Any chance you guys will post the season finale analysis? I miss your clever insights!
We will! Soon(ish)! Erin finally finished her book, so she actually has the time and brain power to think about other things again, thank the lord, so should be coming in the next few weeks!
Bellarke go to the Renaissance festival and Bellamy is struggling with the historical inaccuracies. Friends to lovers please. :)
“We really have to got to this?” Bellamy grumbles, sticking his hands into his pockets and scowling like he’s on his way to execution.
Clarke rolls her eyes. “We’ve been in the car for an hour. If you didn’t want to come, you should have fought harder against it before we left. There’s nothing else out here, what are we going to do if we don’t go to the ren faire?”
“We could find something.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere and we already have tickets.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Come on, how bad could it be?”
“Jesus, don’t say that. Now one of us is going to fucking die. Of something historically inaccurate.”
“Because it would be so much better if we got bubonic plague.”
“At least it would be educational.”
“Seriously, you’re going to have fun. Just pretend it’s not actually supposed to be historical. Because it’s not. It’s like we’re watching–” she starts, and they both realize at the same time that the sentence can’t end well, because Bellamy has never seen a movie he can’t nitpick. He’s pointed out historical inaccuracies in Disney’s Robin Hood, which is about an anthropomorphic fox.
“Not like we’re watching what?” he asks, smirking.
“Never mind, you’re an asshole about everything.”
“Yeah, that’s kind of my deal.” He sighs. “I know it’s not trying to be accurate, I just don’t get the point. Why are you trying to recreate the past if you’re not trying to do it somewhat right?”
“Somewhat?”
“I’m not going to say we should be throwing back to medieval beliefs about gender or whatever, but, like–costuming.”
“Hail and well met!” says the attendant at the gate, and Clarke shows him their tickets before Bellamy can even try to respond to that.
The ren faire wasn’t her idea, any more than it was his. One of his coworkers wanted to thank him for his help on a project, and knowing how much he liked “that historical stuff,” she bought him two tickets to the faire. He was obviously too polite to tell her he wasn’t really into the idea, and once Clarke found out about it, there was no way she was just going to let the tickets go to waste. She’s never been to a ren faire before, and she’s always wanted to eat one of those giant turkey legs she’s seen in pictures.
Plus, seeing Bellamy getting worked up about stuff is always pretty fun. No one does righteous, semi-legitimate indignation like he does.
“So,” she prompts, once they’re inside, “costuming.”
Bellamy’s distracted, looking around the grounds with wary interest. It’s about what Clarke was expecting, a bunch of buildings made to look olden style, selling weapons and armor and dubiously mystical things.
“This is pretty much what I meant,” he says, with a vague wave of his hand to encompass the entire place. “Why bother doing this if it’s just–half-assed. You put on a costume that looks like your idea of renaissance clothing, but it’s just a costume.”
“God forbid anyone just wear a costume.”
“I just don’t get it. If you’re going to do it, why not do it right?”
“Because doing it right is hard, time consuming, and not cost effective. If people want to get an idea of history, they go to a museum. If people want to put on their favorite corset and talk like they’re on Game of Thrones, they come to a ren faire.”
“Which is why we shouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t know, I could use a new corset.”
Bellamy’s face goes still in exactly the way she was hoping it would, and she has to bite back on her own smile.
As far as Clarke’s concerned, she and Bellamy have been moving toward something, the last few months, although all of their friends would probably say that they’ve been moving toward it for years before this too. But Clarke’s been in other relationships, and so has he, and, well, these things take time.
But now, it finally feels like she’s ready. Maybe all these years really have been leading to her and Bellamy, and she needed every one.
“Did you have an old corset?” he finally asks.
“Back in college, yeah. I think most girls didn’t get through college without wearing a corset at least once.”
“Not sure that’s a universal.”
“It was at my college.”
He shakes his head. “Okay, so things we want to do include getting a corset and–what else? Like you said, we drove for an hour, we might as well the full experience.”
“I want a turkey leg.”
“You know turkeys are native to the Americas, right? But the whole renaissance faire aesthetic is based on our idea of medieval Europe, so it doesn’t make any fucking sense that that’s the stereotypical meal.”
“I still want to eat a giant turkey leg.”
“As long as you know it’s wrong.”
“Don’t worry, I got that. I also want to find something you’ll like.”
“Tell me more about the corset, that sounds promising,” he teases, and she grins.
“We can start there, yeah.”
It’s not actually where they start, though, because there’s a path to follow and they figure they might as well follow it, wandering through the shops, looking at whatever catches their eyes. Bellamy does like weaponry, which isn’t really a surprise, and he doesn’t nitpick that as much because it’s more about design than history.
“And you don’t care that the design isn’t historically accurate?” she teases.
He gives a flail a light, experimental shake, holding it with minimal strain of muscle. Clarke doesn’t often remember how built Bellamy is, because his clothes do a decent job of hiding it, but it’s hard to forget when he’s effortlessly lifting heavy shit like this. She could barely even hold the thing up.
“They’re not inaccurate,” he says. “They’re modern versions of weapons that were used. This might not be the exact grip they would have used, but it’s not trying to be.”
“Your distinctions don’t make sense to me, but what else is new. Are you going to get one?”
That seems to remind him what he’s actually doing, and he snorts and puts the flail down. “What am I going to do with one of these?”
