for a moment that seems to last a lifetime before he grabs his arm in a panic. His lips have already started turning blue.
"There's not cure for it," she coughs, trying hard to stay conscious, her vision becoming blurry, "Lincoln might have known one but you killed him..."
There's more she wants to tell him, more about Lincoln because that's all she wants to talk about right now, in her last few moments. She wants to tell him what kind of man Lincoln was, what made him the way he was, how his smile could light up even the darkest of days, how his hands felt against her skin, goddamnit how good it felt to be loved by such a man, the life Pike took away from them, a home, children, becoming a mother, watching Lincoln cradle his children in his arms, a future together, all of that ripped from their hands. She wants to scream at him that the last month or so has not really been living, merely existing and even seeing the desperation ebb into his eyes is not enough for Octavia anymore. None of this will bring Lincoln back. None of it will give them another chance at happiness. But the the blood bubbling up to her mouth makes it difficult to do so. Pike stumbles away, no doubt crawling back to Arkadia in hopes for a solution but she doubts he'll make it back.
Octavia is left by herself, unable to move from her position but it's ok. The pain is ebbing away anyway and she hopes Lincoln will show up soon. She's tired and she's lonely and so so sorry. Gods is she sorry.
If she had known...well, if she had known she would have prevented him from tranquilizing her and faced that barrel of the gun with him. If she had known, she wouldn't have been such a bitch to him about that stupid jacket. If she had known, gods if she had known, maybe she wouldn't have been left behind. The regret is thick and boiling inside her, eating her from inside out, and mixed with her constant grief, she's surprised she's still alive. It all feels too overwhelming, too much for a human to handle, like she'd soon explode from it all.
Where is he?
It takes hours, maybe days for her to bleed out but she does and in her haze, she sees out of the corner of her eyes a dark hand, calloused and rough but she knows it anywhere.
"Finally," she breathes out, unable to do anything else, and with great effort raises her head. His palm cups her cheek and she leans into it, trying to smile but only blubbering up more blood. She's thankful she's only had to live a few months without him.
"Take me home," she manages out and he nods, always giving her what she wants, and god how she's missed him. He helps her up, far easier than she thought possible and she's happy to see all his scars are gone, wiped clean from his body. The stubble on his jaw remains and her fingers trace it like it's treasure, her eyes filling with tears as she runs the pads of her fingers over his lips. Her own wound has disappeared and so he brings her in closer to him, a strong arm slung across her shoulders and they begin to walk, towards that promising light somewhere in front of them. Octavia sighs.
Except it’s not. I just needed to write it or else I would go mad.
There's a deep gash high on her cheek, bruised blue and purple, not yet healed but it only adds to her beauty. He studies her as she talks to Kane, knowing very well these are the last few moments he has with her. If he could only absorb it all, make it one with him, seep it into his very skin, he would. Lincoln has had many close shaves with death, hell he had died once already, but this was different. He was walking to meet death out of his own volition, his heart in one hand and his future on the other; two perfect offerings for the great God.
"We're almost out," she begs of him, "Please."
But there had never been an almost out for him, not since he set foot in this camp. He had resigned himself to his fate almost from the moment he held her hand and walked into Camp Jaha together. He tells her why, that he can't allow his people to die, whether or not his people had shunned him he was still Lincoln Kom Tri-Kru and nothing, nothing he could do or they could do, would change that.
"Fine. I'm staying too," she deadpans, looking at him straight in the eyes with that blaze she has, one he's always admired and desired to have himself. Octavia stood and faced things head on and this time...this time he would too.
"Let's face it together," she continues and it makes his heart constrict in his chest. Together. It had been a mantra that left her lips constantly and he is sorry, gods he is so sorry he was never able to truly grasp that concept. There is no together here, not if he had anything to say about it. He nods to her, placating, and soaking up her presence for as long as possible. He wonders if she truly thinks he would let her walk out with him---he loathes to leave her behind (he knows he’s being cruel but he can forgive himself for this one) but this is a path he has to take alone. Octavia would face death with him, he knows that very well, and he's so thankful for her, that a woman such as her has stood next to him, has loved him as deeply as she has. It's far more than he thought he would ever get in this life. But there was no together here. Not from now on.
