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Nobody said it was easy
Itâs such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard
Oh, take me back to the start
This year, after almost 100 prompt submissions, they were voted down to only nine entries! Therefore, the last two days of Bechloe Week (that fall over Saturday/Sunday) will each get two prompts. If youâre participating, you can choose either one (or both!).
The prompts are as follows:
July 26th: âCause Iâm in love with you, dumbass!â
July 27th: Bed sharing/one bed
July 28th: Break up and/or make up
July 29th: Near death experience
July 30th: âYou donât know who I am, do you?â
July 31st: Neighbors AU or Famous AU
August 1st: Superpowers or Wait for me
When Bechloe Week 2021 starts, the prompt for each day will be posted. Anytime during that day, you can post your submission - this can be a fanfic, art, song, social media postâŠliterally whatever youâd like! You can also use the prompt as much or as little as youâd like - you can make the prompt the entire theme, or have it mentioned in passing, whatever sparks your creativity!
Tag it with âbechloe week 2021â to make it easier to find. Donât hesitate to ask if you have any questions!!
RATING: T.
PAIRINGS: Bechloe, Staubrey.
WORDS: 2.4K.
SUMMARY: Since quitting her job, Becaâs life is so boring, even more so now that all she really does is mope about the news of her ex-boyfriendâs upcoming wedding. Stacie, of course, has a plan to fix that.
NOTES: Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates AU!
***
âDude!â
Busy designing the interior for a new kitchen she would never be able to realistically afford herself, Beca glances up with a lifted brow at Stacieâs loud outburst. Whatever is on her screen is apparently entertaining enough to have her eyes lighting up with amusement. âWhat?â
âGet over here,â Stacie says, snickering around her lollipop as she motions Beca closer with a wave of her hand.
In response, Beca loudly groans, dropping her phone onto the couch beside her. âDude, seriously, I donât need to see any more d-pics.â Regardless, she lazily pushes to her feet, straightening out her wrinkled tank in the process.
âNo, itâs not that. Come look at this.â
Curiosity mildly piqued, Beca shuffles over to the kitchen with her bare feet tapping against the messy floor, unruly hair falling with no uniformity over her uncovered shoulders. Sliding in beside Stacie, she squints toward the screen. âYouâre looking for hookups on Craigslist now?â
âMaybe,â Stacie shrugs, pulling the lollipop from between her lips to point it toward the screen. âBut just read this.â
While she begins to mentally read the Craigslist listing in her headâsome kind of advertisement for two twenty-eight year old New York women seeking wedding datesâBeca mutters random syllables under her breath. âSounds kinda desperate,â Beca frowns.
Although she is not looking at Stacie, she can practically hear the smirk in her tone. âRight, but look whose wedding it is.â
[A/N: Oh, absolutely. I had to make it spooky though, because that's kind of my brand if I'm being honest.]
Read on AO3 | Send me Prompts here!
Beca felt the sting against her knuckles before her mind truly registered the pain. Even when it did fully reach the tip of her tongue in a discontent grunt, she still didnât want to admit that she had latched the hood of the truck wrong in her haste. She swallowed a heaping of air and watched as little spots of blood grew into bigger splotches.
She supposed it was late anyway and it would serve her well to clean the cuts, to bandage them, and to eat whatever leftovers were shoved in the back of her fridge that didnâtâ make her throat tighten with its sourness. Beca reached blindly for the grease-stained towel and pushed it against the throbbing pain.
The garage was situated three full miles from Pleasant Hill High, to be quite fair, the town was minuscule, and everything was three miles from everything else. Beca could hear the marching band play behind the school chant as she cradled her injury and typed in the code for the door. It beeped, almost in synchronization with the trumpets.
Beca stayed far away from Bulldog games, especially when the opponent happened to be the Garden Grove Geckos with their annoyingly green uniforms and their wide defense. She found no hatred towards the team and no care for football at all but it was public knowledge that a Gecko and a Bulldog should despise each other, and the prep school freaks didnât make it too hard.
A soft glow was the only thing alive in town from the large floodlights. Beca pulled open the creaky door of her truck and started it after it stalled twice. It smelled like gas and hot summer air. She cranked the windows down and started on her path home. Her eyes traced the bruises that were forming just below her knuckles.
