just one more chance (to put my arms in fragile hands) (1/?)

Pairing: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Rating: Mature || wc: ~1.7k
Summary: Mechastation is going on tour, but they’re missing one key member–a manager. Clarke steps in to help them out of a tight spot, but given her messy professional and romantic history with Bellamy, their lead singer, they may be headed for even more trouble than they are already in. Still, the show must go on, and as they try to work together, maybe, just maybe, the two of them are headed for an encore.

a/n:I am (somewhat) back on my Bellarke bullshit, and this idea has been banging around in my head for a few months now. Though I do have a whole series of scenes planned out, I have zero set plans about when I’m adding more. I’m trying to be gentle with myself as I get back into writing after a few years away, so having fun and taking it slow is the goal :)

* * * *

Clarke couldn’t help but pace up and down the hallway of Arkadia Records as she listened to the murmurs inside the conference room. She had already tried to occupy herself by reciting the names of bandmembers for each record framed on the wall. Raven had entered only ten—Clarke checked her watch wait, make that eleven—minutes ago. There hadn’t been any raised voices yet, so she must still be lining up their pitch to make Clarke their temporary band manager. Mechastation was about to head out on tour, short a manager due to an ‘unresolvable conflict’ with their previous one, as the press release had stated.

‘A hot mess of a coworkers-with-benefits relationship turned sour’ was what the tabloids had called it. Whatever it was, Clarke knew it had to have been pretty bad for Raven to have taken her call. She had expected to be completely ignored when she had risked reaching out to suggest that she step into the role. And yet, here she was, waiting to see if Raven would be able to convince her bandmates to take her on.

As she straightened dress yet again, Clarke realized silence had fallen in the room. Immediately, she steeled herself and just barely managed not to flinch as the door handle wrenched open.

And there he was: Bellamy Blake, lead vocalist of Mechastation, Rolling Stones hottest musician two years running, and mythology buff (though few knew that last fact). His brown eyes widened when he saw her standing in his way, and she felt her gut tighten as his whole expression slowly hardened.

And now on with the show.

Taking in a steadying breath, Clarke met his stormy expression with a tight, calm smile. She studiously ignored the way her stomach flipped at seeing in the flesh after nearly eight years apart. All of that didn’t matter now— at least that was what she kept telling herself.

His jaw clenched, and she pretended not to notice the whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the door handle tighter.

“Hear her out, Bellamy,” Raven called out from somewhere behind him.

He opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but then another voice unfamiliar to Clarke spoke.

“After Echo, you owe us, jackass.”

She prepared herself for Bellamy to lash out, but surprisingly, he stayed silent. After a beat, he turned slowly and retreated back into the room. Clarke immediately followed. She wouldn’t put it past him to barricade the door behind her.

Raven was standing by her chair across the conference room table, with Miller sitting to her left. To her right were two band members who Clarke recognized from their promotional material but whom she had never met. They had joined after—after Mechastation had been dropped by her mother’s label, after her and Bellamy’s spectacular implosion.

Bellamy had retreated to the far end of the room. He was back-to, staring out at the cityscape visible from the floor-to-ceiling windows with hunched shoulders.

“This is Clarke,” Raven said as she pulled out her chair to sit again. “You know Miller. This is Murphy, our drummer, and Emori, who manages all things stage and touring.”

Clarke gave them a professional smile as she approached the table. Miller gave her a curt nod before getting up to go to Bellamy. Not unfriendly, but not all that welcoming. Raven rolled her eyes, seemingly not worried about him.

Clarke tried to ignore her own concerns. She took a deep breath. “Nice to meet you all.”

Murphy gave her a leisurely once-over then tipped his head in acknowledgement. Emori did the same.

Tough crowd, Clarke thought, but she also knew it could’ve been worse. At least she had made it into the room.

“You’ll be working with Emori most closely for the tour. She’s the best thing that happened to us. Frankly it’s the only reason we tolerate Murphy’s bullshit, because if he goes, she goes.”

“Aw, love you too, Reyes,” Murphy drawled. Clarke realized he was the one who had called Bellamy a jackass earlier. They really must want to keep Emori, she thought wryly, if Bellamy put up with that attitude. Either that, or he had learned patience in the years since they had been together.

Raven ignored him. “She keeps Jordan and Green in check, so she’s worth ten times her weight in platinum albums.”

“Monty and Jasper are still with you?” Clarke asked, delighted. She had always had a soft spot for the goofy but sweet roadies for Mechastation.

“Yes,” Raven said with a fondly exasperated smile.

“Someone decided to promote those two idiots to be in charge of our lights and sound,” Murphy grumbled. “Never have I seen so many fires and explosions on a single tour leg. Walking disasters, the both of them.”

“And yet your sound is always impeccable and you rarely complain about how you’re lit,” Emori commented dryly.