"I love you," he says to her and it's the most honest thing he's ever said in his life. If these are his last words uttered on this Earth, he's content. If her lips are the last things he tastes, it's enough. But he hates that the last thing he sees in her eyes is betrayal once he injects her with the tranq, her body fluidly falling into his arms and he carries her again like he did once upon a time. Lincoln hands her over to Kane, both wanting to hold on to her longer and let go of her quicker. He's not sure he has the strength to walk up to his fate if he doesn't let her go. He takes one last look at her face, always sporting new bruises, always covered in blotches of the same shades of blue and purple and of course, he smiles. She's a warrior.
It would always come to this. He knew from the moment he drove that sword into the heart of the man from the sky. You wish on a fallen star, not destroy it, but he had and in turn it would destroy him. Yet he had also tasted the sky on his lips; every time Octavia kissed him a little part of heaven would remain behind and he licks his lips now, velvet and satin combined.
In which Octavia has diarrhea of the mouth. For @wannabanauthor
Octavia is NOT a good drunk.
She gets defensive easily (which is saying something—she’s already absolutely feral when it comes to defending Lincoln, but with alcohol in her system it’s much worse) and can’t seem to control her accusatory finger from popping up in front of people’s faces. At the same time, she’s really giggly and lighthearted, laughing at the smallest things and letting her tongue wag out of control. Lincoln doesn’t control her; it would be near impossible but he does gently remind her that she can’t handle her alcohol. He reminded her this morning as well.
But Lincoln isn’t anywhere near….
…..So Octavia drinks and drinks and laughs and laughs until she’s choking on air and the atmosphere around the other delinquents is absolutely giddy with the kind of mirth only moonshine can bring. They’re dancing and humping and making out and already a few have started barfing their dinner somewhere behind the camp but Octavia is still in control of most of her bodily functions so she slumps next to Raven and Monroe who are giggling to each other in a very secretive way.
“I wanna know,” Octavia slurs, her hand a vice grip on the cup of moonshine, “let me knooooow.”
Raven curls her finger at Octavia, drawing her closer until she can see all her eyelashes, dark and long and beautiful.
“You’re pretty,” Octavia smiles stupidly at Raven who blinks in surprise and gives her a peck on the lips.
“Thanks,” she says nonchalantly before lowering her voice even lower, “we’re talking about Monroe’s girlfriend, you know, the pretty one with the long curly hair.”
Octavia is still thinking about Raven’s warm lips on hers but the image of the long curly hair snaps her back to attention.
“Pamela!”
“SHHHHHHH!”
Both girls hit her on the arm, nearly knocking Octavia down on the floor. She decides to sit cross legged in front of the two girls, looking up at them with large, innocent eyes.
“Sorry,” she hiccups, wiggling her eyebrows at Monroe, “so you like brunettes huh?”
Monroe rolls her eyes. She’s far better than Raven or Octavia at handling her drink but there’s something about girl talk that makes her brain hazy.
“I love brunettes,” Monroe pipes in, “and her, especially.”
“Woooah,” Raven breathes, “already? I haven’t even admitted to myself that I love Bellamy and it’s been MONTHS.”
Octavia’s head tilts this way and that way at her words, very much like the dogs the TriKru keep in their camp.
“But you just ad—”
“Her breasts are so plump, you know, like…like….god, I don’t even know,” Monroe looks up at the stars, her eyes hazing over, “and she smells like vanilla. She tastes like it too. I like the way her neck is shaped. Her wrists. Her ankles.”
Raven is already a puddle of tears but Octavia is thinking about how it would be to love a girl. She’s never thought about it before, not really, but right now it’s easy to imagine when Monroe speaks so passionately about her lover. She gets a strange picture of Lincoln with breasts, thin wrists and thin ankles and bursts into laughter, spilling her moonshine all over her pants.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Sorry, go on.”
“Her hair is soft. When she smiles, her eyes light up. When she’s going to cry, her chin trembles like a child. And her fingers work magic, if you know what I mean.”
Octavia giggles.
“The sex is good?”
Monroe gives her a blinding smile.
“So good.”
All three girls sigh, content that at least, in this violent and cruel world, they’re getting some damn great sex.
“Bellamy is good with his fingers too,” Raven pipes in, wiggling her fingers. Then she curls one up in the air.
“He knows where to hit that spot, ya know.”
This is one of the times Octavia is so glad she’s drunk. She’ll remember this tomorrow, for sure but for now she can ignore the fact that Raven is talking about her brother’s sexual prowess. Which is weird. Raven never talks about her romantic life with her brother. Ever.
“He’s big?” Monroe asks, ignoring the gagging noise Octavia makes. No amount of moonshine can erase that sentence from her mind—or the answer.
“No.”
