I've not written any fanfiction in ages, and I've wanted to expand the Reverse Parapines au that's been kicking about in my mind a lot since I first found it, so yeah. Any feedback would be fab and stuff, please go easy on me, as I'm still kind of inexperienced with other people reading what I write. Thanks!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
Reverse, older, still drunk gangster Parapines. (a continuation of this fic's universe)
Rating: T? idk there are swears and sex references, also some mention of self harm and suicide.
One of the brighter streams hit Dipper Gleeful in the eyes, disturbing him from his sleep. He groaned, sitting up from his sprawled position in the double bed. Dipper was in his twenties now, but he still slept like a teenage boy, limbs everywhere, hair askew, sweaty with dark circles shadowing his eyes. As he pulled himself up from the bed, he glanced at the man next to him. He looked unusually peaceful.
Sleep was something that didn’t come easy to Norman Babcock, but when the voices left him alone enough to rest, it was hard to wake him. Dipper knew the mans body like the back of his hand, the ribs and hip bones that stuck out, the spine that looked like it would rip out of his skin when he bent over, the tattoos that covered his body. His long legs stuck out of the end of the bed, exposing his bony ankles, his black hair matted against the pillow. He traced the deep scars on Normans wrist, the bump where the skin has drawn together hastily during his teenage years only to be ripped apart again by another razor, another knife, another broken bottle. The tally chart tattoo that counted the five suicide attempts. The Frankenstein quote that hung across his collar bones like a noose. “But I was doomed to live”.
Dipper staggered out of the bed, his feet scratching on the cheap carpet stained with gum and cigarette burns. He pulled on the powder blue trousers off a chair in the corner of the room and the silk black shirt, doing up a couple of buttons and heading out the door.
The room opened out onto a communal balcony, a staircase at the end leading to a parking lot. The motel was old, not in a popular or thriving part of town, the balcony showing a view of disused warehouses, with a mist hanging over the concrete blocks in the distance. The morning was crisply cold still, the desert air dry, but the sun was still low. As Dipper leaned on the railings, taking no care of avoiding the sharp peeling pant, he heard the door click behind him.
“I wouldn’t lean on that if I were you. Unless you think falling off a motel balcony is the tragic ending you always wanted.”
Dipper chuckled. “Babcock.”
“Gleeful.”
Norman sat down beside him, sticking his skinny jean clad legs out between the railings, his once white t shirt now with mud and blood stains hung off his skinny figure like a sheet used for a child’s ghost costume. They sat there for a while, looking at the grey-blue sky turn into violets and pinks, murky white streams of clouds interrupting the ribbons of colour.
“You’re not bad, Gleeful.”
Dipper looked down at the younger man. “What do you mean?”
Norman kept his eyes forward. “In the sack.”
Dipper let out a cold laugh. “Like you’ve ever had anyone else.”
“You can talk.”
“You’re right.”
Noman turned to face Dipper, his face suprised. “I am?”
“Yeah. I’ve never had anyone else but you, and my heart may be small, and black, but it’s got your name on it. Its carved in, carved in deep with a knife and however much I try to scratch it out it just comes back deeper.” Dipper kept his eyes on the horizon when he spoke. It made it easier to concentrate on something he knew existed and would always exist when ridiculous words he’d spent nights planning finally came out into the open.
“Is this a confession of love, Gleeful?”
“It’s whatever you want it to be.”
Norman sighed, lit a cigarette and took a long drag.
“You were my first Gleeful. And I know I’m not as clever with words and shit as you are but... I want you to be my last.”
Dipper turned to Norman and smiled. It wasn’t mad smile, or a twisted smile. It was a smile when his dimples showed, a smile that made his eyes look kind. It was a warm smile. A smile only shown to Norman once before, when they first spent the night together. Two teenage boys, confused with mental health issues, but together, bodies intertwined and the whole world was less scary than the things that lay in the corners of their minds.
“Y’all are gay as fuck.”
Both men spun round to find the Gleeful sister, Mabel decked out to the nines, her golden sequin vintage flapper dress a little crumpled but still looking like she’d just toppled out of a Fitzgerald novel.
Dipper cleared his throat and faced his sister, embarrassed at expressing any emotions in front of her, but not showing it with anything as frivolously childish as blushing, of course.
“No shit,” Norman muttered under his breath.
Mabel shut the door to her single room, battered leather trunk and glitter heels in hand.
“The Lord is testing me...” she trilled quietly as she pattered down the stairs to the powder blue Cadillac in the parking lot.
