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xxghost-zombie-jesus · 1 year

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HEY I HEARD SOMEONE SAY "ASK ME ABOUT BEETLELANDS" OVER HERE, DO YOU HAVE ANY HEADCANONS ABOUT THEM TO SHARE??

DO I HAVE ANY HEADCANONS? DO I HAVE ANY HEADCANONS ?! YOU BET YOUR ASS I DO!

And I'll do you one better! I'm currently slowly working on a Beetlelands fic based off the song "Your Stupid Face" by Kaden MacKay. Eventually I'll finish and post it, but I think you deserve an excerpt.

Barbara and Adam shared a look, having one of their silent conversations, and Beetlejuice was left wondering once again how the hell they did that. They came to some conclusion or understanding or something because both gave a decisive nod. "Maitlands 2.0?" Barbara asked. "Maitlands 2.0," Adam echoed, giving her an encouraging smile. "Wh-" Beetlejuice went to ask again, but Barbara leaned up and pressed her lips to him, stunning him so thoroughly that he froze. Completely. His eyes were wide, breath withering in his chest, and his hands shook just the slightest amount at how tense he was. Barbara pressed slightly harder against his lips, which were firmly closed in his confusion-fueled panic. This was is, this was them fucking him over with kindness and the false pretense of love before they stabbed him in the back, and threw him out on his ass. Like Lydia, and his Ma, and everyone before, every single person before in his long undead-dead not-life. No, no. He was being so stupid, this meant something. This meant something. Something good? No, no, something great. Barbara went to pull away and he moved without thinking, chasing her lips and he slowly, hesitantly, brought his hand up to cup the back of her neck, hyper-aware of his claws resting against her delicate skin. He gently played with the hair at the nape of her neck, noting that, yes, it was as soft as he had always thought. Barbara laughed against his mouth and deepened the kiss oh-so-slightly, thumb still brushing over his cheekbones. She nipped his lip and he opened obediently, allowing her to take the lead, but she simply continued to nibble his lip. She pulled away and he made an involuntary noise in his throat, opening his eyes which he hadn't realized he closed. Barbara stepped away and Adam took her spot. Slower than she had, he leaned in and wrapped his arms around Beetlejuice's shoulders, and he, too, kissed Beetlejuice. Once again all his thoughts flatlined as Beetlejuice took a moment to respond, though much quicker than with Barbara. He melted against Adam's chest, hands hovering awkwardly over his sides, fingers curled slightly. Adam ran a hand though Beetlejuice's hair and he purred into the kiss, and oh, he had never made that noise before. Finally he let his hands wrap around Adam's waist, and grip at the fabric of his shirt as he pushed closer, torn between continuing the kiss or pressing back into Adam's hand in his hair, but Adam made the decision for him, pulling his head forward ever-so-slightly and opening his mouth. Beetlejuice responded in kind, and totally didn't shiver slightly when Adam pushed his tongue inside of his mouth. Finally Adam, too, pulled back, though he stayed close enough to keep a hand in Beetlejuice's hair. Despite being probably the tamest kisses he had ever had the pleasure of having–lacking the desperate push of two people who simply let drug-borne lust take over in a desperate bid to get both of their rocks off as quickly as possible, and absolutely no blood left in its wake–it left him flushed and breathless, shoulders heaving as he stared at the couple in front of him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to get his thoughts to form into words, but all he could utter was, "woah." Barbara giggled and covered her mouth. "Is that a good 'woah'?" Beetlejuice could only nod, a lopsided, lovestruck grin on his face.

Ehehe.

As for headcanons, I feel like it's gonna be reaaaal slowburn. I'm talking like. Months before the Maitlands are even comfortable enough to call Beej a friend, let alone start having a crush on him.

When he first comes back it's...awkward. They can tell he's genuinely remorseful for what he did, but that doesn't make it okay. That doesn't excuse his behavior. Not even just the threatening to murder and fake exorcism stuff, either. The groping and kissing and inappropriate comments were all way too far.

He doesn't get that, so what's a little kissing and ass slapping between friends? Or a dirty comment here and there? They have to have a conversation with him about how, no, people don't act like that. They don't know about demons, or their etiquette, but humans shouldn't act like that. and it takes a while, but it finally clicks for him and he realizes Oh. He was the asshole. They genuinely didn't like it. He stops pretty quickly after that, with some slip ups that he has to be warned about.

He goes back to teaching them how to be ghosts. That isn't something that he needs to convince the Maitlands on, in fact, it's their idea, pretty quickly. Like, sure, they still aren't comfortable around him but he does know his shit. And before everything went to hell in a handbasket before, the scaring lesson was fun! And there's so much they don't know.

Like how to eat, or teleport, or conjure stuff. And do all ghosts have a pocket dimensions or is that a demon thing? And what about the clones? There's a lot they don't know and want to understand, and, for a long time, these lessons are the only time they're alone together. And they aren't professional, not by a long shot, you have three goofballs, one of which couldn't be serious if his not-life depended on it, but its far from how things were before.

and its during lessons like this, and conversations they have with beej at dinner or during family night, or even when he comes to them of his own accord needing their help or with something for them that they start to learn about beej. and he about them.

and they start to grow closer, you know? they go from acquaintances to family members to friends, and soon they find that yes. he actually did change, for the better. or maybe this is how he always is and something was just Up when they first met him. either way, they much prefer this beetlejuice to the maniac, angry, desperate one before.

they spend more time together alone, usually when lydia isn't around or beetlejuice gets in trouble annoying delia or charles, and after months and months of living together and becoming friends the maitlands realize that. oh. they like him. both of them. and they don't know how to breech the subject because they don't want to make things awkward, or scare him off, so they just. don't say anything.

at this point they have a FWB arrangement going on, because, well, they have to admit, all of beej's primping and preening about his sex life had gotten them curious, and they wanted to know if he could put his money where his mouth was. and it turned out he could.

and then beej is the one to come to them because he realized that his silly little infatuation with the two ghosts had bloomed into a full blown crush. and he had to tell them or he'd explode or have to run away. what was the worst that could happen? oh yeah that was bad, but unlikely.

so he tells them, and they reciprocate, and start dating. things aren't smooth, its awkward and they have their fair share of problems that include beej getting scared and fucking off for a little bit until he's dragged back and forced to talk about his feelings, but in the end it works out great.

as for general headcanons:

Beetlejuice calls Barbara and Adam all manner of nicknames, but tends to stick with Sexy and Babs most often.

