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The plink of ball in cup was music to Pacifica’s ears. Another perfect hole in one for the ‘World’s Best Mini-Golfer’. Taking a long drag off her large, pink, sparkly cigar, a self-satisfied smirk made its way onto the angular face. Rose colored smoke billowed out her nostrils as she shifted her sunglass covered gaze to her opponent.
Mabel stood there leaning against her club, aghast at how Pacifica had sunk yet another perfect shot, and this late in the course too. The dutch windmill spun menacingly, though it’s hypnotizing rotation seemed less imposing now that the blonde had bested it without even lifting a finger.
“Wow, Paz. You sure are good at minigolf,” the brunette muttered, slightly intimidated, “But I suppose that that wasn’t really news.”
“Thanks babe,” Pacifica responded, taking another long pull of smoke. She held the cigar out in offering to her girlfriend, who only held up a hand to turn it down. “Suit yourself,” and with that, the socialite examined Mabel's stance and technique as the other girl wound up for her shot at the windmill. If the blonde was being honest, Mabel was a formidable opponent, even when she didn’t have the assistant of tiny anthropomorphic golf balls aiding her every stroke. Unfortunately for the brunette, however, Pacifica Elise Northwest was downright gifted at many things, golf just simply one among them.
The tap of club on ball drew the musing girl’s attention and she followed the ball’s path with her eyes. It missed hitting one of the mill’s blades by just a hair, successfully winding it’s way through all the underground tunnels and passageways that made up the wheel of fortune that was ‘Ye Royal Discount Put’ hut. With a soft ‘plop’, the ball emerged out the other side, coming to a stop just on the edge of the hole.
Pacifica was grateful for the large size of her sunglasses. Even though Mabel was in fact her girlfriend, the blonde couldn’t help her competitive spirit come alive, and the enormity of the sunglasses’ frame hid the joy in her eyes that came about at the other girl’s misfortune. Plus, it was cute how Mabel stomped when she didn’t get her way. Pacifica could never be upset when her lover was being cute, which was pretty much always.
“Aww better luck next time, babe,” the socialite said around her smoking cigar. The brunette shot her a glare as she easily sunk the ball on the second shot, but not even Mabel’s death eyes could distract Pacifica from the delight she got from placing a ‘one’ next to her score and a ‘two’ next to her girlfriends, thus cementing her own inevitable victory.
Mabel sluggishly made her way to her girlfriend’s side and brought out her signature puppy-dog pout. No one on earth could resist that pout, least of all Pacifica Northwest.
Wrapping a comforting arm around her girlfriend’s shoulders, she led the girl back to the golf course’s concession stand, “Come on, Mabes. I’ll buy you a consolation ice cream.”
As they were walking away, Pacifica stopped in her tracks, “Oh wait.” Pulling the cigar out of her mouth, she tossed it high in the air, readjusting her stance so her putter turned into a baseball bat. A long second passed, then the smoke fell back to earth and the blonde swung, connecting cigar to club with a satisfying ‘whack’. It wizzed across the park, leaving a trail of glittery pink smoke in its wake. Pacifica pulled out her signature gold opera glasses to watch its trajectory, and a self-satisfied smirk crossed her face as she watched the cigar finally come to a stop in the ashtray of a bar all the way across the street. She spun on her heel, a huge grin plastered on her elegant features: yet another perfect shot. Mabel could only smile and shake her head; Pacifica’s antics amused her to no end.
The two girls sat on a nearby bench, eating their popsicles and enjoying each other's company. It was hot, and instead of wearing her signature knitted sweaters, Mabel opted to sport a knitted tee-shirt with the phrase ‘If lost return to Pacifica’ emblazoned on the front. The blonde wore the matching ‘I’m Pacifica’ one. The Northwest girl kicked off her sandals and basked in the feeling of the cool grass under her bare feet. She once again wrapped an arm around her girlfriend and drew her into her side. From their vantage point, she could see the entire expanse of the course, like a queen admiring her kingdom.
Whip cracking sounds came from the old west themed hole. French music emanated from the direction of the Eiffel Tower themed one. Mabel seemed transfixed by the many tiny fish that jumped out of the chlorine filled lakes and rivers that made up the golf course’s many water features.