The road home was enveloped with trees, her headlights catching dozens of reflectors that were nailed down or burned into bark to keep drunk kids from running into them. The crickets buzzed with the engine and even with the copious amount of insects hidden in the brush- Beca felt oddly alone.
McGuire road could do that to the sanest of people, at least, thatâs what the legend said. There was a type of trace that the stretching willow trees could lull anyone into, with its Spanish moss curling like dried flecks of paint. There had been more than one occasion where her headlights caught a clump at the wrong angle and Beca slammed harder on her breaks than ever before.
She tended to watch the yellow lines that split grey weather-worn asphalt as fear pricked at the back of her throat and eyes as if she was being pulled backward. Any radio station lost its speed about three miles in and those crickets even stopped chirping their backroads song.
Beca breathed through it and leaned further into the acceleration. She whispered affirmations to her truck and prayed that she kept up with her own pension to run. Never once had she seen the girl of McGuire, the specter that would rush at the side of your car bloodied and battered, asking for a ride before vanishing entirely, leaving nothing but a jacket behind.
They were just stories, of course, but she had no desire to live through them or test their validity. She would rather take her chance with the owner back at the shop who would blame her for the potent scent of blood and the Johnson's truck still idling in the first bay.
She couldnât see the light above the trees for the game, her last-ditch effort in seeking comfort. She was getting to the third mile, something that was marked by a yellow sign with a large black number in the center. It had been ripped from the ground ages ago and leaned against the guardrail for the small line of water plentiful with frogs and fireflies.
Beca could hear the babbling of the river and smell the putrid moss that collected at its sides. She let her eyes pull up for a moment, entranced by memories of scooping salamanders from the gummy earth and washing them clean in the icy brook. McGuire wasnât terrible when the sun was shining- it was even pretty, and peaceful.
She hit the breaks again, hard and fast enough for her seatbelt to cut into her throat and make her eyes water. Beca nearly choked on her own heart and her engine sputtered in protest at the quick halt. She was white-knuckling the steering wheel, swallowing back the pain in favor of fear.
A girl stood in front of her.
Not directly in the center of the road because no sane person would do that; but no sane person would be walking on this stretch of travel at this time a night. There was a flash of green and the girl who was stumbling along the grassy overgrown side turned and stared.
She lifted her hand to blanch out the headlights that Beca still had trained on her, breath hot in her own ears. Even through the blinding color of white on green, on denim, Beca knew that this girl had ghostly blue eyes.
She looked relieved at the thought of rescue and that hopeful disposition squashed any ideaâs the girl had about willing her truck forward. Damned the speed limits in this little town if she was pulled over by an officer at least she wouldnât be alone- at least they would have a gun and the phantom that stood before her in a cheerleading uniform would take the massive hint in the shape of a pistol.
The girl trotted over to her and Beca continued to stare forward, blinking slowly. She didnâtâ register the scent of metal coming from something other than her knuckles. Beca got a closer look, and the phantom, the ghostly creature, had a comical lizard sprawled against her chest and a mix of orange and green eyeshadow contrasting that blue.
She looked more like a tree frog than a gecko, but her teeth chattered like a cold-blooded animal all the same. Her nose was raw and she hugged her dark green jacket closer against her, also labeled with her school brand.
âOh, thank god you stopped.â She said, voice light âIâm lost.â
Beca swallowed again âHowâd you get all the way out here from a football game?â
The girl shrugged and worked her way through her russet hair. She peered down the dark road that Beca left behind and so the girl in the driver's seat, staring hard in the rearview mirror. There was nothing but black.
âPlease, I just need to get back to the bus before they take off and leave me in Pleasant Hill.â
All Beca could do was nod at the girl, the beautifully pale girl. She was hit with the scent of dirt and sweat when she settled into the truck and pulled the seatbelt over her chest. She looked at Beca expectantly before she eased off the break and went back to her game; the game where she stares at the painted yellow lines.
âReally, I appreciate itâ She breathed out âThereâs barely any service out here and- wow, itâs midnight already?â
Beca glanced at the glowing blue letters on her dashboard and nodded. She had let time pass too quickly herself, mopping up blood and closing up the shop. She knew she had to say something, had to interrupt the way this girl was staring at her.