Adam calls beej Bug, Buggy, and Bugsy. Barbara calls him Beet, Beebles, and Juicy. They both call him Love-bug, Ladybug, and Junebug.

They keep their separate rooms, Beej likes to have his own space after all, but he sleeps with them more often than not, and tends to be in the middle. It works out because he's usually very warm and the Maitlands can actually feel it.

Also he's a huge cuddler and likes to drape himself across their laps, even when they're busy.

Adam likes to play with Beetlejuice's hair, it's surprisingly soft despite it sticking up every-which-way, and it always makes the demon purr which Adam thinks is The cutest thing.

Barbara loves Beej's wyrm form, especially when he's small, and its only in this form that puppydog eyes work on her. She's immune at any other point.

Beetlejuice thinks Adam's the better cuddler, but Barbara is better to lay on. He will never say this out loud. He does constantly complain about Barbara's cold ass feet though.

His love languages are gift-giving, acts of service, and quality time. Oh and touch.

On the other hand he is bad at words of affirmation. Like, he could not give someone a compliment in a not back-handed, rude, or plain incomprehensible way if his not-life depended on it.

In the same vein his accepted ones are words of affirmation, quality time, and touch. He hates when people do things for him because he can't understand the concept of people just wanting to do something to be nice vs them expecting something in return.

Adam helps Beetlejuice deal with some of the more negative quirks of his autism (aka gives him Healthy coping methods). This one is bc I hc Beej, Adam, and Lyds are all autistic ;3c

Beetlejuice helps Adam be more unapologetically autistic and not mask it so much. No one here is gonna judge, after all.

Barbara helps Beetlejuice when he has nightmares, and in return he'll stay awake with her when she's too upset to sleep. He thinks he's very bad at being comforting but he can be a good listener, surprisingly, and actually can have some good advice! also he's a great cuddler. he gives a mean hug. real bear hug, picks her up and swings her around a bit kind of hug that always makes her laugh.

Beetlejuice helps Adam and Babs withs the model. Babs is the one who carves all the model buildings and Adam paints them. Beetlejuice since he can leave the house makes sure its 100% accurate and keeps them up to date.

He also likes to get Barbara new plants for her attic garden. So many so that it ends up bleeding out onto the roof.

#veej's rambles #beetlelands #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice broadway #barbara maitland #adam maitland #asks from the recently deceased #wee i hope you like my inane rambling and headcanons #i have more but this is all i can think of off the top of my head right now #i hope to eventually get one or all of my stupid fics finished UvU. one day

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livsspecialinterests · 1 year

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I wrote a horny fic, please can the other Beetlejuice perverts please validate me before I get too embarrassed? <3

#this is going to be the last fic i write before february #if anyone sees me talking about writing fics before then please tell me off #beetlelands #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice

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fanficbutnow · 6 months

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Posted my last fic with a barebones summary, but I’ve now written a proper one:

Born into a remote commune, Adam has always known that he was being treated slightly differently than the other kids. The adults constantly seem to be monitoring him, he’s barred from certain hobbies and activities, and he’d always been instructed never to look at or show anyone his right arm.

Born as the daughter of the commune leader, one thing has always been made clear to Barbara: she is never allowed to leave. Especially as the black-and-white striped soulmate tattoo she has is said to be a sign that the upcoming demon apocalypse is near.

Born of the Netherworld to a mother who hates him, Beetlejuice longs not to be alone. The stream of newly deads in the processing area are nice, but temporary. He does have one hope however: the soulmate tattoos on each of his arms

Aka, Beetlelands soulmate au where the Maitlands were raised in an anti-demon cult.

Next chapter should be up over the next days!

#beetlejuice musical #ao3 #fanfic #beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfiction #bjtm #bjtmtmtm

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morphlingunderscore · 1 year

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📓

I have a Beetlejuice fic in the works (a lot of it is still just in my mind also) thats a . roleswap au Sort Of. Beej is a human(?) who buys the Maitlands' house a couple years after they died, n' the Maitlands have been busy chasing off other buyers. They all have a, uh... Rocky start to their relationship, and neither party is particularly fond of eachother in the beginning. It's gonna become a Beetlelands fic tho :]

Also, contemplating having the Deetz' family move in across the street either partway through or early on. If a dubiously human Beej isn't getting harassed by a goth teen, what's the point??

#ask games #beetlejuice #thank u mosss :] aooaoaoa

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barrygeuse · 2 years

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so many conflicting feelings about beetlelands. on one hand, if you set up a really good fix-it fic scenario and they all have a LOT of time to process and think about things, it can be a lovely dynamic.

on the other hand. that should be me

#beetlejuicers (thats what im calling beetlejuice simps. just coined it rn) you can rb this too it goes both ways but KNOW it's about a&b #listen it makes me want to tear my hair out #the art is beautiful i think it's a sweet dynamic especially with barb adding a bit of her own chaos to the mix #BUT GOD I'D BE LYING IF I SAID IT DIDNT MAKE ME FEEL A LITTLE BIT WEIRD BECAUSE #i just wanna kiss the maitlands... i want to hold them .. .. . .... not to be an autistic FREAK bUT im an autistic FREKAGBHJSDF #beetlejuice barry

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cirilee · 4 years

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It’s Beetlejuice Fic Rec Time

Decimal Increments (GEN! :D i honestly wish there were more of those; romance is fine and good but gen fics usually delve a bit better into the characters) Adam gets kidnapped by a monster! Barbara and (a reluctant) Beetlejuice will team up to save that cute man! random comment: barb/adam and beets feel and act like actual adults here (and i love delia in part 2) - very much good dialogue !! i’ve reread this one a few times already (also very good physical hurt/comfort scenes with bee in this one!!)

