#linctava

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 20: Mist Pt.1

Lincoln/Octavia but also Gen, Canon-Divergent, ~930 words

So I accidentally had a Whole Ass Fic Idea for this and then I just wrote part of it. Hopefully will continue but no promises about that.

*

In November, a heavy fog settles over the Dropship camp, and with it, a deep unease. Visibility even around the tents is nearly zero. The ship itself looms up out of dense gray mists, seems to float above them amid the deep green of the trees, half-disappears at time against a wretched sky deeply smudged with clouds. There's been only one attack since the Grounder assault and the ring of fire, and it was of Reapers who came in through the tunnels. Ruthless but dumb, they were easily repulsed. Since then, only silence from all sides.

Octavia packs a bag with some extra food and water and insists on joining Wells and Clarke as they hike up to a higher elevation, a desperate last bid to get a lay of the land. Usually, they'd fight her on it, or at least her brother would, but either they understand her restlessness or know that any arguments would be a waste of breath. All Bellamy does is slip her a gun, even though she's already carrying her sword on her back and even now she barely knows how to shoot.

Since Lincoln left on his scouting mission, nearly a week ago now and not a single word or signal since, she's been pacing around the camp like a caged-up beast. He was supposed to call on one of the other clans. Trikru would kill him on sight but he'd made friends in some of the others, not too far off, and with their sentries nearly useless and the tension in camp at a painful high, he'd declared the mission worth the risk. And so what if she hadn't agreed. For news about the Mountain, he'd insisted. The quiet from that sector made him more nervous than she could understand.

Wells leads the way between the trees and through the underbrush, tracking their direction by playing his fingertips against moss-covered bark, leaving subtle signs by which they can find their way back home. Clarke follows, and Octavia trails behind. Sometimes she all but loses sight of the others—it doesn't take much, with the mist settled so close around her, its chill touch clammy against her skin. All around them, they hear the faint patter of raindrops slipping down from leaf to leaf. For days now, following along with the fog, the weather has been not quite rainy, far from clear: precipitation lingers in the air, threatening a downpour that might clear away the fog, but never comes. Each stray drop feels like ice, frigid and bitter.

If the temperature drops even a few degrees, Wells reminds them, the rainstorm they're expecting will turn into heavy snow. Even Wells himself can only imagine what a heavy snow would really mean.

 They talk little during their hike, only the bare minimum of directions, alerts, but Octavia can hear the others breathing almost as well as she can hear her own heavy breath in her ears. The ground becomes steeper and steeper. The muscles of her legs burn; she starts to sweat despite the cold.

 Finally, they reach the peak, and Clarke doubles over to catch her breath, as she stands next to Wells and Octavia runs the last few paces to stand on her other side. From here, they can see miles and miles of forest. Hints of smoke, rising in columns through the mist, seem to indicate settlements. Rough patterns of evergreens stretch out along the valley. The fog itself resembles a vast ocean—or what Octavia imagines an ocean to be.

"Well, this was a bust," she announces, and wipes a sheen of cooling sweat from her brow.

Not that she should complain. She just wanted to get out, needed to get out.

"Maybe it's good that there's nothing to see," Wells answers, with tentative optimism.

Clarke shakes her head. She's standing up straight again now, and her face looks pale, except for the dark spots of her color at her cheeks. "You could hide a whole army in fog like that."

"The Mountain doesn't have a whole army. If they did, they would have used it against the Grounders by now."

"We don't know what the Mountain has, that's the whole—"

"Shut up." Octavia holds up her hand, and Wells and Clarke become immediately silent. Beneath their bickering, she heard something, something like the snapping of twigs and the clacking of bare branches and the rustling of fallen leaves. Something so subtle it sounded like maybe nothing at all. But the fog has brought silence, too, so that any break in the muffled quiet of it catches her attention, and one of Lincoln's lessons to her was how to really hear.