“Have you ever gone fishing, Paz?,” Mabel asked, not tearing her eyes away from the leaping of the fish.
Pacifica blinked at the unexpected question, “Yes, many times. My family has a yacht that we like to us-”
“You have a yacht and you never told me,” her girlfriend blurted, aghast.
“First of all it’s not mine-”
“But you have access to it?”
“I do, yes,” replied the blonde, becoming increasingly annoyed with being continually interrupted.
“Wellll,” Mabel drawled, walking her fingers up and down Pacifica’s thigh and leaning her head on the taller girl’s shoulder, “Since for our next date it’s my turn to pick what we do, I doth declare that Pacifica Elise Northwest, would you care to join me for a day of large-fish-catching and deep-water-gallivanting?”
The blonde snorted at her lover’s antics, “Sure, you dork.” Mabel fist bumped the air in victory while Pacifica observed her with love, and yet, slight hesitation. Pacifica considered herself something of an expert when it came to the subject of love, and in her book, fishing just wasn’t the most...romantic date setting. Nevertheless, the girl just couldn’t say no to her lover. It was the other girl’s turn to pick afterall. There was just one thing; Pacifica really was quite the avid fisherman, but a fisherman is only as good as their tools, and the socialite had just run out of her most important one.
Later that week, Pacifica lazed around the gift shop of the Mystery Shack, making idle conversation with Wendy.
“So...what you’re saying is that you’re nervous about this date? With Mabel? A girl you’ve been dating for like, a year, and who you’ve been in love with for even longer?”
The blonde averted her gaze, embarrassed. The situation did sound irrational when Wendy put it like that, “It’s just that...I’ve got a reputation to uphold, and fishing...well...it’s not the most romantic of dates. How am I going to lay on the theatrics? My usual supplier of dynamite is on vacation in France!”
An inquisitive expression settles on the redhead’s face, “Wait, wait. Did you say dynamite?”
“Yeah...I use it for fishing. It’s more fun to blow the fish out of the water. Why…?”
“Dude. You need to talk to my mom.”
“What,” Pacifica exclaimed, completely thrown for a loop.
The redhead responded enthusiastically, grin spreading wider and wider on her features, “Yeah, my mom is like, this totally awesome demolitions expert. Dynamite, C-4, TNT, fireworks. If it blows up, she’s got it.”
And so, later that day, Pacifica found herself walking up to a quaint cabin in the middle of the woods. Mosquitos swarmed in huge droves and the heels of the socialite’s stilettos sunk into the dirt path with every step.
Seeing no doorbell, she reached forward and knocked on the thick oaken door with the bronze door knocker. A couple seconds later, the door swung open to reveal a short, yet extremely intimidating woman. Her features, very similar to Wendy’s, were still youthful, but more severe. A black beret sat snugly atop her long red hair, which was in two intricate braids on either side of her face. A long forest green dress flowed under a nut brown bomber jacket. Pacifica peered around the woman to get a look at the front hall of the Corduroy residence. She could see rows of hooks, each holding up a fur trapper hat, similar to her friend’s, but in every color imaginable.
“Are you Mrs. Corduroy,” Pacifica asked. The woman in questions took a very obvious up and down look of the girl standing on her front stoop. The blonde shrunk under her gaze, suddenly insecure, as the woman did not look very impressed with her.
Another beat passed. “I am, who’s asking,” Wendy’s mom said. She spoke with a pronounced French-Canadian accent. The blonde wondered why Wendy herself had no trace of accent, and made a mental note to interrogate the girl about it later.
She absentmindedly fished a cigar out of one of many jacket pockets and lit it with a flick of her wrist. Smoke billowed forth; it smelled strongly of pine trees.
“I-I’m Pacifica Northwest. Your daughter send me-”
“Oh so you’re one of Wendy’s friends, are ya,” the woman stuck a calloused hand out to be shaked. Pacifica grabbed it and was surprised by the sheer strength of the redhead’s grip. The shake of their hands jostled the girl’s entire body.
“What brings you by, beanpole.” Another drag was taken from the cigar. As a reflex, Pacifica took out a carton of cigarettes with a matching gold cigarette holder, and lit one off the end of Wendy’s mom’s cigar. The intermingling of green smoke and Pacifica’s signature pink made for an interesting light show.