House Rules the typical Beej returns fic, and it got everything you need: Beej getting to be heroic and snarky, wholesome friendship between him and lydia, maitlands get a cute romance with him !! random comment: an absolute classic, you will devour this in one go and will immediately crave more >u<

Mother Thing fluff all the way, and barbara taking care of beej random comment: i love the lore in this and the science of what beetlejuice is - very cool talks of anatomy and how he came to be ;V;

Devil in my Bloodstream oh no you guys, the angst ... beetlejuice gets kidnapped by his mom, as she wants to “take back what is hers” random comment: this one’s written by the absolutely awesome @bi-tlejuice go check them out they are so amazing at writing stuff that will tear your heart out!!

Hey, Somebody’s on the Roof SIGH OH WOW. the absolute perfect fic, if you want both lydia and beej to just talk it out post-musical ;V; random comment: you will cry, your chest will hurt, you will have all sort of emotions, go thank @peggydoodles afterwards, they’re responsible

feel free to add on to this !!! UwU

#beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice musical #beetlejuice broadway #btj musical #beetlelands #goldenbeetle #fic rec #THIS HAS BEEN IN MY DRAFTS AND I FORGOT ABOUT IT #AHHHH

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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

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one day, a horn grew from my head (part one)

Beetlejuice, but BJ is more visibly demonic, there’s world building for the Netherworld, and he has a partner helping him...

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- the whole being dead thing! -

A blue truck rattled up the gravel path, racing to beat the storm beginning to brew up in the sky. Rain was already starting to come down, drizzling over the clouds of dust kicked up by the tires. The headlights shone on the wall of an old house in the distance. From the darkness of the surrounding greenery, sharp teeth spread in a wide grin.

“It’s almost time,” said the demon. “Took ‘em long enough. I thought he’d never get back.”

There was stirring at his side. He lightly whacked the figure next to him. His suit was sopped with rainwater, making the sleeves dangly and heavy as they hung around his wrists. It was odd to be in such merciless weather after having to deal with the acid rain back down in the Netherworld. Sometimes he couldn’t help but turn his head up to the downpour and let it run over his face in refreshing waves of coolness without it feeling like his flesh was melting off of his skull.

When his partner didn’t get up, he lightly poked her in the ribs with a claw. She squealed.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s time to wake up.”

The mud-slathered, blood-stained young demon sat up straight from her curled position against his side. She blinked, and the moonlight caught on her bright hazel eyes, making them glow.

“He’s here,” the larger demon pointed a black-clawed finger at the parked truck and the figure walking to the front door.

The smaller demon flicked her comically large pointy ears at the vehicle, then looked back up at him, eyes shining. A moth landed on one of her horn nubs.

The larger of the two smirked again, alligator teeth flashing. “It’s showtime, kid. Let’s put this plan into action.”

“So, crazy story,” Adam began, taking off his rain-spattered coat. “I got all the way to Howard’s store, and Howard tells me they’re all out of stock.”

“Oh no,” Barbara vocalized her dismay.

“But I asked Howard Junior to check the back for me--”

“Smart.”

“--so he sends little Howard the Third and long story short, I got the last bottle of Manchurian tung oil!”

“That’s great!” Barbara beamed. “Now you can finally finish the crib?”

“Yup!” Adam said, ripping off the cloth of a shiny, wood-carved crib. It was his pride and joy in a strange sort of woodworking way. “It should be ready before the O'Brien’s baby gets here!”

“She had it yesterday.”

Adam blinked. “Oh. Well--” He fumbled for just a moment. “Doesn’t matter! They’ll get it soon! They can put the baby in the…sink…in the meantime!”

Barbara laughed. It was a sweet, high sound that made Adam’s heart flutter.

“That’s definitely a place to put a newborn,” Barbara said.

“It’s round!” Adam said. “It can hold an infant. Plus, it doubles as a bathtub, so you can kill two birds with one stone!”

Barbara chuckled. She was shining one of her newest pottery jugs- her latest hobby. Last week it was painting. The week before that it was embroidery. And the week before that it was composting. He wondered how long this interest would last.

As Adam was shining one of the bars of the crib, rubbing his thumb over the pristine wood, he said, “Maybe we can keep it for ourselves.”

Barbara dropped her jug and it shattered into a thousand orange shards. Adam jumped, nearly ripping the bar right off of the crib. He stood up quickly.

“Are you alright?” he sputtered.

“Yeah, yeah,” Barbara said, haphazardly rushing for the broom. She began sweeping up the broken pieces of clay, then peered over at Adam. “What would we use a crib for?”

“You know…” Adam gestured vaguely.

“A baby,” Barbara smiled softly.

Adam smiled, too. “Yeah.”

“I mean…we do have this whole house,” Barbara said.

“It is a big house,” Adam nodded.

“And we already have a minivan.”

“A minivan is a family car.”

They smiled dreamily, imagining what it would be like to have a baby in their household, babbling adorably, snoozing in their arms, calling them “mama” and “dada”, having toys everywhere, getting in danger as they crawled around, crying, hating them when they grew up…

Adam swallowed thickly. He shifted, and the floorboards creaked below him. “Oh!” He pointed to the ground. “But-- but the floor! Listen to this creaking!” He stepped, and it creaked again, perfectly on time. “We can’t have a family with floors like this! It can be a safety hazard!”

Barbara nodded energetically. She put the broom away and began walking over. “You are absolutely right! Someone could get hurt!”

“Yeah! And we don’t want that to happen!”

“Not at all!”

“We have to do something about it before we have our own baby.”

“Among other things. We have to baby proof this whole house!”

“Yes! Great idea! We should get on that as soon as possible!”

“You’re so right! As soon as possible! So we can get on that baby right away afterw--”

There was then an awful shriek, and Adam realized it came from below as the wood seemed to fold inwards, dropping he and his wife into the darkness below the house. The last thing he remembered was Barbara’s horrific screaming, and then something cold and hard smacking into the back of his skull…

…and far above, in the light of the house, two heads peered into the hole, one with spiky lime green hair and the other wearing a red and black helmet.

“Damn,” Beetlejuice said. “I knew they were going to die, but that was quite the fall.” He stood up straight. “Eh. Still a better death than others I’ve seen. At least their bodies will still be intact. Them being cut in half would make things WAY harder.”