âYouâre from Garden Grove?â
She chuckled âWhat gave it away? The giant Lizard or the jacket?â
âBoth. Thatâs a pretty fun uniform, didnâtâ know the mascot looked like that.â
âNot anymore, I donât think. This one is from 89â. My mom insisted I wear it to the rivalry for some⊠oh, I donât know, some tradition. New ones a lot fiercer.â
Beca took her word for it. She had never been one for school spirit. She had never been to a football game and the closest she ever got to the field was the top bleacher where she got close enough to the local Subway for a stable internet connection.
âAnd you⊠donât know how you got out here?â
The girl glanced at her and then into the mirror at the darkness that proceeded them. She wagered her options for a few seconds and settled deeper into Becaâs passenger seat. She spread her fingers against the dashboard as if searching for the heartbeat of the vehicle.
âit seems stupid, pointless, honestly. I got into it with one of the other cheerleaders. She was risking our flyers on the lift because her boyfriend broke up with her. Which yeah, tragic, super sad, but when it starts putting my girls at risk, I have a say in it.â
Beca looked her way for a moment âI get it. So, you stormed off?â
âYeah, I did. I went to the locker rooms but they were locked so I started walking the parking lot instead and then⊠guess I wandered too far in a blind rage and ended up here. Your city should really splurge for some street lights through here. I canât tell my hand from my foot out here.â
The mechanic smiled and shook her head. Yeah, that would help, but Pleasant Hill didnâtâ have a council like Garden Grove. It had broken windows and the sour scent of the paper factory down the river.
âOh, but youâre in peasant hill now, maâamâ Beca threw on the southern draw, thick and warm like sap. âOut here youâve got laborers and farmers, and nothinâ in between. Certainly not street lamps.â
The girl laughed and it was a gorgeous but sad sound. They were rounding up the final two miles of McGuire. It took a couple of right turns before they would hit the traffic of her fellow students leaving the game and gawking that she decided to show up in the first place.
âIs Pleasant hill always this damn chilly in October?â
Beca didnâtâ find it to be that cold. She had actually started sweating but blamed it on her nerves. Still, she rolled up the windows and flicked on the heat. The girl looked content with that and started to pick at the lint on her jacket.
âSchool is pretty far from this road, huh?â She asked, barely a whisper.
âItâs a bit of a way. The entrance to McGuire is twelve miles back that way and you were walking North⊠so.â
âDoesnât add up, then?â
âI wouldn't say that. Itâs easy to get turned around out here in the middle of the night. Thatâs why they tack so many reflectors to the trees. They canât risk anymore crashes, itâs a public hazard, really.â
âThereâs a lot of crashes out here then?â
Beca shrugged. The garage she works for had towed plenty of mangled vehicles in for spare parts. She had seen enough of them rolled into a tight ball to know it was statistically impossible for anyone to survive that. So she swallowed it back like the stinging in her hand and the duller ache in her throat.
âNot too many anymore. Only five or six fatal which sounds bad, but considering there used to be fifteen fender-benders every yearâŠâ
âBet those six people feel different.â
The girl had taken to staring out the window, nose close enough to the glass to make fog appear but none did. Maybe it was the coolness of her breath of the redness of her cheeks. Beca didnâtâ have much time to contemplate. The parking lot was mostly bare now, she had taken a bit of time to pull in past the last of the leaving cars.
The Garden Grove buses rumbled like a pair of lions. One was filled with deflated football players, sweaty and covered in grass stains. The other with cheerleaders that had wrapped themselves in similar sweatshirts- a mean-looking lizard stared back at Beca as she pulled her truck a few spaces away.
âLooks like we lost,â The girl had a phantom smile.
âYou can tell that quickly?â
âIf we had won it would be a lot louder. Thank you for rescuing me back there.â
âYeah, of course.â
The girl smiled, wide and charmingly as she leaned across the center council and pressed a cold kiss against Becaâs cheek. She fought the urge to pull back from the icy touch before melting into it, her skin ablaze.
The stranger pushed open the door to the truck and rushed onto the bus behind the last girl. She struggled to see anything past the darkness and let her engine idle with a deep growl. She conceded and tapped the wheel with her uninjured hand before glancing down at the now vacant seat. There was no trace of the girl except for a dropped temperature and a dusty green jacket.
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