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Like all of us in this world, I am two men: a self and a non-self. Only by being non-selves can we now survive in our own mortal shrouds we weave around us. And what shall this survival profit us in this day of the mask, in this day of corporation men? What shall the self do then, poor thing, but curl away in from the poisoning wind â and dream? Dream of some Second Coming man himself must bring about, through some vast disobedience and new resurrection?
Penda's Fen â 1974 dir. Alan Clarke BBC Play for Today | S04E16
Watching Him on Inside (Part 2).
on air - g. clarke
summary -> [ part 2 ] youâre a guest on the useless hotline podcast hosted by your secret boyfriend | george clarke x fem!reader
wc -> 1.2k
WARNINGS -> secret/private relationship, george is smitten
masterlist | main masterlist | requests
george knew inviting you on the podcast was a bad idea.
not because you wouldnât be great - quite the opposite, actually. you were quick, charming, dangerously funny. the kind of guest that made a podcast episode fly by and rack up views. but because george had a very hard time pretending you werenât his girlfriend, and the useless hotline was filmed in 4K and recorded with high-grade microphones that picked up everything - including every slip-up, lingering stare, and voice crack.
and right now? he was seconds away from combusting on camera.
you were sitting across from him, legs crossed, mic in front of you, hoodie sleeves pushed up to your elbows, looking like you didnât have a secret in the world.
meanwhile, george was sweating. literally and figuratively.
We're in 2026 now and, in less than 2 months, it will be 10 years that Lexa is gone.
I was not there on march 3 2016. I only watched The 100 6 years later, in 2022, with my first girlfriend. I cried when they killed her and I was so angry and then i came in the fandom and i learned all that has happened after her death. And I was amazed. I wish I could have been there at the time, crying and fighting with everyone.
But I was not and Lexa was such an important character to me that I knew I had to do something about that. She was the starting point of me thesis work that I wrote about F/F fanfictions and how they represent special spaces of identity construction and expression for queer and sapphic people.
Now I'm watching The 100 again, with others friends and, once again, I'm hit by Lexa's influence in my life and in queer representations in cultural media. I was not part of the fandom back then and all the beautiful things you've done but I wanted to thank you all for that, all the persons who fought, boycotting the show, raising funds, creating the ClexaCon, fanart, videos, fanfictions.
It will be 10 years and we never forgot, we never will. Lexa lived through us and all the fans and fanworks and I think it's beautiful.
I'm glad this fandom exists even if it's not as strong as it was back then.
May we meet again.
halves of a whole
Chapter 9: Marigold & Wine
âAfter Costia- I continued to try. I worked harder to form the Coalition, to merge my people into one. My strength becoming their strength. I thought if I could bring them together through the might of the Commander, we could have peace. Even in the shadow of the mountain, if we were one- things could change. I found myself hoping again when I finally brought Azgeda to heel.Â
Another sip of wine as Lexa's fingers trace the pitted stone of the mantle.
"And then you came to Earth. And I lost Anya.â
Clarke flinches at Anyaâs name, shame washing hot and fast over her.Â
Itâs silent for a long minute. Clarke cannot bring herself to speak and break the spell that has fallen over the bedroom. Cannot bring herself to snap Lexa from this trance and send her careening back into the shell that she has built around herself since all those children died.Â
Lexa turns over the clay cup in her hand, thumb caressing the lip. A delicate, scarred pointer finger tracing the shiny etching on the side. Lexa swallows another mouthful of wine before setting it down with a click on the stone ledge above the fireplace. She paces away, into the back of her bedroom for a long moment. The fire pops and hisses in the grate as the moments drag on.Â
After Clarke has counted to 100 seven times, she cranes her head over the back of the couch, searching for Lexa amongst the flickering black shadows that bunch in the far corners of the suite. Lexaâs voice spills from the far right corner as she emerges from the din, hair brushed from her braids into a mass of curls that cascade over the shoulders, her back.Â
Clarkeâs mouth dries out as she watches Lexa stalk towards her once again, a panther cornering her prey. It feels significant that sheâs still dressed in the trappings of her office, her pauldron and cape separating her from Clarke in her civilian clothes. Even now, Lexa is otherworldly, different.Â
âAnd then you happened.âÂ