The Jockey nodded at his side. She was leaning treacherously into the hole, so Beetlejuice grabbed her by the back of the helmet to keep her from falling in. He tugged her backwards.

“They’ll get up soon,” Beetlejuice said. “So we gotta get ready. Prepare. Where’s the book?”

The Jockey looked around mutely. Beetlejuice learned rather quickly that she wasn’t much of a talker. He had never actually heard her voice before so he didn’t know if she even could talk, though she did nod when he asked if she could. Whether that was the truth or a lie to save face, he didn’t know, but he didn’t really care because they communicated together rather fine. It was quite a bit easier than he was expecting once he had all of her mannerisms down.

“It’ll show up eventually,” Beetlejuice said, checking the watch he didn’t have. His sleeves were still dripping with rainwater. “In the meantime,” he gazed around the house. “Pretty big place they got here. And for only two people?”

The Jockey pointed to the crib.

“Right. They had been discussing starting their own family,” Beetlejuice nodded. He glanced back into the hole for a moment. The two bodies at the bottom were still in the same position as they had been a minute ago, but the pool of blood gathering around their heads had grown slightly larger. Their lights were definitely knocked out cold. “Hopefully the woman hadn’t actually been pregnant. Nobody likes ghost fetuses. They’re so weird. All crawly and goopy and malformed…” He shuddered.

The Jockey laughed. She was capable of making noises, just didn’t like talking for reasons Beetlejuice still didn’t know.

“What about you? Did you have a house like this? Big? Small? Rich? Poor?”

She looked over at him, flicking one of her ears. She was quiet, as usual.

“I only ask because my housing unit back in the Netherworld was terrible,” Beetlejuice said. “I was once chained in this abyss for, like, a hundred years. It was the worst. Really makes you miss normal houses, doesn’t it?”

The Jockey nodded faintly, her lips pursed, eyebrows knitted together as she stared at him.

There was suddenly a thump as a thick book appeared out of seemingly nowhere, crashing to the ground on a rather ugly green and brown carpet. Beetlejuice picked it up.

“The rulebook,” he presented it to his partner. “Let’s see…” He flipped open to the first few pages and began reading, “The Handbook For The Recently Deceased. Chapter One: The Netherworld. All ghosts should proceed directly to the Netherworld.” He closed it abruptly. “But that isn’t gonna happen! These lovebirds need to stay here with us and haunt their house!”

He thrusted out a hand and the fireplace roared to life, crackling with bright orange flames. The Jockey leapt around to it, the glow making her eyes shine. She followed him over to the mantle as he carelessly threw the handbook into the inferno.

“Whoops!” Beetlejuice exclaimed. “Damn. There goes the book. Now they’ll never get to the Netherworld.”

The Jockey tittered softly. At the same time, there was the sound of shifting from within the hole.

“Barbara…? Are you alright?”

“Oh crap!” Beetlejuice grabbed the Jockey by the arm and yanked her behind the couch with him to hide. They both crouched low, listening as the couple crawled their way out of their tomb.

“Holy smokes! That was some fall!”

“I guess the floor gave out…?”

“I didn’t think it was that weak. Are you alright, huh?”

“I think so…”

“Oh my god--”

“You are like ice!”

“You’re freezing!”

They must have discovered their body’s drop in temperature.

“I’ll make a… I don’t remember making a fire…”

The Jockey’s gaze shot over to Beetlejuice. He shrugged.

“Had to destroy the book somehow, kid,” he whispered.

“That’s so weird. It’s not hot…”

“I think we should consider ourselves lucky. A fall like that could have been bad. I mean, my whole life flashed before my eyes like it does in the movies. I started asking myself the big questions, like… Why are our bodies still in the basement?”

“What did you say?”

The Jockey grimaced behind the couch.

The couple then began screaming, though Beetlejuice didn’t exactly know why. He couldn’t risk blowing his cover just yet to check.

“Adam! I don’t think we survived that fall!”

“…What? You mean… Oh god.”

“Here we go, kid,” Beetlejuice whispered to the Jockey. “It’s our time to shine.”

“I know… I know. There’s still so much I wanted to do.”

“I know, me too, but-- Hey, hey. We’re still together, right? We’re still in our house, all of our stuff is here! So what if we are…dead… That’s bad, obviously, but hey! Maybe nothing has to change!”

Just then, Beetlejuice and the Jockey popped up from behind the couch.

“Hi.”

The Jockey waved.

Barbara and Adam whirled around to them. They all stared at each other in a beat of silence. Beetlejuice held up his hands.

“Do not be afraid,” he said. His sharp black claws didn’t help the statement very much. “You are dead. I am also dead.” He pointed to the Jockey. “So is she. Maybe we can help each other out. What’s up?”

The Maitlands screamed and scrambled away as he advanced over to them with his hand outstretched. He backpedaled in reaction, pointy ears shooting up. He had not been expecting them to act like that. Good thing he had a child with him.

“Work your magic, kid,” he said to the Jockey.

The Jockey did as she was told, slowly walking over to the Maitlands with her hands up, palms out, claws visible, as if she were approaching a pair of spooked horses. The Maitlands seemed to relax slightly in the midst of the young girl, but then got weirdly defensive looks on their face. They bustled around her, forming a barrier of sorts between her and Beetlejuice. She blinked over their guard.

“Hey!” Beetlejuice yelped. “That’s my jockey!”

“Who the hell are you?!” Adam yelled.

“Help! I am help!” Beetlejuice said. “I’m here to help you both! And so is she! So can I have her back now? Pretty sure we have a whole codependent, separation anxiety thing going on here.”

Barbara peered at the small form of the Jockey, then at Beetlejuice protectively, not budging. “Are you her father?”

“What? No!”

Adam’s eyes somehow got even wider than they already were. “Did you kidnap her?!”

“How did you even come to that conclusion?”

But Adam and Barbara were already wrapped up in the theory, becoming even more fierce and protective around the Jockey. Not that they were very intimidating. They had about the menace of a pair of pomeranians, and even that was being generous.

“You’re not laying another finger on her!” Adam yelled.