“Enjoy owning it? It’s not like everything you buy has to be practical.”
“Everything I spend this much money on should be, though. Let’s check out the food.”
They’re selling pizza, which Bellamy finds even weirder than the turkey legs, but he ends up with a decent bowl of stew in a bread bowl, and Clarke gets her turkey leg, which tastes oddly and somewhat disappointingly like bacon, and they look around and judge people’s costumes in low voices.
“Except that guy,” Bellamy says, jerking his head to someone who’s dressed up as Marty McFly. “He’s got the right idea.”
Clarke smiles. “Screw historical accuracy, just have fun? I think everyone but you figured that one out.”
“Shut up.”
After, she gets some mead, and Bellamy gives her trivia about the history of alcohol, which is always appreciated, and they try out axe-throwing (because Bellamy likes axes) and archery (because Clarke used to do it in summer camp), and then she decides she’d better really work on the corset thing. Not that she actually has to buy one, but Bellamy at least should see how good she looks in them.
She doesn’t like to brag, but if she did, her breasts would be one of the first things she bragged about.
“So, do you have any advice for historically accurate corsets?” she asks, sorting through a rack. There’s really a lot of variety, it’s awesome. “What should I be looking for?”
“Uh, honestly, I’m not sure I can be academic and objective about corsets.”
“No?”
He shrugs. “Not to be shallow, but–yeah. Corsets really do it for me.”
“So I should just buy the hottest one.”
There’s a pause as he thinks about this. “I guess it depends on what you’re going for. Do you want to use this for a costume someday? Do you just want to have it around? What’s the goal of this corset?”
She has plenty of potential responses to give, but only one of them is particularly accurate. “Trying to do it for you. Front or side lacing?”
Another pause, and he asks,“Am I going to get to take it off you?”
“If you want to.”
“Then front, definitely.”
She pulls one out and holds it up, looking at him for the first time. His eyes are dark and a little unsure as he watches her. “This one good?”
“They’re all good, Clarke.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” She leans up and pecks him on the mouth. “I’m going to go try it on.”
He grabs her wrist and pulls her in for a much longer kiss, and she grins into it.
“Sorry, can I not try it on?” she teases.
“You can now,” he says. “Just–needed to do that first.”
“Before I get in the corset.”
“I didn’t want you thinking it was just that.” He brushes her hair back, still smiling. “I’m not totally shallow.”
“I know. Back in a sec.”
In terms of historical accuracy, she is aware that peasant top, corset, and blue jeans are about as bad as you can get. On the other hand, it’s not like she’s trying to be historically accurate. Even if that would probably be a great way to seduce Bellamy.
It’s not like she needs to put that much effort in. All she actually had to do was ask.
When she comes out of the dressing room, he’s examining some of the doublets they have on display in the deliberate way that suggests he’s trying to look like he isn’t waiting for her, but given his head jerks up at the first sound of the curtain moving, it’s not very convincing. His eyes sweep over her, all open admiration, and she can’t help a small smirk.
“What do you think?”
“Honestly? I really fucking love the ren faire.”
She laughs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
It still doesn’t feel like it’s enough to count as something just for him, though. Not that he’s not enjoying it–his eyes keep straying down as they walk–but it’s for her too. They’re both really fucking excited about the whole dating thing.
“I’m not actually having a bad time,” he teases, once he’s failed to be impressed by a bunch of leather-bound journals because the paper inside was too modern. “You know me. Nitpicking is a feature, not a bug.”
“Yeah, but–there must be something here for you.”
“Aside from the girl I’m in love with putting on a corset and kissing me?” he asks. “It’s going to be hard to top that.”
“Technically I kissed you before I put on the corset,” she points out, but she’s only halfway paying attention. “Come on,” she says, tugging him.
“Come on where?”
This weapons vendor not only has a great selection, but a great selection of axes specifically, a whole wall of them, lined up as if they’re just waiting for Bellamy to come try them out.
“See? Just for you.”
“You want me to buy an axe?” he asks. He’s clearly going for dubious, but his eyes are tracking over the racks, greedy.
“I want you to spend money on something that will make you happy. Like an axe.”
“I can’t believe your first idea for something to make me happy is an axe and not just another corset for you.”
“You can buy me another corset if you want. I’ll take as many corsets as you want to get me. But the axes are really cool.”
“What are we going to do, mount it in the apartment?”
“Why not? We have room.”
“I can’t believe your ren faire to-do list is turkey leg, weaponry, corset, and seduction.”
“Really? It was kind of a no brainer for me.” She kneels down, looking at the bottom row, eye caught on a shorter axe, dark wood hilt with blue binding. She’s not sure what makes an axe say Bellamy to her, but this one certainly does. “How about this one?”
He takes it from her, tests the heft in his hand, and Clarke can see the immediate desire to own it warring with his own common sense. “Seriously, what am I going to do with this?”
“Think of it as the first piece of your historically accurate ren faire costume for next year.”
“We’re coming back next year?”
“Well, we had fun, right? And I need somewhere to wear my corset.”
He snorts, but he gives the axe one more twirl, and then a smile breaks out on his face. “Fine. But I’m getting drunk next year.”
“Deal,” she says. “Can’t wait.”
As anniversary traditions go, going to the ren faire, getting drunk, and spending too much money on historically inaccurate costumes and weaponry might not be the most romantic. But it’s theirs, and Clarke wouldn’t give it up for anything.