Murphy shot her a dirty look, which made Emori grin widely. Raven shrugged her shoulders as if to say, see?

Emori broke her staring match with Murphy to address Clarke. “I can handle those two fine, but I’ll be honest, having an extra hand around who knows them is going to be a relief.”

The vise around Clarke’s chest eased a bit. Another band member seemed to be on her side.

Murphy spoke up next. “If it means Emori has to spend less of her time wrangling those imbeciles, then sure, it’s a yes from me.”

Raven closed her eyes briefly in relief. She turned to the two remaining members, and Clarke risked a glance in their direction as well. Miller was leaning against the window, arms crossed over his chest. Bellamy still refused to face them.

“Miller?” Raven prompted tightly.

He shrugged a single shoulder without giving anything away in his expression.

“Miller.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He and Raven stared each other down for a few moments before he sighed.

“I can cast a vote or whatever the fuck you want, but does it really matter?”

As usual, the most stoic member of Mechastation had boiled the problem at hand down to its essential core: even if everyone else was a yes, the only vote that really mattered was Bellamy’s.

Sensing the focus drawing in on him, he rolled his shoulders jerkily. The silence from him stretched, and so did the tension. Heart pounding in her chest, Clarke knew this was the make or break moment. It was time to make her case.

She could recite all of the praise and big-name-endorsements that she had received in the last year. She could choose to list the accolades and achievements she had accumulated in a shockingly short amount of time, even for someone who had been born and bred into the industry. She could tell him—all of them—exactly how qualified she was for this position.

None of it would matter, though, not in this case. For this position, they needed someone they could trust, and she had lost Bellamy’s trust a long time ago.

And so she said as much.

“You need a manager. Yesterday. I’m not saying I’m the best manager for you to have.” She heard Raven make a small, panicked noise, but she held up her hand. “What I’m saying is I’m the best manager for you to have for now. Your tour starts in a week, and you need someone who knows your band. I used to know you, so I at least have a leg up on other potential candidates. I know where you’ve been, and I know where you are going, or trying to, with this tour. I’ve read every interview each of you has given in the last year, listened to each album, each recorded live performance released by your label and every one on YouTube as well. I’m good at my job, and I know this band, at least as well as any other potential manager.”

She took a deep breath, and made her closing argument.

“You don’t have to trust me, Bellamy. You just have to trust that I will act in your best interests.” She paused, then hastily amended, “In the band’s best interests.”

His voice was tighter than a guitar string when he responded. “Your family doesn’t have a stellar track record of acting in my family’s best interests.”

Swallowing down her regret and just a bit of anger, Clarke calmly replied, “I am not my mother. Give me this chance to prove you wrong. And just say the word, and I’m gone.”

“And she’s just on for the tour Bellamy,” Miller said in his quiet but firm way. “It’s just a few months. And then she’s gone.”

“And then I’m gone,” Clarke confirmed.

Bellamy still didn’t turn around, but he unfolded his arms. He scrubbed his hand over his face, sighed, and that was when Clarke knew he had given in.

His bandmates knew it too. Raven smiled in relief, and Miller flashed her a grim flex of his mouth that seemed somewhat reassuring.

And then Murphy opened his mouth. “Bellamy, just don’t sleep with this one like you did with Echo.”

An awful silence settled over the room, and Clarke’s stomach dropped in trepidation.

Murphy shuffled up from his slouching position, a darkly gleeful look in his eyes. “Oh shit, you already did sleep with her, didn’t you? I thought your grudge was just cause her mother’s label fucked you over. Well, is this going to be a problem, because that might change my vote, if you are going to go there again with our manager. I can’t deal with that particular type of shitshow again.”

“I have no intention of going there again,” Bellamy bit out as he finally turned around. “You don’t have to worry about that, I fucking promise you that.”

He stormed out of the room without a single glance, or even a glare, in Clarke’s direction. The hard, bitter tone edge to his words made Clarke’s chest contract painfully and, for the first time since she had dialed Raven’s number, she started to think she was going to regret this decision.

kateemcintyre:

Tʜᴀᴛ’s ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ɢᴏɴɴᴀ ᴅɪᴇ, ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀʟ- sᴄʀɪᴘᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴄʀᴇᴇɴ

One of my absolute favorite things about reading and writing fic is the complete and total power the author has to fuck around. Like, we can make anything happen at all, and while we like the stories where our otp gets together and everyone’s happy, it doesn’t have to be good. You like this character? Okay, let’s expose their flaws and put them through hell as they try to hide and fix them. This ship? Oh, sure, they can be happy for awhile and then - BAM ! - one of them gets kidnapped, dies, leaves, and the other half is a wreck. Did you miss this minor plotpoint the first time around? Let’s expand on that, now it’s all you can think about! You clicked on this fic, now there’s no way out. Suffer.

zari-tarahzi-deactivated2021073:

idk wtf bellarke? is but i hope everything works out for them