“I didn’t kidnap her!” Beetlejuice yelled back, exasperated. Hints of orange-red were beginning to flicker around the crown of his head like the first sparks of a fire. If these two newly-deads weren’t so damn attractive he probably would have clawed their faces off by now and found a new couple to get a living human to say his name.

Barbara turned to the Jockey, crouching slightly to meet her eyes beneath the rim of her helmet. “Sweetie, did this mean man take you from your parents?”

“I didn’t take her from anyone!”

“That sounds like something a kidnapper would say,” Adam said, narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion.

“I’m not a kidnapper!!”

The Jockey quickly held up her hands again, shaking her head. She weaved around the protective forms of Adam and Barbara and darted over to Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into his side possessively. He glared at the Maitlands for a moment before cooling off, easing his stare. The red and orange fire beginning to light through his hair went down.

“I did not kidnap her,” he reiterated. “She is my partner.”

Adam opened his mouth.

“NOT LIKE THAT!” Beetlejuice cut him off before he even got the chance to say something. “Partner in business. My business partner. We work together.”

“You work with…a child?” Barbara asked.

“She’s more useful than half of the adults I know.”

The Jockey stood up a little straighter at that.

Adam looked Beetlejuice up and down. “You said you were here to help us…”

“Right!” Beetlejuice perked up. “Yes! We are!”

“Help us with what?” Barbara asked.

“To learn how to scare!”

“Scare? Scare who?”

“The people who bought your house!”

At that moment, two men dressed in delivery outfits came in and began grabbing everything they saw. Barbara and Adam tried to stop them, but their yelling and waving did little to help. Beetlejuice and the Jockey watched on in amusement.

“They can’t see us!” Adam finally exclaimed.

“Keen observation, Adam,” Beetlejuice said. He took the crop from the Jockey’s holster and began waving it around as if he were giving a presentation. “The living ignore the dead. We are invisible to them. And they’re so wrapped up in their stupid little lives that they usually just ignore the strange and unusual unless you make them, which is why we’re here.”

“This is all so much to take in,” Barbara said, running her fingers through her hair.

“Hey, I get it,” Beetlejuice said. “It’s a lot, but it’s okay! You two are special! You died together! That NEVER happens! Unless it’s a murder-suicide, which makes for a VERY awkward eternity.”

“How did you die?” Adam asked warily.

Beetlejuice laughed. “Oh, that’s cute. I was born-dead. Never got to experience human stupidity.”

“And her?” Adam nodded at the Jockey.

“Horse racing accident,” Beetlejuice said. He thought it had been obvious from her muddy and bloody silks and the hoofprints branding her body. He tapped a claw on her helmet. “She doesn’t talk very much, so don’t expect an answer from her.”

“Wait-- how can you be born dead?” Barbara blinked.

“I’m a demon, Babs, try to keep up.”

Both Barbara and Adam’s eyes widened. Thankfully, they didn’t freak out like they did the last time.

“You’re a WHAT?!” Adam yelped.

“So is she!” Beetlejuice pointed to the Jockey.

“You don’t…look like demons…” Barbara said hesitantly.

“Well, that’s just rude,” Beetlejuice looked down at the Jockey. “I swear, Breathers read the Bible once and think all demons are the same.”

The Jockey nodded with a tiny giggle.

“Demons aren’t exactly what you’re used to,” Beetlejuice said to the confused faces of the Maitlands. “If you weren’t already ghosts, my true form could strike you dead simply by being in your midst. I can kill a Breather with a single stare! But I appear in this form,” he gestured vaguely, “to seem less intimidating. Don’t want to scare off any potential clients.”

“You need to work on that,” Adam said.

“I can go more demonic whenever I want, though,” Beetlejuice went on, ignoring him.

He then snapped his fingers and a pair of black-and-white striped horns burst out from the crown of his head. A long, arrowhead black tail slithered out from his waist as his legs painlessly bent backwards into a more hock-jointed position, large talons pressing out from his ratty shoes. The Maitlands stared in shock. The Jockey looked enraptured, her ears fluttering.

“Like so,” He presented himself to them. “And this isn’t even what I REALLY look like.”

The Jockey clapped energetically. Beetlejuice grinned at her toothily.

“I was born a demon,” Beetlejuice said, looking back at the Maitlands. “Therefore, I was born-dead. She,” he drummed on the Jockey’s helmet, “became a demon. That happens if a ghost becomes too consumed with bitterness, grief, or anger and can’t get over their deaths.”

Barbara and Adam both shot worried looks at the Jockey from the implication behind Beetlejuice’s words. Beetlejuice didn’t blame them for that one. It was uncommon for ghosts to become demons; only if their deaths were REALLY bad. And for a child to turn, no less…

“Anyway,” Beetlejuice continued. “There’s a lot of feuds between the two types of demons because born-demons perceive turned-demons as “falsies” or “dirty half breeds” since they used to be humans and weren’t born with their horns and whatnot.” He tapped one of the Jockey’s little horn nubs for emphasis. “It’s just this whole thing. We get along just fine, though!”

As if to prove it, he and the Jockey smiled innocently, showing their sharp teeth. The Maitlands blinked back at them. Adam glanced over Beetlejuice’s shoulders as the movers continued to haul out furniture.

“So you can really help us get our house back?” he asked.

“You bet your sweet dilf ass I can!” Beetlejuice replied animatedly.

Adam’s cheeks flamed to an adorable shade of pink. Barbara looked slightly startled before barking, “There’s a child here!”

The Jockey waved a dismissive hand and mouthed, “I’ve heard worse.” She then tugged on her filthy silks for emphasis of sorts.

“Please say yes!” Beetlejuice said, trying not to beg. “Nobody else can help you! We’re all you got!”

Adam and Barbara cast one more dismayed look at their departing furniture, then said, “You’re hired.”

Electric green shot through Beetlejuice’s hair like the lightning bolts during an acid storm down in the Netherworld. His tail had to be wagging at the speed of light. He shook the Jockey’s arm eagerly.

“They said yes!!” He yipped, and the Jockey grinned up at him gleefully. He looked at the Maitlands. “You won’t regret it!”

The Maitlands looked slightly worried.

“I sure hope so,” Adam muttered.

