The 100 Drabbles
A collection of scenes that I would otherwise feel the need to incorporate into a larger story. They maybe be chronological for the first few postings, but will not be consistent. I'll post where in the Cannon timeline they occur to help place them if it's needed.
The drabbles are not necessarily related, but since they're all coming from me they're like to be in the same universe.
—The 100—
Set sometime around/after S01E08 -10
—The 100—
"Don't think too much, Princess, you might ruin a good thing."
Clark didn't know what to think, taking a chance on Bellamy was glaringly, obviously, fundamentally a bad idea. And yet… he was the only one on the ground, maybe the only one on Earth or in orbit that she could rely on. She trusted him. She was attracted to him. And more than that she felt something when she was with him. It was like some unspoken truth between them, that only with each other could they find the understanding, acceptance and strength that they each needed to keep moving forward. He wanted her forgiveness. She wanted his respect, wanted someone to see her for herself not for who her mother and father were.
Whether he'd trusted her enough to show her his vulnerability, or just hadn't been able to hide it, she knew he wasn't as hard hearted as he liked to project for the benefit of the group.
He was violent, manipulative, domineering and would probably always error on the side of the extreme, whether it was aggression or protection, freedom or rules.
But she'd also seen him be tender. Uncertain. Guilty and regretful. And he'd picked himself back up, and put himself together again.
He was strong, and he made her feel strong too. Strong enough to keep fighting for their survival each day.
"How would I know that it's good?" She asked, her expression serious. "I mean, I've heard the rumors, but you can't believe everything that you hear," she said with growing humor in her tone, a smile lighting up her face.
He shook his head at her, but smiled, stepping closer and cupping her jaw in his hand. "I was always taught that it's what you do that matters," he said in his deep voice that sent shivers down her spine.
She tilted her face up to his, stepping closer to him. "I don't think I can argue with that."
He nodded then slipped his fingers into the silky blonde hair at the back of her neck, his mouth descending to cover hers.
He didn't give her pretty words, didn't declare that it was thoughts of her that kept him going when it seemed all hope was lost. Someday she might want to hear the words, but in that moment, the way he held her, how he kissed her said more than a hundred flowery compliments or promises.