"What is—?" Wells starts, and Octavia hushes him again. She still hasn't put down her hand. She hasn't moved at all, because the sounds are getting louder, closer. And in another moment, Clarke and Wells hear them, too.

Octavia takes a tentative step closer to the tree line. Clarke reaches out to draw her back, but misses, and Octavia notices the movement only with a very distant, very faint part of her brain. The fatigue in her body has turned to tense anticipation: a taut bowstring, an arrow ready to be shot.

The movement is of a body, a human-sized body, shuffling, dragging itself painfully along. She holds her breath—and then releases it, all at once, with something like a sob, as a familiar shape limps out of the shadows and materializes through the clinging gray. The tension in her breaks all at once and she runs right into Lincoln's arms.

[serendipitous-bellarke]

Why have there been so many L.exa and CL mentions in the past two seasons but never a mention of Lincoln or Linctavia, even though the latter had way more screentime and development?

Why do they keep bringing up Clarke's week long relationship but act as if Lincoln, a very important character from the early seasons, never even existed?

[klaroline-fantasies]

Follow my bellark/100/multifandom blog here!

[unreliablewitnessofmyexistence]

My RP Characters Series || Aly ( @linctava ) Edition (4/4)

[niicolapeltz]

[text]: He doesn’t love me. But here’s the thing: I love me. [text]: Don't tell me what I can and can't do.[text]: Wednesday… Dinner, you and me. And the faster you type, the faster you get your reward.[text]: Just say the word, and I'll take care of it.

[text]: He doesn’t love me. But here’s the thing: I love me.

Finnie & Hannah

[text, unsent]:  I love you.

[text]: Han, what’s not to love about you?

[text]: I’m glad you love yourself. Justin Bieber would be proud. You’re great, really. Forget him. 

[text]: Don't tell me what I can and can't do.

Christopher & Dixie

[text]: Listen, all I’m saying is that you’re being a little irrational. You don’t have to leave the county or anything. There are plenty of people here who want to help you.

[text]: Me being one of them.

[text]: Wednesday… Dinner, you and me. And the faster you type, the faster you get your reward.

Michael & Penny

[text]: I suppose I could always postpone the test. After all, I am the one writing it. You’re the class hero, they’re going to be happy to hear it’s been moved to Friday next week. I’ll see you soon.

[text]: Just say the word, and I'll take care of it.

Scott & Charity

[text]: What? What does that even mean?! Like ‘take care of it’ as in like kill your gma????

[text]: DON’T DO THAT, DON’T KILL HER

[jacksonwhittesmores]

SEND ✗ FOR MY MUSES REACTION TO BEING GRABBED BY THE FRONT OF THEIR SHIRT/COLLAR AND KISSED HARD ON THE MOUTH (times two )

“I’m-.....I thought you were going to hate me once you found out, not-....not this.”

“Yeah, just like that....just, you know...when my parents are in the room.”

[teina-keryon-blog]

Hon Op Choda

Lincoln looked out from the shore. The water was clear but his neko companion wasn’t going anywhere near it. “Octavia, it’s safe.” He chuckled, a low rare laugh from the were. “You have to wash. They will track you.”

[littleredinmotion]

what is it about this season of The 100 that has me so invested in Octavia and Lincoln. I mean I wouldn't say I'm full on shipping it yet, but my heart hurts for them. and if any of this had happened during season 1 I probably would not have cared at all. Octavia i am so proud of you

(and i dont know if I am actually starting to love lincoln or if I just really love Ricky Whittle)

[niicolapeltz]

"He wanted to kill me. I had no other choice." "I could really use a drink.. Or ten." “I don’t love her anymore. I love you.” "I was just trying to make you feel better."

"He wanted to kill me. I had no other choice."

“So.. so you’re saying he’s.. still in there...? Crawling.. on the walls..? Honestly, you didn’t have any other choice. The only logical thing to have done at that point was run. Looks like we’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

"I could really use a drink.. Or ten."

