A/N: IMPORTANT NOTICE!
Actually, I don't know how important you'll find this, but I wanted to get your attention.
First, I apologize to anyone who got alerts, but this isn't a new chapter. In fact, it's an old one with a little editing and I deleted a chapter to boot in order to leave the story as it is here on a high note.
Real Life has been super busy and aggravating. Being a grown-up sucks. But the real reason that "Bridezilla" has been sitting gathering dust for a long time is because it just wasn't fun anymore. Most of my reviewers are awesome and fantastic and everything that is great, so I can handle some criticism no prob. This is a humorous romp through absurdities, which doesn't butter everyone's biscuit. But there's also this silly rule about no posting nookie on this site, and frankly that ruins a great deal of the 'plot.'
Worst of all, the writing was terrible! Yes, I know I suffer from writer-vision, and it's not really like a kindergartner scribbling in crayon. However, to even make myself read the dang thing to see if it was worth posting the last chapter I had ready, I had to start editing.
And then I fell in love with the whole ridiculous setup all over again. There were jokes I hadn't made and wedding mishaps that Beej and Lydia need to suffer through! Juno hasn't even gotten to chew anyone's ear off yet. The family reunion for the ceremony was going to be epically awkward.
So I'm revamping the whole thing and I've finally got a different site I'll be posting the new version to, including the end of the story. I can't paste the link in here (rules! such a pain!), but if you PM me or leave a review I swear this time I will actually check my inbox more than twice a year. If there is a lot of interest I guess I can also repost the 'cleancut' parts here, but I'd have to delete the current version and everyone's lovely reviews, which I'm reluctant to do.
If you have an opinion, let me know, but otherwise I'm just going to leave this story here like it is - an unfinished dinosaur. So it's not going to disappear, but I'm not going to update it, either.
(original A/N replaced)
PREVIOUSLY:
Desperately wishing that she could interrogate him, and casting about for any solution, she came across a familiar presence inside her head. It felt like static and dust and she remembered it from her grandmother's office as it invaded her entire body. So she grabbed onto Beetlejuice's power with all her might. And, like a playful but obedient dog, it did what she asked.
And that is how she found herself wearing the tweed suit, holding on to Beetlejuice's stocking-clad legs, and gritting her teeth against his efforts to wrest back his mojo. It liked her better. She could tell by the way it wagged its mental impression of a tail at her.
AND NOW, ON WITH THE STORY!
Chapter Eleven: In Which a Four Letter L-Word Comes Into Play
Picture a dog. It's one of those dogs that doesn't realize how big it actually is, which happens to be closer to the size of a living room than a small horse. Lydia couldn't help but imagine Beetlejuice's power as a panting, slobbering, hairy mutt. And the unseen tableau here was disconcertingly like those tear-jerking scenes in the movies where the pet has to choose his real owner with someone on each side of the room whistling and saying, "Come on, over here, boy!" In fact, concentrating on that imagery was helping Lydia get a handle on this new form of mental warfare, because her sense of his power tended to fade if she concentrated too hard or too little, and that was apparently just right.
The initial and abrupt turnabout when Lydia latched onto his energy had been startling for them both. Lydia, confronted by Beetlejuice wearing drag again (she hadn't realized that her former outfit had included neon bright lipstick, winged eyeliner, and bouffant curls), did not recover as quickly. He was able to outmaneuver her hold on his legs, which the stockings made slippery. Before she could roll off the couch, he had those same legs wrapped around her waist, trapping her in place.
Their battle of wills over the ownership of his power continued. Beetlejuice was not above cheating, using the metaphysical equivalent of dangling a juicy bone behind his back. His power liked creating chaos. It naturally flowed to places with the most potential for disorder. And Beetlejuice was promising to wreck all kinds of mischief, mostly on Lydia, immediately upon the return of his mojo.
Well, she knew how to fight dirty too. Abandoning her attempts to escape, she reached down between them and rooted through fluffy petticoats. When she hit pay dirt, he went still with a muffled grunt. She loosened the leather strap over his mouth and shouted over the profanities that spewed forth, "If you don't stop fighting me right now, I will do unspeakable things to you with this!" She shook the strap.
He eyed her warily, then the corner of his mouth quirked up. "…You promise?"
"Oh, I promise." If she hadn't had his attention before, she definitely had it now (especially with the Truth-o-meter declaring her utterly serious intent, not a hint of red now). She lifted the strap off so that it was around her two fingers, and then tightened it with her teeth until her skin around the strap lost what little color she normally had. For emphasis, she jerked her head one more time and squeezed with her other hand down below. Under her palm, something…grew. Her breath caught a little at the realization that he had not previously been erect. Apparently he liked her being on top a lot more than his crazy psychoanalyst routine.
Meanwhile, she had sneakily managed to get a firm hold on his power, too, with the expedient of her mental self sitting down and offering it tummy rubs, which were enthusiastically accepted. Trying to understand what that actually meant, outside of the terms of her doggy metaphor, was almost enough to shatter her sanity. She thought of a collar and leash. When they appeared in her mindscape she could see that they were actually just one word, spoken over and over. They wouldn't go over the dog's head, though, and it occurred to her that it was because she would have to actually say it out loud.