--- --- --- --- ---

Jaws dripping with gore, the many-limbed, razor-clawed amalgamation towers over the smaller creature on the street, holding a heart between its teeth. The smaller creature raises its blunted, chipped, and ripped off claws in a sign of weakness, spiked tail tucked between its legs. The abomination devours its heart, then hisses in its ear, “D o n ‘ t e v e r t o u c h h e r a g a i n.”

--- --- --- --- ---

Beetlejuice’s eyes popped open. He stared into the darkness all around him, thick and tall like walls of onyx. Rain was still falling outside. Normal rain.

There was shifting at his side. The Jockey curled up tighter against his side, finding him warm despite the Dead being deathly cold. Finding his presence comforting despite him being awful.

She didn’t need to sleep, and yet she did. Perhaps to retain a shred of normalcy in her unlife. The Maitlands seemed to be the same way from the soft snoring coming from the other corner of the attic. It was too dark to see them, but they were there.

People were there.

His tail was still out, so he draped it over the Jockey’s ankle, testing her reaction to the touch. Even in sleep, she stirred, ears flicking slightly. She slumped over completely into his lap, her head cushioned by one of her arms, pointed tongue caught between her sharp teeth. Beetlejuice snorted. He poked her helmet.

“I don’t know how you sleep in this,” he said.

There was no answer. Even if she weren’t asleep, she wouldn’t give him one. That was okay. He didn’t mind her silence.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fanfic #beetlejuice fic #beetlelands #demon!jockey #lawrence beetlejuice shoggoth #adam maitland #barbara maitland #the jockey #blumjuice #one day a horn grew from my head

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years

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been a while since i posted a fic update! anyone wanna read some cowboy au nonsense? sure you do! well here it is

The blinding, unforgiving midday heat is enough to raise blisters on the skin. Looking out over a crowd of folks booing him, calling for his demise, probably should have had some kind of emotional impact. On the occasion of one’s death, after all, one does expect tears. Flowers, laid out in lace, dark veils and coal black clothes, a few muffled sobs from those further back in the funerary procession, unable to contain themselves. Instead he’s met with the dusty faces of former neighbors and strangers alike, all eagerly waiting to hear the exact tone and pitch that his neck will make when it snaps.

Bored, he turns his attention from the crowd, and watches a lizard scurry across the wooden planks of the gallows, as a man to his right fits a rough bit of rope around his neck. It scratches, but he doesn’t react, not feeling frightened or even especially interested. A similar rough twine is binding his hands together behind his back, keeping him from having any viable way to save himself. The crowd is calling for blood now. Hangings generally are not gorey affairs, but he did once see a drop too sudden and a rope so long that the fella wasn’t just hung, he was decapitated. Beetlejuice glances back down at the crowd, tries to imagine what direction his head would roll if that happened here, and smirks, because it seems to him the last thing he’d see would be the view from inside the skirts of some of the women standing front and center. Not the worst last sight a man could have. “You think you could hurry this along?” he asks the man fitting the noose around his neck. “Sun’s beatin’ down somethin’ fierce an’ I ain’t got my hat.” His personal possessions are back at the sheriff’s office- hat, bandana, silver plated, pearl handled pistol, and his custom belt buckle, just about the nicest, and maybe only, thing he ever paid for. God damn corrupt lawman’s probably gonna pawn his stuff as soon as he’s swinging. Maybe before. Maybe his last worldly possessions are already gone. S’not like he’ll need them, where he’s goin.

A face he recognizes is led up from the crowd, an ancient wizened body tanned for years by the all too eager sunlight and scorching sands. It’s the local preacher, who he remembers from his formative years. The old man used to give him bread and plain, unseasoned chicken in return for listening to him talk about god, and if he hadn’t been nearly starved to death half the time, he might have spat in the old man’s face. Shouldn't charity be done for the sake of charity, not proselytizing? He’d said so once, and that was the last meal the old miser had given him. Jackass.

“Beetlejuice,” the preacher begins. His name is said with disdain and a curled upper lip. It’s one of the reasons he chose it, honestly. “You still have time to repent, young man. I remember you, as a child, bright eyed, curious about the kingdom of heaven.” Well now, that’s the very definition of taking artist liberty. “Now, here, you have one more chance to repent, to accept god’s mercy, and avoid the lake of fire.” The crowd is watching, waiting to see if he will confess his remorse. Beetlejuice hums, rocks on the balls of his feet, and then sighs. “.. C’mere,” He mumbles, jerking his head to indicate the old man should step closer. The holy man does. “I got a lot to confess to, preacher man, an’ not much time.” His voice is soft. The ailing man can’t hear him, steps closer, if only a little. “So much to confess to, in fact, I oughta just… Skip th’ whole thing an’ go straight to hell!” And Beetlejuice reels back, and then slams his forehead into the old man’s face. The sickeningly satisfying crunch of cartilage tells him he’s broken the preacher’s nose, as the elderly man falls back, crying out in pain, blood gushing from his new wound. The crowd roars, furious, and he grins, and laughs. “Ain’t no good extendin’ your pious pity to me!” he calls, gleeful, as he’s pelted with whatever the people watching can get their hands on, and the old man is helped, taken away, led off of the platform. “Enough, enough, we will have order!” a lawman cries, coming up the gallow steps, to stand in front of the outlaw. It’s enough to get the crowd to settle, or at least stop throwing things. There’s still a bad energy in the air, which Beetlejuice can taste on the tip of his tongue. His smile is rictus, he’s delighted to be the cause of it all.

“This man has been tried and found guilty,” the lawman continues. The trial had been very short, and his incarceration shorter. He understands he’s being made an example of to other outlaws, bandits, and trouble makers. They intentionally didn’t give him any time to plan anything, or for any coconspirators to come and assist him. Joke’s on them. They could have taken all the time in the world. Ain’t nobody alive who cares for this outlaw. Not a soul who would dare to come and stage a rescue. He’s utterly alone. “He’s allowed his last words. Clearly,” the lawman turns, eyes Beetlejuice, who smiles flirtatiously. The other man’s expression shifts from annoyance to disgust. “He’s disavowed the advice of Pastor Neighbors.” “M’not so sure you’re usin’ that word right, friend,” Beetlejuice snorts, but he’s ignored. “Any last words?” the hangman to his right asks, his hand itching to grip the lever that will drop the floor and finally, finally, release the outlaw from the confines of mortal life.

