Pair: Norman/Dipper (aka Parapines)
Warnings: Possesion, ghosts, mild gore (mostly mouth/throat related), zalgo text, and one extremely bad pun.
Apologies: Not actually that shippy.
Dedicated to: Mr Isaac/awastrelmescalined for a) starting parapines, and b) this gorgeous piece of artwork.
There’s something really super no-good very bad sick and wrong going on here. And it’s not just the fact that Norman’s eyes are glowing, in fact his whole face looks like it’s being lit up from the inside out, like some kind of messed up jack-o-lantern. It’s not just that your body is floating two feet off the ground, suspended by absolutely nothing. It’s not just that there’s blood trickling down your face, which, when you try to wipe it off, is blacker than tar and stains your wrists with bloody-black shackles.
It’s not just that your friend is currently being possessed by a ghost - although that is a major factor in it. It’s that the ghost is talking to you in Norman’s voice, with Norman’s face, about Norman. If that’s not messed up, then you don’t know what is.
“He’s such a queer little boy,” the ghost says, smirking with Norman’s smirk which is usually totally charming and infectious but here it’s just.. evil. And who even says ‘queer’ anymore, that’s so hokey. “It’s pathetic, really,” It drawls at you.
“Well-!” You start off and pause. Trying to come up with an argument in this situation is pretty difficult. “If you think he’s such a loser, why- .. Why don’t you go possess somone else?!”
The ghost is less impressed and even less phased by your smart mouth. “Beggars can’t be choosers, boy.” It says with a shrug. Then its - Norman’s- glowing eyes fix on yours again and it freaking grins at you. It makes you feel more gross and unclean than the dark ooze which has started leaking out of your mouth too.
“You should see what he thinks about you,” it whispers and a cold shiver of fear rolls down your spine. The ghost rises towards you, still smirking. “I could show you…”
“Nuh- no!” You shout, or at least try to. Your mouth is full of the black gunk and it’s starting to choke you. “No- stop! D-don’t!” You flail in mid-air, desperate. All it does is make the ghost snicker. It makes you jerk around some more with the flick of a wrist. You and Norman are just puppets now. Helpless puppets.
You are sick and frozen with terror when it finally reaches level with you. You flail out, trying to push it away, only to have your wrist caught. Norman’s fingers, thin and spidery and so cold they burn, crush down on your wrist like a vice. You yelp in pain. The ghost claps its other hand over your mouth. The blunt fingernails feel like knives against your lips. A whimper escapes you as it claws your mouth open.
You can feel breath wash over your face, cold and sickly sweet, like rotting flesh. It’s so close- Norman’s so close to your face, oh god. You want to run, you want to throw up, you want this all to stop-
“Just please stop-” you didn’t even notice you were begging. The ghost gapes at you through Norman’s open mouth, still grinning. You can’t even see the room beyond you anymore. Everything is black and you’re drowning, suffocating under that ghastly stare and the cold breath washing over your face.
“Norman, please!” You’re sobbing now. Even tears of pure hysteria can’t cut through the dark grime, which has crawled up your cheeks. Norman’s face is barely a hair’s breadth away. The ghost claws your mouth even wider and pinches your nose shut and breathes straight into your lungs. It feels like pure ice and it burns you and you scream because it hurts and suddenly you’re hearing things and thinking thoughts that don’t belong to you, that should never even be seen by you and-