Desperately, she tried to recall the intonation her grandmother had used. Would it be good or bad if she accidentally put him Back if she tried to do this? Either sending him back or binding him, failure was not an option.
To keep him from guessing what she was planning, she demanded, "Why do you want to marry me?" The fact that she really wanted to know was beside the point. However, she might actually follow through with her threat of…strangulation, no matter how squeamish the thought made her, if he said…
Beetlejuice thanked his lucky stars that the damn machine he'd juiced up could only tell if a statement was true, and not if it actually answered the question. "Pretty sure we discussed the terms when I proposed, O dominatrix of my cold dead heart." The Truth-o-meter flashed green. "I want Out." Green again.
Expected answer or not, Lydia saw red. Wincing after each wrong try, she snapped, "Beetlegiuce, Beetlegeuse, Betelguese!"
The power in her voice rang out, leaving her throat scraped raw. The collar that wasn't really a collar slipped onto the dog that wasn't really a dog and shrunk down into a smooth, unbroken metal ring. They crashed onto the ashy floor as the couch disappeared along with all the other things he had conjured, including the outfit he was wearing. The ghost himself, however, remained.
She had her hand on the crotch of a naked Beetlejuice. She was wearing his striped suit. Her hand was…! Her dorm was a blackened wasteland. Her hand was touching his bare skin, without any petticoat in the way, right on his…! Needless to say, Lydia was freaking out.
"What the hell? !" Beetlejuice exclaimed, propping himself up on his elbows. "What the fuck did you just do? !" His eyes followed her line of sight down to where her shell-shocked gaze was glued onto her hand on his crotch.
Lydia couldn't make herself look away. It was like watching a train wreck. You don't want to, and you know it's wrong, but there's just something endlessly fascinating about how horrible it is. There was dirt. And mold in weird places. As if preening under all the attention, little Beetlejuice twitched against her palm and did his very best salute.
"Goddam, babes, are ya just gonna stare at my dick all day, or are ya gonna do something with it?" he finally managed to rasp out huskily.
She hastily snatched her hand back, blurting out, "I'm sorry!" She was up and facing the other direction almost before her words reached his ears. Yanking off his suit jacket, she thrust it behind her in his general direction, where a ridiculously orchestral groan and a muted thump were her only signals of him throwing himself flat on the ground in exasperation.
What, exactly, had she done? The dog, which she now just thought of as 'Juice,' was whining unhappily in her mental landscape while it scratched at the collar with a hind leg and chewed on the chain leash connected to a ring on her finger.
Experimentally, she said, "Betel-" Even she felt the electric shock that vibrated through their connection, mild as it was. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Beetlejuice."
"Would you cut that shit out?" he snarled, picking himself up. For some reason that eluded him, he was having a difficult time floating and he actually had to resort to the chore of real, physical movement.
The rustle of cloth assured her that he was putting on his jacket. Turning around, she said, "I want to reopen our previous negotiations regarding the terms of your propos…I can't talk to you like this!" She whirled back around with a resolution not to look at him again until she had some kind of guarantee that he was not pointing in her direction.
He had put on his striped jacket in the normal fashion, so that it left the whole front length of his body on display. The clothing only served to highlight a certain member of his anatomy. There was no help for it. She would just have to give him the pants, too.
He watched bemusedly as she stripped. Nearly ripping out the laces in her haste to untie his boots, she eventually got them off and then shimmied out of the pants, which she tossed over her shoulder at him.
She should have guessed that he didn't wear boxers. The magenta shirt barely covered her essentials, even as oversized as his clothing was on her.
"…Do ya really think taking off my pants is going to lead to us fucking talking?"
"Just Put The Pants On!" Lydia felt like she'd licked a battery. That was not a suggestion, and they both knew it.
Beetlejuice tried to play it off like he had a choice in the matter even as he was hopping into the pants as quickly as inhumanly possible, which strangely was only a little faster than humanly possible at the moment. He muttered, "Fine, alright. Since you asked so nicely."
Hearing the zipper a second time amidst vociferous swearing condemning the infernal device back to hell, Lydia thought it was probably safe to turn around, but she still hesitated.
"There," he huffed as he buckled the belt and his hands obeyed him once more. "I'm wearin' 'em. What d'ya want now yer pickiness, Princess Chastity of Prudeston?"
She faced him, tilting her chin up with proud determination. They couldn't go on like this, it just wasn't healthy. His little demonstration proved that. Their relationship – no, they didn't have a relationship. Their deal had been a farce from the beginning, and it was time to end it. "I think we should see other people," she declared.
"What," he said flatly, scowling. His hands clenched slowly into fists.
"I remember what you said to me. The terms of your proposal?" She shook back the overlong cuffs of his shirt and crossed her arms. "You just want Out. Well, here you are! Beetlejuice!"
He made an abortive motion to stop her. "No - Stop! ARGH."