“If I promise not to throw beer bottles at you like the first night we met, can I take you to the bar?”

“I don’t love her anymore. I love you.”

“I... wish I believed you.”

"I was just trying to make you feel better."

“.....--”

[niicolapeltz]

"So shut up and sit down, and stop acting like a little bitch baby." "I don't kiss and tell." "See what happens when you use your brain instead of your penis?" "You hurt my feelings… a lot. And I know I should be used to it now, because everyone here makes fun of me all the time, but you didn’t, and then you were mean to me for no reason."

"So shut up and sit down, and stop acting like a little bitch baby."

“That’s not fair you can’t say that. You shot the marshmallow at my eye, it hurts. The marshmallow absorbed all the eye juice in my eye and now I’m probably blind.”

"I don't kiss and tell."

“Who was it? Huh? Who, who, who? It was that Doctor in pediatrics, wasn’t it? Come on Lara, I need the scoop. I’ve read this month’s issue of Cosmo three times, I need new information.”

“See what happens when you use your brain instead of your penis?"

“That did work out pretty well. I’d say you should try it sometime but I’m not sure there’s a brain in that head of yours. You probably are as dumb as you look.”

"You hurt my feelings… a lot. And I know I should be used to it now, because everyone here makes fun of me all the time, but you didn’t, and then you were mean to me for no reason."

“Oh shut up. You’re starting to sound like Paul.”

[jacksonwhittesmores]

give me bristol high out of her mind and joel taking care of her thx

Joel had seen this before, a million times probably. He could understand why being high would be fun to an extent. It was a way to escape reality, and problems for a little while. It could take away your stress, and feel great. What he was never quite able to grasp was why being this high was fun. Bristol stumbled through the doors of the diner, barely able to move. Her feet didn’t lift off the ground very far when she took a step, and her eyes were barely opened. She leaned into the counter looking for him, and it took her just a little too long to spot him. If it wasn’t for the drastic difference in appearance Joel would’ve sworn it was his own mother. 

They made eye contact and Joel walked over to her. He knew she would probably make a scene. He’d seen it play out that way all the time. He put his hand over her forearm in order to steady her as she spit out a string of words that didn’t make sense. Half of it about diner food, and the other about a dream she had where she was flying. Joel furrowed his brow, and tried to get her to stop talking. He was too good at it, had too much practice. He didn’t understand why she was the way she was right now. He thought they were making progress. They were trying to be friends, and she knew how he felt. He at least didn’t want to see her when she was like this. Bristol ripped her arm from under his, and tried to walk backwards to the door. Her foot caught under the doormat, and she collapsed to the ground, bringing a stack of chairs with her. 

As the whole diner watched, Joel ran around the bar he stood behind, and knelt at her side. “Come on, come with me,” he said, helping her up. One arm under hers, one hand holding hers, he brought her outside. She was trying hard not to cry but he could tell she wanted to. The girl mumbled that she hit her head. Getting to his car, he opened the back door and sat her inside only to find that she slumped to her side in seconds. Her foot slipped off the edge of the door, and she almost fell out of the car again. Joel stood closer to make sure it didn’t happen again.

 It was a matter of minutes before the girl fell asleep, curled up with a blanket Joel kept in the back of his car. Making sure she was alright, he jogged back up the walkway to the diner to do damage control in there. He already knew his boss was tired of seeing the girl hang around. The stuff that had fallen out of Bristol’s pocket when she fell sat in a neat pile on the counter, the once stacked chairs still waiting for Joel to pick up. Doing that quickly, he went to collect her things. Her cracked cell phone sat on the top, open still on it, a screenshot of Joel and Chelsea. Their anniversary had been a few days ago and Chelsea wrote about it on Facebook. Joel brought her stuff out to the car, and looking at the girl in the backseat he wasn’t sure why, but he knew he had to change something.