An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
[Reposting because tumblr won't let me reformat my original post]
Summary: "You want those breathers flushed out of here, I'm your guy. I'm the universe's one and only bio-exorcist." He flicks out two fingers towards Shane, between which he's holding a very tiny piece of paper. Shane takes it, to be polite, and as he touches it it grows into a full size business card.
"Beetlejuice," Shane reads aloud doubtfully. "Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."
The little man cackles like a witch, with his tongue held fully out of his mouth, gleefully shaking two shakas.
(a shyanara fusion taking parts from both Beetlejuice (1988) and Beetlejuice: The Musical)
It's the second week of their second year of marriage when the accident happens. Shane has just gotten off the phone with his mother, who had asked yet again when Shane would be giving her a new grandbaby, and reminded him yet again that Scott has already delivered two. Shane had side-stepped the question as long as he could before eventually giving up and claiming to have something urgent to attend to so that he could end the call. Shane would feel guilty if he told her that the baby thing is all up to Sara, though he's not sure why. His mother would never be passive aggressive about it, he knows. And how else can he explain why they're still waiting? It just sort of seems like one of those things you're not supposed to say out loud. Shane heads up the stairs in something of a hurry. He's got a half complete shadowbox up there waiting for him and it will be nice to sink into working on it after the uncomfortable phone call. He gets part way up the narrow staircase to the attic before almost running right into Sara on her way down. They giggle at each other, and Shane touches her waist. She's wearing one of her favorite dresses, pale pink and long-sleeved with a subtle ruffle down the front. The sleeves are rolled up and there's a smear of neon green at her temple. "What spook have you summoned this time?" Shane asks, gently teasing. Sara's paintings are always so unique and haunting, and Shane loves them. He kind of wishes they could have them downstairs, up on the walls. Once they're fully dry and won't get messed up, Sara puts them away, and Shane never gets as much time as he'd like to look at them. So he tries to encourage her. Painting is much less weird than meticulously pinning dead insects to light absorbent boards anyway. "A demon, I think," Sara answers shyly, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "He just kind of came to me, I can't explain it." "I can't wait to meet him," Shane tells her honestly. She rolls her eyes, but the soft blush across the bridge of her nose tells him she's pleased. And Shane does love to please, so he soaks it up, and lets it make him feel good too. On a sudden whim, he pulls Sara down another step and into a kiss, the both of them giggling again. Even after so long together, it's such a giddy feeling to be in love. So Shane hams it up a little, acting out his love for Sara like it's a fun skit. He loops both gangly arms around her waist to hold her more firmly and dips her. She throws her head back to laugh, and Shane tucks his own flushed face into her neck, and then- Shane's foot slips. It's a long, long way down.
Everyone read this!! It's my "Halloweeny" fic from last year, and I even posted it on time, and I'm really proud of it, but it didn't get the attention I expected it to which is a huge bummer!
The fic features themes of heteronormativity including the pressure to have kids, compulsive heterosexuality including the disproportionate need to not be "weird", the definition of "evil" and how there isn't one, people with personality disorders: they're just like us!, death obviously, and deportation. And listen. I know I wrote it, but I think I did a pretty good job with those themes while also making them kind of funny and fitting them into a light read.
Please. It's under 10k words long, or about a half hour read. And it's good. I promise.
Happy 'Ween Season
Read the whole being dead thing Here ->