"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, BEETLEJUICE!" Each time it came out louder until she was hunched over from shouting at him and her cheeks were flushed bright red.
By the time she finished, he was writhing in pain with his hands clamped over his ears, and when she let up, breathing hard, he slumped over limp on the floor. But he was still there.
"You're good and stuck here right now, aren't you? I hope you're happy! Welcome to the world of the living." She gestured expansively at the beige and black wreck of a dorm room. "What are you going to do now? Get a job like the rest of the schmucks on the planet, go down to the local dive when your shift is done, have a brew and hit on the barflies? You gonna watch sports and have a shit fit when your team loses? Live in the 'burbs and cut the grass every weekend? What's so great about being up here, huh?"
He wasn't moving. Not a twitch. For a dead guy, he looked…really dead.
Cautiously, she stepped closer. If anybody deserved whatever she'd just done, it was him - but she still felt guilty. She wasn't the kind of girl to lead somebody on and then leave them high and dry, which was kind of why she was in this mess in the first place. "Look, all I really meant is that you have options now. This whole marriage of inconvenience thing isn't the only way. We can make a new deal. You didn't really want to be stuck with me forever, right?"
No response.
Her brow furrowed. "Beej, come on. We can come up with something that'll make both of us happy, which I think is pretty generous, considering. Hell, we can break this weird bond thing we have and I'll even help you find a woman who wants to marry you if you're still dead set on it. No pun intended."
He slowly picked himself up, face turned away. "Oh, you will, huh?" It wasn't in his nature to be introspective, but her little power trip had made taking a tour through the hell he called his mind necessary. Lying there on the floor with his ears ringing, he'd come across some rather…interesting things (such as a small but growing temple district with shrines dedicated to various parts of Lydia's body that he wanted to worship).
A tinge of apprehension gripped her, but she rallied and said, "Yes."
His eyes slid over to her. Her heart stopped cold at the look on his face. This was what fear felt like. It mocked any weak imitation that had bothered her before. Icy sweat broke out on her back and her throat went completely dry. She froze, muscles twitching and ready but unable to move. Her breath stuttered.
No human expression could describe that decaying face.
"Good. Great. Wonderful. Fan-fuckin-tastic. Your first step should be to make up your own GODDAMN mind!" He reached for her, his filthy yellow claws scraping across her skin.
She thought that she knew what he was. But the girl who prided herself on seeing the strange and unusual had only scratched the surface of the horror hiding beneath his playful malice.
"I found a woman who wants me, but she thinks she can run away," he explained impatiently.
"I don't!" Lydia managed to squeak.
"That so? Then it was some other girlie this afternoon, moanin' beneath me." His rough hands glided down her arms and across her waist over the satin shirt, the barest hind of a caress, and she trembled. "But she looked a fuck of a lot like you! Same face, same hair." He reached the placket and tore the shirt open, making buttons ping all over.
She gasped. He lifted his glowing gaze to stare into her eyes. Forcing her numb limbs into motion, she tried to back away, to clutch the fabric closed.
"Yep. Same hooters." A wickedly sharp fingernail traced the hickeys he'd left behind. "And look! Same pattern." His pleased smile outdid a shark's.
His gentle touches were leaving behind trails of fire that contrasted hotly with his cold skin. She was wavering in her resolution. It was worrisome how exciting she found being absolutely terrified when there was no chance that he would kill her or, it seemed, even seriously injure her. She had to be strong, to show him that she wouldn't be toyed with. "There are a lot of fish in the sea," she said, shoving against his firm chest heedless that it was bare. Her palms encountered muscles. Lots of them. Oh. She may have just groped his pecs. Whoops? "It won't take you very long to get over me, I'm sure!" she insisted.
He flexed his arms and she was falling, but he only let her drop the last inch or so by herself. Then he was sliding in between her splayed thighs and looming over her. "Nope, it won't," he said, running his hands over her hips.
"You asshole-!"
He interrupted. "I don't wanna look at other options. I'm not interested in renegotiating!" She'd asked if he really wanted to be stuck with her forever, and the truth was that he really did. He could see a lot of benefits to that situation.
His fingers tangled in the curls below her navel and his thumb sought downwards, brushing over something on the way that made her back arch and stars appear. He brought it back to his mouth slick with moisture. The sight of his striped tongue wrapped around his thumb licking it clean made her stomach clench.
"I've got the fish I want," he said, leaning in. "Right. Here."
That sounded like…but it couldn't... Her nerveless fingers seized his lapels. "Swear that I'm the only one. Tell me that there will never be anyone else."
He hesitated, staring at her vulnerable face, at her mouth softly open and her fawn brown eyes. "I always said if I was gonna get hitched, I was only gonna do it once," he muttered. Her taste lingered like dark, sweet licorice. He smacked his lips, hungry for more.
Lydia tangled her legs with his and pulled him down nose to nose. "Swear or we're done!"
His twisted eyebrows flew up. "…I think I love you," he finally said.
"That works too," she breathed, and finally kissed him.
[scene redacted due to adult content]