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Do you guys think they had something polyamarous going on...

yass

perhaps

why would you ask me this

Voting ended onAug 21, 2024

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice 1988 #beetlejuice movie #otho beetlejuice #delia beetlejuice #charles beetlejuice #charles deetz #delia deetz

happy holiday times, friends. it's been a while since i had a fic update to post about, but myself and Bee have been hard at work crafting a fun low stakes dumb au for ourselves and we have, very generously, decided to share it with you all, too. Surprise, it's an Office style au! It's got romance, Christmas parties, and the crushing weight of loneliness. have fun!

DECEMBER 7TH

One of the things he likes the most about living on earth is the changing of the seasons. Not that the temperature affects him, not in any way that matters. It’s mostly just nice to sit back and watch them change. The colors and the sounds and smells of the world shift in a way that he’s been called stupid before for enjoying. But who could really blame him? (Besides ma, but he doesn't like to think of her. No, she doesn’t count.) After all, there was never any sense of time in the netherworld. Nothing ever changed, obviously. It was just an endless afterlife where the changing of the seasons in the world above had about as much effect on the dead as new traffic laws. There was no reason to care, and no reason to try and keep track. But up here, there’s those lovely seasons. The heat of summer and low cut tops and high cut short shorts, and the growth and new green of spring, and of course the vibrant changing colors and smells of fall. But winter.. Winter might secretly be his favorite. Sure, everyone’s bundled up tight, but Beetlejuice figures that’s just good for the imagination. Can’t be seeing everything you want to see all the time, or it’ll get boring, after all. But his favorite is the snow. He turns from his desk to watch it falling silently out the window. It’s making big, beautiful, glistening white piles on the cars outside, and the bushes and the trees are painted with it. He’s subtly obsessed. It’s a lazy Tuesday. From his right, he can hear Barbara, at reception, yawn. She stifles it with her hand, and he leans on his desk and watches her, with the same interest as he watched the falling snow. She catches him staring, and makes a face at him. Delighted, he returns it. Then there’s the sounds of paper being shuffled, and then dropped, and then, through a very intentionally placed cardboard partition, he hears a soft, “oh, dang it,” and the sound of Adam bending down to retrieve what he’s dropped. Beetlejuice smiles to himself.

Being summoned, after all those terrible years waiting, had been so easy, it was laughable, in a way that also made him nearly cry. He’d pulled a con on an elderly ghost, trying desperately to communicate with his still living wife. She said the magic words, per her ghostly husband’s guided hand on the planchette, and wham, bam, thank you very much, ma’am, and he was visible. He’d fucked around, for the first few months, wandering around and doing whatever he wanted, but had found, somehow, that just being seen didn’t make the loneliness go away. It actually felt like it grew. So he was visible, so what? No one knew who he was, or had any reason to care. People don’t befriend drifters. So he’d drifted and drifted until he was sick of the current, and he forced himself to stop. There needed to be a change, something else, something to ground him someplace. People he could see every day. People who would know him, and start to care. And then he’d seen the ad in the paper. Help wanted, strong sales background recommended, inquire at such and such address. And what was a salesman if not a conman?

So he’s been at this job for five months, already. His boss, Charles Deetz, is a tall imposing man with thick black hair and beard, both tinged with the slightest beginning of gray. Very daddy vibes, very hot. There’s Barbara in reception, Adam his deskmate, and Beth and Delia back in human resources, and Jacques and Ginger in accounting, and many more people who he finds himself spending his time with. And every day, like clockwork, they all gather here, and do their meaningless tasks, and at the end of the day, they all walk out together, and say goodbye. It’s boring. It’s predictable. It’s perfect. Really, the only problem with working here is- “You’re looking awfully distracted,” Otho says, hand on the back of his chair, and Beetlejuice grimaces, to Barbara. From across the office, she returns it, sympathetic, and then refocuses on her computer screen. He forces a neutral expression, and then turns to look at the other.. Man isn’t the right word. Thing? Being? “I’m not allowed to take a second to rest my eyes? S’bad to stare at a computer all day. Don’t you remember that office health and safety day we had last spring?” He smiles up at Otho. The smile is not returned. Tight ass. “We had it because someone kept lobbing staplers at my head.” “I know man, I know. I’m still on the lookout for the culprit.” “I’m sure you are,” Otho’s expression is sour. “Maybe instead of staring at the receptionist all day, you could consider actually doing the job you’ve chosen, for some reason.” The one you forced me into, are the unspoken words. BJ grins. “Sure, Otho,” and he scoots his chair closer to his desk, out of Otho’s grip, but he can’t help but turn to look at him as he walks away. “You know, five minutes in a snowball fight and we could knock that stick right outta your ass.” He hears Adam’s surprised cough, and the stifled titter of Barbara at reception, and the only response he gets from Otho is a hard glare, over the shoulder.