“Well, you see, I need some dynamite, and my usual supplier is out of town,” she held her hands up, “But listen. My usual stuff isn’t just any old explosive. It’s the best, imported from Europe.”
The older woman took another long drag off her cigar, once more sizing Pacifica up for size, “So you’re saying you doubt the quality of my goods?”
“Hey I don’t mean no disrespect-”
Suddenly, a calloused hand reached out and dragged the socialite by the arms around the cabin and to a backyard test site. Piles of boxes of every explosive imaginable were piled high. A large cabin, not unlike the many Pacifica owned herself, sat waiting, poised to send someone flying over the trees.
“I’ll give ya a demonstration.”
“O-ok.”
The older woman dug around in some of the crates until finding what she was looking for. She pulled out a bundle of sticks of dynamite, a label on the side of which merely said ‘Special Stuff’. WIthout speaking, Pacifica watched in anticipation as the dynamite was placed on a launchpad and the fuse lit.
The flame glowed every color as it made its way down the fuse. The blonde held her breath as it finally reached its destination, and with a deafening BOOM, the ‘Special Stuff’ detonated into a cloud of rainbow smoke, lighting up the women’s faces as well as the surrounding area for miles around. The smoke finally cleared. Pacifica wiped the soot off her face and shook ash out of her now disheveled blonde locks. Off in the distance, a small forest fire raged, spurred on by the explosion.
The girl turned to face Wendy’s mom, shock and awe present on her face. Her expression was met only with a cocked eyebrow and smug smirk.
“So I presume you’ll be purchasing some of my stock?”
“Um. Yes.”
“Great,” the redhead enthused, capturing Pacifica’s hand in another quacking handshake, “we’ll go over the paperwork later. On another matter…”
The socialite narrowed her eyes in suspicion, “What ‘other matter’?
The other of the two took another long drag of the cigar; Pacifica instinctively followed suit. “I’ve seen how you’ve been eyeing my cannon. I reckon it’s been a second since you’ve been shot out of one, and you’re itching for a chance.”
The girl’s face lit up in glee, smoke pouring from her nose and from behind her clenched teeth, “Oh yes!”
“Let’s go then,” and with that, Wendy’s mom scooped Pacifica up into a bridal carry and shoved her down into the barrel of the bright green cannon. A helmet and goggles were shover over her head and eyes, and the blonde vibrated with excitement at the sound of the fuse being lit behind her.
In a flash, Pacifica was launched out over the trees in a plume of dark green, pine scented smoke. She admired Gravity Falls from above, taking in all the familiar sights from a new, exciting angle. Her mind went a million miles per second, but one thought in particular forced its way to the front; It looked like Pacifica Northwest had just found a new dynamite supplier. She’d try to let the old one down easy.
The day finally arrived. The family yacht, dubbed the ‘SS Shooting Star’ in flowing green script on the starboard side, was dressed up to the nines, as was its captain. The poop deck: Swabbed. The mini bar: Fully stocked. Every inch of wood and metal had been meticulously scrubbed, polished, and waxed to a mirror shine.
The glorious vessel approached the dock of Lake Gravity Falls. Through the fog, Pacifica faintly made out the silhouette of someone standing on the wooden planks: her girlfriend, she presumed. The blonde nervously adjusted the cuff of her heavy overcoat. It was a cool Spring morning, and the girl was grateful for the extra layers to her outfit. Under the coat she wore a scarlet vest, which itself was over a billowing white dress shirt. Petticoats upon skirts fell down to her mid calf, meeting heavy leather boots halfway, every piece bordered with glittering gold trim. A myriad of jewelry and belts completed the look, along with an extravagant, lace filled, black and white pirate’s hat which fell upon her golden curls. Her right eye was covered by an ornate black velvet eyepatch. It completely messed with her depth perception, but in her mind, aesthetic was king.
