Serenity's babbles

rivertalesien:

I don’t think you could improve on what @ButMakeItGay wrote. The show only used Lexa as a tragic love interest, so there was no need to bring “talking” into the picture. She was a plot device in every sense.

Overall, it would really help if there were queer writers working on these shows and writing for these characters. Showrunners who are going to go there should be hiring staff that resembles the characters. Black characters? Black writers on staff. Muslim character? Muslim writer on staff. Lesbian character? Better be a lesbian in there somewhere. This isn’t like novel writing where a single author has to imagine everything and hopefully do some homework: tv shows/films are studio-run and they’ve proven time and again they don’t care about representation, only tokenism. All white/all-straight writers rooms should be over. If anything good comes from the WGA strike, I hope all the creative/technical guilds go with them and just burn Hollywood down. No more of the old studios. Start over.

butmakeitgayblog:

Have them fuck nasty 😤

Nah I’m just kidding

For real though, I actually took today to think about that because I think if you asked everyone in the fandom, you’d probably get a big variety of answers. There was just so much going on at that time and so many raw, unsettled emotions and resentments on Clarke’s part. Realistically, I can absolutely see why she turned Lexa away (not the how tho, cuz damn).

But if I had to rewrite it through my own rose colored glasses, I would’ve liked it if Clarke had asked Lexa to stay and talk. Not even about the mountain or their people or anything that wandered too closely to those still healing wounds between them. More like asking Lexa about her childhood. What it was like growing up on the ground. Maybe about the different clans or what Lexa had dreamed about becoming before she was called to be commander. And I would’ve liked to have Clarke tell Lexa about the wonders of space. Not many though - that subject still holds too many nightmares. I would’ve liked to see them get to know each other beyond the pictures they have of each other as leaders and what they have to be as those people, and instead started learning more of the pieces of themselves that they’d learned to lock away from everyone else.

I would’ve liked to see Clarke grow sleepy to the sound of Lexa’s soothing voice. Yawning while deliberately denying that she’s yawning, even as she shakes it off and smacks her lips from it. And then of course, that fond little smile that Lexa always gets around Clarke, the one that barely kissed the sides of her lips but shines so brightly in her eyes. Usually in response to the skai girl’s stubbornness, but that’s neither here nor there. I would’ve liked to see Lexa offering to leave because even though the night had taken a very strange and unexpected turn, it was still lovely, and wonderful, and she likes to think of herself as chivalrous when circumstances allow, and regardless of what did or didn’t happen, oh, you could see just how happy her little Heda heart was to have had that time together.

Without the usual looming thundercloud of Clarke’s animosity.

I would’ve loved to see her trying to urge Clarke to go to bed and rest, only for Clarke to ask her to stay a little longer. To join her on the bed - sensibly, only because the bed was more comfortable than the old spindly chairs of her guest suite - and keep talking about all the good things on earth. Because she usually can’t sleep anyway and because… that was the first night since she’d walked away from Camp Jaha that the demons of her past have been quiet.

I would’ve liked to see Lexa’s internal battle of her emotions play out in nothing more than a series of blinks. A stuttered breath. The catch in her chest as she unfolds and refolds her hands in her lap. All the tiny cracks in her armor that you have to be looking for just to see, but they’re the ones that give her away every time.

Because even tho she’d hoped— Even tho she’d thought, maybe Clarke’s relief at her winning and staying alive might mean something for them… Even tho she’d come here with every intention to open herself up to whatever Clarke was willing to give to her, to connect with her… she hadn’t at all anticipated the night to go quite like this. So intimate and bare, but not at all in the way she’d yearned for when she’d knocked on Clarke’s door, blood still hot from the battle and the look Clarke gave her across the arena.

This was sweeter than she’d anticipated, somehow deeper, and her hunger and love for this woman is all the more terrifying for it.

But Lexa does stay, because she really is quite terrible at denying Clarke anything within her power at that point. Not that she wants to anyway. Not now that Clarke looks at her from under her furs with soft questioning eyes, instead of darkened pools filled with betrayed disgust.

I would’ve liked to see Lexa settle down on the bed, above the furs with her back sloped against the iron headboard that is terribly uncomfortable against her skin, but she’ll bear it. And as she picks up the thread of what she’d been talking more to settle her own nerves than because she actually knows what she’s saying. She’s just babbling, which entirely unbecoming on The Commander but what else she can do when she’s this close to this woman?

And ok fine, she’s not a saint.

She does like the feel of Clarke’s eyes on her. She likes the thrill that rushes through her at her own boldness careless ease when she adjusts her legs, lifts her knee just for comfort and, oops, lets the loose hang of her nightgown slip down to pool at her hip. It’s an~accident~ she doesn’t bother to fix, just like when the thin strap falls down off her shoulder as well. She’s just comfortable in Clarke’s space so it’s totally, totally fine.

It wouldn’t escape her (or us, the faithful viewers) that Clarke doesn’t look away.

And I would’ve liked to see her watch as Clarke grew sleepier. Watched her very obviously struggle to stay awake by asking Lexa the most mundane questions could think of through her half-slurred haze as Clarke adjusts and readjusts and every time she finds herself that much closer. Until eventually there’s nothing for it, she’s just pressed against Lexa’s side, and it’s nothing to wrap an arm around Lexa’s waist and push close. Lean her head on Lexa’s shoulder and breathe in the scent of whatever soaps Lexa used in her post-battle bath (you hear that, Clarke. S o a p). And I would’ve liked the scene to end on Clarke drifting off to Lexa’s comfort. To the feel of Lexa matching her every breath. To the gentle weight of Lexa pressing a kiss she’ll insist in the morning that she was too sleepy to remember to the crown of her head.

That’s how I would’ve liked to see it go.