That afternoon, just before lunch, a mopey blob of black hops up on his desk, and kicks at his chair with thick heeled boots. He’s on a call that kind of matters, right then, and he waves his hand at the teen, trying to signal she’s chosen a bad time. Lydia Deetz is undeterred. She reels back, goes to deliver a kick to the back of his head, and without looking he catches her ankle and twists. She moves with the motion of her leg, and goes toppling off his desk, with a clatter loud enough that Adam peers around the partition. “Lydia? Are you okay, honey?” he asks, all sweet dad voice and concern, and Lydia smiles up at him. “I’m okay, Adam. I slipped,” she lies, and then, while she’s down there, she flicks the switch on the power strip under BJ’s desk. His phone cuts out mid conversation, and he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath through his nose, and places the phone back in the cradle, before turning to look at his boss’s daughter. “Okay, well played. What’s up, kid?” “I’m bored.” She stands, and looks at him, hopeful. “Bored, huh. Well, we can’t be havin’ that, can we?” “Nope. So what do you suggest?” He opens his mouth, but Adam is peering at him around that cardboard partition, suspicious. It’s well known around the office by now that the two of them are trouble apart and worse together. Lydia comes in some days to help with various filing and to get work experience for some class at school. Honestly, the details are blurry and unimportant to Beej. All he knows is that on Tuesdays his little buddy arrives at the office, does about thirty minutes of work, and they get to spend the rest of the day finding trouble to get into. She’s one of his favorite people. Her seeking him out constantly is a pretty good indicator that she feels the same. Adam squints at the two of them. “No pranks, you two. It’s the end of the year.. People are busy.” “No pranks,” Beej agrees, holding up a hand, “Ghoul scouts honor.” “What the hell’s a ghoul scout?” Lydia snorts, amused. Adam looks less so. “Just.. try not to set anything on fire, please?” he all but begs. Beej and Lydia tut at the same time. “You have no proof that was us,” the demon crosses his arms, a move Lydia copies. “We were talking to Barbara at reception when that fire started in the breakroom, remember?” “So you both said, over and over,” Adam fixes them with an unamused stare. BJ stands, and stretches slightly. “Untwist your panties, Adam. I’m actually busy today. I don’t have time to plot my next grand evil scheme at the moment.” He looks over to the teen. “Come on. Vending machine.”

The machine is in the aforementioned breakroom, away from prying eyes and prying ears. It gives off a constant low humming noise. It sort of reminds him of the underlying noise of the Netherworld, the strange hum of those lights in the sky, in otherwise pitch black. This is his second favorite place in the office. He hands the kid a roll of quarters, which she breaks open. “So what do you want?” “One of everything.” “We’re gonna need more quarters, Beej.” He waves his hand, produces several more rolls, wedged between his fingers, a little bit of genuine magic, just for her. The kid grins. “Oh, hell yeah. We’re gonna feast.” And she begins loading the machine with coins. “So,” she starts, glancing at him in the reflection of the glass of the machine. “The Christmas party is coming up. You gonna be okay?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” He asks, distracted, trying to find something funny for them to watch on his phone as they eat. “Because it’s Christmas, man. And you’re all…” She turns, gestures to him. “Like that.” “Say it, Lydia. Outloud.” “Shuttup, I knew showing you Twilight was a mistake. You’re the worst.” He cackles, and comes to the machine, impatient, and punches in the numbers for his favorite candy bar, three times. His true nature is a closely guarded secret. What people see when they look at him is a scruffy thirty something year old in a striped suit. A little weird looking, but not enough for anyone to try and look closer, dig deeper, figure out what about him was so naturally intriguing and also repelling. Lydia has described him before as an angler fish. Despite the magic keeping him looking human, when he’d first met the girl, months ago, she’d caught on to his peculiarities exceedingly quickly, especially the weird things that would happen to others when he was around. The strange way he talked, and carried himself. Disliked coworkers tripping on nothing every time they made some snide comment about him, even if it was from across the office. The way Maxie Dean, older than her father, made a subtle pass at her, and suddenly a rat had fallen on his head. Her first conclusion had been vampire, and she’d come into work on her usual Tuesday with a silver (plated) cross, and garlic bread, which he’d eaten, delighted. So that theory had gone out the window. She might not have caught him out at all, except he’d been stuck in a conference call that afternoon, and bored, he’d taken a pen and a pad of paper and let his hand and mind wander, and he’d come away with a sheet of paper full of summoning circles. His circle, to be exact. She’d snatched it from his desk, wide eyed, and in that moment of understanding, his magic disguise stopped working on her. She’d seen the deathly pallor of him, the tired bruised under eyes, the much more manic amber color of his irises, the moss and crap still growing at his temple and in his beard, and that was it. They were best friends forever. “It’s a religious holiday,” she continues, finding the machine’s limit on loaded change, and begins punching in numbers, starting with one of everything from the top row. “It’s not gonna like, burn you alive to participate, or something?” “How weak do you think I am? Alternatively, how strong do you think Santa is?” He teases her, scooping up his selected candies from the slot, and then tossing her selections onto the table as the machine drops them. “It’s not Santa’s holiday,” She snorts. “I dunno, man. I just assume you’re kind of a shitty demon. I mean, you work at a paper supply company, for god knows what reason.” “I like my job.” “So you say,” but she doesn’t look convinced. “I kinda think it’s more the people than the work. I’ve seen the looks you shoot Adam, and Barbara. She’s engaged, you know.” “So?” Beej asks. “I’d have to be an especially shitty demon to give a fuck about that.” One of every snack procured, they settle at the breakroom table, and break into their bounty. It’s mostly candy and bags of chips, with a few vending machine sandwiches. She starts to unwrap one, and he stops her. “Ah ah, hold on. I’ve got a better use for