Beetlejuice grins.

“If any of you have a message for th’ devil, give it to me!” he shouts, with a cackle, and he watches in rapt and morbid delight at the way the faces in the crowd twist. “I’ll carry it down to hell for you!” The crowd is furious enough it almost seems to him they’re going to storm the platform, and maybe beat him to death. The wave of gasps from the women folk is particularly amusing.

“Enough of this!” He hears the voice of the lawman, disgusted, and the hangman must agree, because the last thing he hears is the lever being thrown, and the floor gives out under him, and he’s falling, falling, falling.

His ass hits a chair.

There’s a moment of blinded confusion, because he's gone from the unbearable dusty sun of midday California, to a cool, dark, musty smelling interior. His eyes need a moment to adjust to the change. He’s sitting in a room he doesn’t recognize. The chair under him is plush, but just thin seated enough to be a tad uncomfortable. He squirms in it, confused, and finds his hands are still tied behind his back. He turns his head. Seated across from him is a young woman.. Well, little girl might be more accurate, she’s maybe fourteen. There’s a wicked looking hoofprint emblazoned on her right temple. The blood that’s leaking from the wound has gone a sickly old color. They stare at each other. “Did that hurt?” she asks, first, and he squints, because he’d been about to ask the same question. Her hand has gone to her throat, as she looks at him, and he looks down, pressing his fat face into his fat neck to create an unflattering double chin as he does so. He can feel the rope around his neck. He follows the line of it with his eyes, and turns to look up. The rope travels up from him, into the ceiling. It’s still taught, like he’s suspended by it, but his ass is touching chair, his boots are on the ground, and he doesn’t feel choked by it’s presence. He tuts. “Didn’t feel a thing. That hurt?” he tries to gesture to her wound, but again, he’s reminded his hands are bound behind him. She stands. “Hurt a bit, but then I got so dizzy I didn’t hardly feel it, after,” she tells him, and then, like the good little frontierswoman she is, she produces a knife from inside some pocket in the volume of her skirts, and gratefully, he leans forward. She rests a knee on one of the chairs, to get a better angle, as she uses her bowie to cut through the rope at his wrists. “Awful kind of you, half pint,” he tells her, and she smiles. “Ain’t nothin.” She settles into the chair next to him, which is a little surprising, but he doesn’t mind, over all. “You’re an outlaw, then?” she asks. He grunts, and then turns to face her, with a grin. “You probably heard of me. They called me Th’ Ghost, on occasion, cause I could slip away without bein’ caught-” he watches her eyes travel up the line of his noose, and then settle back on his face, a little less impressed than she ought to be. He responds by pinching her nose, and she swats at his hand, and laughs. “I do think I heard of you,” she concedes. “I’m Presley.” “Presley, alright. You got a clue where we are, kiddo?” “I just was told to wait.” “Told by who?”

Across the room, a window he hadn’t registered as being there slides open. This place vaguely resembles a bank, he realizes, and so that means that’s the teller’s window. A woman with a tired expression on a pretty face peers out at him. “Hey, dead beat,” she calls, her accent thick around the words. “Juno wants to see you.” He motions to himself, questioningly. She raises an eyebrow in silent confirmation. “Should I care?” he asks, and her upper lip curls in the most beautiful version of a sneer he’s ever seen. “You’re real funny. Get in there before she loses her temper.” And she reaches up, and slams the window shut.

He looks to Presley, and they both share a little shrug, before he stands, and takes a step. The rope going through the ceiling moves with him, not along any visible track, that he can see, but seeming rather more like a toy balloon on a string, bobbing along as though after a child winding their way through the crowd of a state fair. There’s a door by the teller’s window, and he makes for it, only for the window to slide open again, and that beautiful face to reappear. She looks him over, not seeming particularly impressed, but also not outright cruel. “Where’s your handbook?” she asks. Beetlejuice tilts his head. It lolls a little comically to one side, presumably because his neck is broken. She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. “You can’t be serious. You didn’t bring your handbook?” “Listen, lady, even if I had whatever book you’re talkin about, I couldn’t read it,” he counters, and she pauses, at that. “Illiterate. Of course. What’s even the point of the handbook when so many folks can’t read it?” she mutters to herself, and then she waives him at the door, the conversation apparently over. Alright.

The door, predictably, leads to a hallway, a bit unlike anything he’s ever seen before, in terms of sheer length of the thing. It twists around like a snake, and the number of doors along the hall leads him to believe wherever he is, it’s massive. The hallway is empty, save for a man at the far end, mopping, and there doesn’t seem to be anything around for him to tuck into his pockets. Too bad, he mopes, as he carries himself down the hall, boots clacking in a way he finds tactile and pleasant. He passes the custodian, who stares at the floor behind him and sighs, and Beetlejuice looks back to see a mess of dusty footprints he’s left on a previously slightly damp but otherwise pristine floor. With a snort, he spits into the bucket of mop water, and the other man jumps back, disgusted, as Beetlejuice cackles, and continues his leisurely walk down the hall.

At a certain point he realizes he’s got no idea where he’s going, but it doesn’t especially matter. Wherever he is now, whatever version of the afterlife this is, because clearly, that’s what this is, it doesn’t seem to be fire and brimstone and all that bullshit, so he takes it easy, opening doors at random and peeking through. The things he sees don’t always make sense to him, feel like they’re out of place from the world as he knows it. He opens one door, and suddenly he’s staring at what must be a city, but the buildings are so tall they’re touching the sky, going up past the clouds, up into the heaven he doesn’t believe can really be up there. The people are dressed strangely, men and women wandering around in little more than underclothes, which he likes, instantly, and the streets are black with painted yellow lines, instead of dust and earth. Some kind of metal.. Something, a trolley without a track, moves on it’s own down the street, and he catches a glimpse of faces inside. He gets lost in the contents of this door, staring for a long time, entranced, and then it’s slammed suddenly. He turns, catches sight of the custodian with his hand on the door, and growls, an animalistic sound he didn’t know he could do. And then he stops, and turns to look, because the custodian is still a ways behind him, mopping with spit water. It’s the same man. “You don’t need to go poking your snout into places it doesn’t belong,” the man says, simply, and then in a blink, both versions of him are gone from the hallway. Maybe that’s just an… afterlife thing.