Monroe bursts into laughter and even Octavia gives a chuckle.
“He’s long.” Raven’s fingers demonstrate and Octavia looks like she’s gagging on something sour.
Raven and Monroe laugh, toasting each other and completely ignoring Octavia’s frown. For a few moments, there’s only the sound of the music blasting through the old, battered speakers and the absolute pandemonium the other delinquents are causing. There’s a soft voice that sounds oddly like Lincoln telling her not to open her mouth because she has what Lincoln calls ‘diarrhea of the mouth.“ You can’t shut up once you start, he’s told her, so it’s best if you just kept your mouth closed. But Octavia’s never been one to listen to anyone, even her houmon, so she flops back down to the ground, her back against the cold grass and shouts to the stars,
"Lincoln has the dick of the Gods!”
Of course, everyone turns to stare at her but everyone has been, at one point or another, the spectator of her praises of said dick so they go back to whatever it is they’re doing pretty quickly. Raven rolls her eyes. They know the drill by now.
“Thick and long?”
“Sooooo thick,” Octavia groans, “hung like a horse.”
“And a curve that makes you see stars.” Monroe adds.
“God, that curve.”
Monroe giggles.
“Never got used to that,” she comments, taking a sip and unsurprisingly doesn’t spill a single drop on herself, unlike Raven who’s cursing as she refills her cup and wipes alcohol off her jacket, “Kinda hurt when I did it.”
“Not if you did it with Lincoln,” Octavia sings out, then sits up and glares at Monroe, “not that I’m telling you to try it with Lincoln—”
“Yeah yeah,” says Monroe, rolling her eyes.
“—but yea. He’s part jackhammer, I’m telling ya.”
They burst into laughter, an easy silence falling on them as they think to themselves. Octavia sits up, moving closer to them again, and begins to whisper.
“One time, we were in the middle of the woods doing something or other, i can’t remember, but we start making out and he takes me from behind, right in the woods which I usually don’t like cause I hate bugs but damn it if it wasn’t hot, and he bends me over this tree like i’m a doll and I’m loving it cause he’s SO SO deep, I can taste him in the back of my throat deep when—”
“Octavia!”
She sits up so quickly her mind freezes but she knows his voice and she knows she’s somewhat in trouble.
“Oh don’t worry Lincoln,” Raven says with a wave of her hand, “We’ve heard this story before. Who knew you could lift a grown woman to your shoulders like that? Guess those muscles are good for something huh?”
He groans.
“Oh you know about that one already. How about the time we had that Christmas dinner with the TriKru and I pretended to drop my fork to suc—”
“Octavia!”
Monroe and Raven are nearly falling over themselves with laughter which gives Lincoln the perfect timing to excuse himself and drag Octavia off.
“Are you angry?” she asks with a smile on her face, rubbing her nose against his arm. He smells good.
“No.”
“Embarrassed?” She links her fingers with his, falling into step with him easily.
“….a little.”
The rest of the Sky People are coming back and she sees her brother already making a beeline for Raven. Octavia smiles. It’s nice to be in relationship.
“My brother is good with his hands, apparently.”
Lincoln chuckles, leading her to the fire and swinging in time with the music. He’s pressing her close, his cheeks resting against her temple.
“That’s good news, I think.”
“And Monroe has a thing for necks and wrists.”
Lincoln chuckles, low and warm in her ear.
“We all have our preferences.”
“Like your hands,” she slurs, half-sleepy, half-turned on.
“And your hips,” he adds, moving his hands there.
“And your jaw,” she says as she kisses his prickly stubble.
“And your lips.”
Their kiss is chaste but sweet, the smell of the fire in the air and the loud music in the background. Octavia leans her head back, exposing her neck and smiling at the stars.
Both Lincoln and Octavia had woken up in a foul mood, despite having gone to bed fine the night before. She blamed it on the day's upcoming exertion with the sky people to find the necessities needed to survive the impending winter. It would be a long, tiring day and she wasn't looking forward to it. She and the Sky People were still on iffy terms, probably as bad as the Tri Kru, but she had nowhere else to go (and she was constantly reminded that Lincoln didn't either).
Lincoln, on the other hand, blamed it on the large, full moon that appeared even in the day light. It was believed among his people that this type of moon, overwhelming and larger than usual, disturbed the humors in the body and most were extremely cautious on such days, as to not invite any unpleasantness. So he tried, at least, to be patient with the Sky People and Octavia too.