alone and alone and alone and in a crowd but so alone alonely lone baloney no lone so look at those two a̤͈̱̯͈̘͗̍ͦ̐̀l̝̕o̡̱͎͍̾̍ͭn̥̺̻͓̜̙̩e̊̐͗͋ why don’t you talk why do you talk who do you see all alone and h̏͋e̺̤͙̘̕ͅ’̱̩͔̘͛͜s̱̪̣̲̹̫̏̂̏ͯ ͩͩ̈́w̛̫͉̘̫͇̞a̶̝ͨ̽ͅi̘͚͇̪͉̬ͥ̌̽̉̈́̚t̗ͭ͒ͬ̈̊ͥ͜i͍̮̣̰͚̤̱ͪͨ͑ͫ̚n̨̞̿̎̄ͪ͒̈̓g̬͈̘̻͎̰̰͒͑ ̱̰̤̗͉̳̍͋ͦͅf͉̠͙̙̘̬̥ͨ̍ͩ̍͛̀o̢̺̜͖̟͇̺͇̾̈̀ͮr͍̣ͧ̎ͤͮ͋́ ͛͌̽͗͡y͎͔͗̾̐̑ͤ͒o͙̖̺͛û̦̲̺̱͈̯̂͘ͅ why won’t you see i’m sō͈̦̘͉͇̥̦ ̗̭̬̐̀a̠̝͎͕ͣ̓͒l͍͉̭̪͋ͥo̯̩̚ͅṇ̣͍̈̅̀e̬̘̘͔̓ͫ́ͅ ̥̞̖͈͍̳ͮ́͌̐͋͢p̴̻̩͚̯̥͛̉ͫͬͥ̊l̮̥̦̼̱̀e̢̙̹̗̗͔͈͓͊͛̊ͮ̊ả̴̙̪͉̹͈̭̫̅̅se be please be real oh why are you real why aren’t you in ḿy̟͙̥͕̲͑̋̃ ̖͇͈̼͛̉̍̓ḫ̪̲̤̻̥̀ͪ͊e̥̞̥̯͙͒a̼̠̟͉̩͛̓ͮ̆̄d̤̭͈̰͆͌͞ why are you in my head i want to be alone i don’t want to be alone i’m loně-̀l̆̓ͮyͨ̈̃͒́ ͒̌̇̚l̋̊͊̍̑̈i̧͑̾͋̍̂ͩe liar so little so lon̦͜e͆͏ ̹ͅl͔̖̒̓y̩͓̥̮̘̩̞̿̀̀͟ ̲͉̥̫̯̺̓̚͝î̛́̄̈̀̓͗ ̟̲̘̼ͪ̇̉̐d̘̖̏̊̾ͦ͢ͅo̻̹͔̪͐̓ͬ̎̑̾͡n͇ͤͧ’̯͇̝̫͍̭͔ͨt̯̘̦ͤ̅̋̆́ ͉̍̊͝w̗̟̲͍̠̘̣ͫa̳̦͉͂̎̔n̜͍̻̗̟ͧ̑̓̉̃ț̵͉̲͖̗̰͉̂̄̎ ̛̗t͇̹̥͖͉̲õ̜̝̰̤̝̙ͧ̕ ̰̼̙̂̚b̻͓͕̓ḝ̹̞̹͖̞͚̊̌̄ͅ ̟͍̺̫̍a ̫̠̣̟͖̝ͫ̄̚ͅl̗̘̩̥̝ͣ̽ͮ͋̈́̿ ͍̭͢õ͍̍ͯ ̹͈̯̻ͥn̠̘̺͚͍̘̣͂͌ ̲͇͙̓e̷͔̪͖̩̦͛̑̑
You only notice you’ve been screaming once you stop and fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.
Somebody yells “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROTHER” at the same time as somebody else yells “GET YOUR HANDS OF MY BEST FRIEND” and your brain is so jumbled with fear that you end up hearing “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY BROST FRETHER”. The annoying whine of a hand-held vacuum cleaner just confuses you even more.
The ghost shrieks and there’s a wet slapping noise, like someone had something shoved into their mouth when they weren’t expecting it. The haze is slowly clearing out of your mind, you notice. You also notice that the black gunk from your wrists is rapidly fading. You look up and see-
You rub your eyes and pinch yourself a bit to make sure you’re actually seeing what you think you’re seeing.
Neil - Norman’s ham-fisted, ginger-haired best friend - is holding Norman in a grip that could probably put a pro-wrestler to shame, while Mabel - your twin sister - is shoving a portable vacuum cleaner into Norman’s mouth, apparently on full blast.
“C’mon out ghost!” She yells and forces the vacuum further into his mouth. It gives a muffled wail and Neil panickedly says “It’s not working! Why isn’t it working?”
All you can do is stare, dumbstruck.
Mabel is resourceful and quick thinking, as always. “It’s probably stuck way deep!” She gasps with realization. She quickly pinches Norman’s nose and shouts “Do the Heimlich Maneuvre!” which Neil obeys and there’s a squeak and a rattle and a small thock! as something hits the back of the bag.
“Got it!” Mabel holds up the vacuum triumphantly.
Norman coughs and splutters, his regular blue eyes watering. Neil rubs his back soothingly and lets him lean on his shoulder, totally exhausted. “Shh, it’s okay man. It’s over now..” you hear Neil mutter under Norman’s gasping breaths.
Something warm and fuzzy and strawberry-scented pounces you. Your arms hug back automatically before the thinking part of brain even registers that it’s Mabel. She pulls back for a second, looking at you completely distraught and worried.
“Oh my gosh, Dipper! Are you okay?” She flops a sleeve on to your cheek, and it is seriously the most comforting thing in the world right now. You want that sleeve knitted on to your face. But since that is a dumb thought, you nod your head instead and press close into a hug again. You feel Mabel smile into your ear and breath a sigh of relief.
The peace is interrupted when Neil asks “So, what are we gonna do with the ghost now?” and Mabel shrugs at him over your shoulders. You think you’ve recovered enough from the fright to regain your sense of snark.
“What the heck was that all about?” You ask, staring at your sister. “A vacuum cleaner? Mabel - I. What?!”
Mabel just grins and wipes a finger under her nose rogueishly.
“We just saved you from a ghost, buster!”