He reaches, after what feels like a boring and dragging eternity of twenty whole minutes, a set of saloon doors, the swinging kind. There’s a void of blackness behind them, but the draw he feels is unmistakable, and he pushes them open, and walks through. Instead of a room black as ink, he finds himself… standing on the wooden porch of a bar he remembers frequenting fairly often, in his younger days. At least, he has clear memories of walking into the bar. How and when and why he ended up outside of it, well… whiskey has a hell of an effect on a man’s memory. It’s a fairly chilly desert night. The chirping of crickets and the long ways away lonely baying of a dog is a sort of familiar comfort, but god damn it, he’s just left this world. He wasn’t intending on coming back to it, ever. The dusty streets are dim, illuminated only by the moon, the stars, and the few lamps still burning in windows. The town is quiet.

On the dirt road in front of him is a woman, staring at him. She’s small, older, nicely dressed, with hair shorter than he’s ever seen on a lady, and a mouth sort of like a toad, long and downturned. There’s an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She’s watching him, curious and apathetic all at once. He returns the look. “Juno, then?” he grunts, stepping off the porch. No dust lifts when his boots hit the unpaved road, which he notes. Maybe he’s not really here. Maybe he’s a ghost. Fitting.

“Lawrence “Beetlejuice” Shoggoth,” she says, as he comes to stand in front of her. “Took you long enough. You realize I’ve been waiting here for days. You get lost, or something?” Her tone is sharp, like a schoolmarm with too much on her hands and not enough energy for it all. He feels a little sheepish, if only because no, he hadn’t realized that. “Gimme a break,” he says, instead of an apology. “I just died.” “Like that makes you special,” she huffs, and then, waving her unlit cigarette in his face, machine rolled, not hand, he notes, she asks, “Have you got a match?” He produces one from one of the many pockets of his moss green duster, strikes it on his thumb, and holds it up for her. She has the decency to look grateful, as she leans in, cigarette to her lips, and lights it from that little flame. “So,” she exhales smoke, and it curls from the corner of her lips, and out a previously unspotted slash to her throat. No wondering how she died, then. Speaking of, he glances up, to see that his noose is no longer floating above his head, and turning, he catches sight of it dragging on the ground behind him, long and snake-like in the way it’s twisted and coiled. Juno snaps her long red nails in his face, brings his attention back to her. “You weren’t supposed to die, you know. You’ve mucked things up for me.” “Whut?” he grunts, a bit thrown. She rubs her temples. “You were supposed to go in your seventies. Catch tuberculosis and wither away in obscurity. How old are you?” “Thirty four, or abouts,” he croaks, and she takes another drag. “You let yourself be caught,” she accuses. Well.. yeah. But how the hell does she know that? “I got pinned down in a shootout. Lucky they didn’t blow my head off, right then.” “You’ve gotten out of worse.” She looks almost.. Disappointed. “And then you put down your weapons, instead of fighting it out.” “I was surrounded.” “You were sloppy.” “What’s it to you, anyway?” he growls, again low and animalistic, which Juno ignores, as she walks circles around him, studying him. “You let yourself be caught, and you let yourself be hung. You didn’t even try to get away. You might not have killed yourself, but you let them kill you, for you,” she says. “And it’s giving me a hell of a time, both because it’s changed you, and because I have to put you somewhere, Beetlejuice, and now no one knows where you should go.” “So what does that mean?” “It means, my little statistical outlier, that you’re going to be staying up here, probably a lot broader a time than it would have taken you to just live your life and die at seventy,” she sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “Which is a shame. Because.. I was looking forward to.. To you. And now we both have to wait longer,” and here, she finishes her circle of him, to stand face to face with him again, and she flicks his ear, the way he always imagined an frustrated mother might. “Because you gave up. You weren’t supposed to give up.” “Wasn't much worth livin’ for,” he says, and it’s got more emotion behind it than he meant to give it. Juno’s hand goes to her throat, and she looks pained. “I guess that’s an inherited trait,” her voice is soft, and he squints at her, confused. Instead of giving him any context for that, she points down the dusty main road. Shining under the moonlight, he can see, vaguely, a dark shape suspended in air, near the gallows. “Go put your suit back on,” she says dryly. “And try not to cause enough trouble that I have to come up here and get after you, understood?” “What part of outlaw ain’t you gettin?” he snorts, and she responds by giving him an affectionate pat to his scruffy cheek, before she takes another drag, and vanishes inside the swirling smoke. He’s left standing on his own.

His “suit” is still hanging, he notes, looking up at himself. He’s strung up on a tall pole by the platform, leaving it free for more use, if need be, with his body on display as a gruesome reminder for potential criminals that this is a hanging town, and they’ve even hung their most despised son. His neck is bent at an ugly angle, a little bulge at the side betraying how exactly his bones had shattered, and his skin has gone a bad color, gray and foul looking. But aside from that, he’s not rotted the way he would think he ought to be. Juno’d said she’d been waiting for days, presumably meaning it has been days since his death, but his body is looking remarkably unbuzzard pecked and unrotted. He shimmies up the pole he’s hung from, his ghostly noose trailing behind him, and the moment he touches his own boot, the world spins, going upside down and inside out in a way that’s too painful to try and perceive.

“Gahh-” says Beetlejuice, because he’s back in his body, which is still being hung by that god damn noose, and he realizes, annoyed, that he has no way of cutting himself down. He kicks, pointlessly, one hand going to the rope at his neck, to clutch it and try to keep it from choking himself again, and the other grabbing at the rope further up, gripping it to pull himself up, give himself some slack, instead of hanging taught. It’s not the most coordinated he’s ever been. At least there’s no one around to watch him struggle.

“Holy shit, the body’s movin!” he hears someone holler. Oh, come on.

Read the rest, right over HERE

#beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fic #beetlelands fic #my writing #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice the musical #this is so self indulgent #i love westerns so this is all i can focus on rn

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