those.” The grin he gives her is wicked. The one she returns is just as bad.

Otho, per his fervent insistence, has his own office. It’s a small, ill used back room, with one sad window in the corner, mostly for health compliance reasons. It counts more as a closet than an office, but he has it specifically because BJ doesn’t have one, and he’s an ass like that. There is, taped to the door, a paper sign that declares the room’s title. “Otho’s Office.” Beej peels at the tape with his thumb, pulls the sign down, and replaces it. “Otho’s Orifice,” Lydia reads, appreciatively, and then cracks open the door. The pompous ass is out to lunch, and the room is hidden enough from the main office that no one has need to come back here if Otho isn’t in. In Lydia’s hands are slices of lunch meat from the vending machine sandwiches. She glances at him. “You can’t put these around yourself?” she asks, and he scowls. “He’d smell it was me right away. Besides, I don’t wanna touch vending machine bologna with my own hands. S’gross, I like, can’t even believe you’re holding it!” he pitches his voice up, an imitation of a teen in a 90’s movie, and she rolls her eyes. “Whatever. How do you want me to get up to the ceiling panels?” “Just get in there,” he says, lacing his fingers together, and stretching his arms in front of him, and then shaking off. “And hurry it up.” Lydia slips into the office, and he focuses, and hears her delighted gasp as her boots lift off the gray office carpet. He floats her through the air, high enough she can lift up ceiling panels all over the room and deposit the lunch meat directly into the ceiling above Otho’s desk, laughing like mad the entire time. He lets her drop when the task is done- her boots hit the floor again with a slight thump, and she rushes out, and closes the door. “That was so cool,” she looks up at him, all smiles. She didn’t use to smile so much, and it’s with a stupid amount of pride he realizes that’s changed because they’re friends. “Let’s hoof it, before he gets back. Come on.”

Lunch has, unfortunately, ended. Normally he’d have sat with Adam and Barbara, and listened to their small talk, and told jokes that made Barbara giggle and Adam snort, but he’d obviously been a bit distracted, what with the kid and their mischief. Still, he stops by Barbara’s desk, and leaves one of the three candy bars he’d bought laying across her keyboard. It’s his favorite candy, because it’s their favorite candy. The other is placed similarly on Adam’s keyboard, and he’s finishing his own when the two settle themselves into their seats. Barbara gives a soft, “Oh,” and looks around, and he feels more than hears the smile creep onto Adam’s face. “Thanks, Beej,” he leans over, wiggling the sweet. BJ glances at him, very cool, gives a shrug, and has to struggle to keep a straight face as he picks up Barbara’s mumbled little comment, meant just for herself. “So nice.”

And then Otho comes in, face red, yelling about his orifice. finish reading on my AO3, here!

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice musical #otho beetlejuice #goldenbeetle #my writing