But they know each other too well and little snippets turn into spats which snowballs into an argument and by the time they head out into the woods, they're fuming. Bellamy, having grown accustomed (albeit grudgingly) to their relationship, jokes with both of them, teases them like a child until Octavia growls out and pinches the tender side of his breast, causing him to yelp in pain and glare at her. He leaves her alone at last but when the never-ending babble from him desists, all she's left with is her fuming silence.
She and Lincoln stay apart for the remainder of the trip. As for her, she looks on as Bell and Raven flirt and laugh, as Monty and Miller smile at each other shyly, as Jasper looks on at the young woman who's name Octavia doesn't know but who seems to be able to help the bags under Jasper's eyes recede a little. By nightfall, the entourage returns, covered in sweat and dirt and it's an all out war to get to the river and wash. By the time Octavia returns to the fire, clean and somewhat in better spirits, the animal is roasting on the pit and Monty and Raven have joined heads to figure out their newest find. An Ipod, Monty calls it, old and battered but seemingly working. Octavia's not sure what it is and she doesn't very much care either.
She's been away from Lincoln for too long and she pines for him, helplessly looking at her brother and Raven be all lovey-dovey with one another so she takes a few moments to find him. When she does, it only takes a few moments and exchanged words before they're snarling at each other again. She doesn't even know what the stupid fight is about but man, does he get on her nerves so she stomps out back to the fire again, steaming.
Monty and Raven have now figured out how to hook the device to an ancient looking speaker and soon music is blasting through the air.
"Ahh, my girl, Beyonce," Raven begins to dance, dragging a surprised Monty out of his chair, "This person had good tastes."
Soon, the other delinquents start dancing as well, laughing and whooping, their dinner roasting behind them, the stars and moon lending their light to an otherwise uncommonly dark night. There's an incredible assortment of music in the Ipod, quite a few songs they don't know how to dance to, in languages they don't know, but Raven doesn't know if the device will break if she skips songs so they let it be. Octavia watches as the couples grind against each other when romantic music comes along, then start cheering when the bass starts thumping, and every now and then look at each other strangely when a song starts in a different language.
When the food is done, she eats by herself but saves a large plate for Lincoln. If he doesn't arrive in time, she'll bring it to him, apologize, and end this horrible day. But for now, she watches as her brother stumbles away with Raven somewhere into the woods, as Monty and Miller link hands and watch the others continue to frolic around, as Jasper watches Monty with sad eyes and soon takes his leave.
The night turns darker as the clouds hide the moon and soon the delinquents go off to bed, some unaccompanied, most with a partner or two, and the Ipod is turned down (they don't know how to turn it off and Raven is nowhere to be found). Octavia gets up and dusts herself off, her eyes unfocused and her mind far away, intending to take the plate back home when she turns around and slams into Lincoln. He catches the plate before it falls but a few potatoes tumble to the floor. She huffs in irritation but it passes quickly.
"Saved you some."
He thanks her quietly and sits down to watch the dying fire as he eats. The only sound is the faint music and it's a bit overwhelming for Octavia, who’s not used to being uncomfortable with him. Just as she's about to open her mouth, Lincoln put his plate down and stands up, his face stoic and hard. Maybe he's still angry, maybe the strange day wouldn't end when the night does, but Octavia sure as hell hopes so. Instead, he goes up to the Ipod and fumbles with it a little, finally turning up the volume and returning to her. There's a smile on his face, small but bright, and he offers her his hand.
They dance to a slow song, one she has no recognition of, but the trumpet sounds out the most romantic melody she's heard and the woman's crooning is calming, like a balm, joined in by the man's gruffer accompaniment. She steps on his feet more than once but he doesn't seem to mind. They dance and whatever strangeness had overtaken them for the day is soon cast away by the woman's beautiful singing. He holds her tight in his arms, caged between his arms and his chest but she doesn't mind, not if it's him---she only wishes he would hold her tighter still. All time seems to cease and it's only his hand on her waist and the small of her back, the side of his face pressed against hers, his breath on the shell of her ear. The tension melts off them, almost tangibly, and soon it’s just them swaying back and forth with each other.
"Dream a little dream of me," he sings by her ear, his low baritone cracking slightly but it's like low and rumbling, like thunder on her skin. She smiles widely and kisses his cheek, his nose, and lastly his eyes. She breathes him in, with no intention of putting any space between them, and they sing to each other between laughs and smiles.
The moon doesn't reappear for the rest of the night but the trumpet continues and they dance until the stars' twinkling fade by the sun's early rays.