The boat came ever closer to the dock. There was only one thing left to do, “LIGHT IT UP,” Pacifica yelled, stepping up into a triumphant pose onto the bow. Strong hands placed on hips, the sky exploded behind her and thousands of fireworks in every color ignited. The sound of it all was cacophonous, and the captain was afraid to move her eyes an inch out of fear of paying witness to the heavenly glow from so up close. That being said, becoming blind and deaf was a small cost towards the goal of impressing one’s girlfriend. And impressed she was. The ‘SS Shooting Star’’ finally pulled up alongside the wooden dock, and Pacifica blushed at the sight of Mabel awestruck grin.
Climbing into the ship’s cannon, a butler lit the fuse and the girl was sent up into the air in a flash or light, backflipping all the way down to the dock. The blonde’s boots landed on the wooden planks with a satisfying ‘thunk’ and she was immediately pounced on by her waiting lover. She let herself become caught up in the passionate kiss hello, but after a moment leaned back to take in the majesty that was Mabel Pines.
“I like your dress,” the captain muttered, embarrassed and only turning more red. The other girl wore a floor-length, silk, aqua ball gown. Weaved with a fish scale pattern, the dress shimmered every color of the fireworks display.
“I like your whole get-up too,” Mabel smirked, cupping her lover’s face in her hands, “How very ‘Elizabeth Swan’ of you.” She let her hand trail down Pacifica’s frame to rest in one of the many pockets of the blonde’s heavy overcoat. She smiled, finding exactly what she expected, and pulled out one of the socialite’s signature cigars. The girl smiled, seeing that her girlfriend had prepared for the occasion not with one of her signature pink ones, but with a large golden cigar that shined like stolen treasure. Also retrieving its corresponding golden lighter, she placed the smoke between her girlfriend’s waiting lips, planted a quick peck on Pacifica’s smooth cheek, then led the girl up the gangplank in anticipation for a tour of the ship. The smoke from the cigar smelled of salt water, perfectly matching their seafaring theme, just as Pacifica meticulously planned.
They went from room to room with Pacifica going into extreme detail about every aspect of the vessel. From the pine boards sourced directly from the woods of Gravity Falls, to the ship’s bell imported all the way from Venice, the girl had a story for everything. Mabel, engrossed to no end, especially admired the wall-sized family portrait of the Northwests, the three of them decked out in full sailing gear and appearing very stern. Her girlfriend’s familiar gloomy expression made her giggle, and she drew a mustache on the girl’s painted face when Pacifica wasn’t looking.
“And here we have the control room,” the blonde said, hand still clutched in Mabel’s. The room was filled with various control boards and heavily-buttined panels, but at its center stood a magnificently large ship’s wheel, made of only the finest pine. Smooth like silk, the Northwest family motto ‘Nos Sunt Optima’ was engraved in an extremely ornate font.
“What does this mean,” Mabel asked, running her finger over the inscription.
“We are the best,” replied her girlfriend, puffing her chest out to match the grandeur of the portrait behind them. The brunette chuckled at her lover’s antics and resumed her examination of the heart of the ship. Trinkets and photos littered the dashboard, and it was one such picture that made the girl gasp. She remembered the day it had been taken, but this was one snapshot the girl had never had the fortune of seeing.
A month or so prior, Pacifica had joined the Pines family for a day at the beach. They had all had a great time swimming, building sand castles, and just overall enjoying each other's company. Dipper had taken to meticulously documenting the outing, especially when the sun began to set and the sky lit up like a painter’s palette, the thought of which brought Mabel back to the picture she held in her hands.
It was of Mabel and Pacifica, faces reflecting the pinks and oranges of the changing sky. While Mabel stared off into the distance, admiring the sun’s descent. Pacifica’s gaze instead settled on her girlfriend. A small, shy smile sat on the blonde’s face, and the look in her eyes could fill a million hearts with love. How had present day Mabel never seen this picture before? She placed the frame back onto the dashboard and took a moment or so to think.
The brunette turned back to her girlfriend, who was sheepishly staring at the floor and kicking at the ship’s deck with the toe of her boot, hands hidden behind her back. The smoke coming off the girl’s cigar had an air of sheepishness, matching it’s owner’s demeanor perfectly. In three long strides, Mabel reached her lover and scooped the girl up into her arms into a bone-crushing hug. Pacifica was taller than her, but it took almost no effort at all to lift the girl off the ground.
Upon placing her back onto the ground, Mabel immediately burrowed into Pacifica’s neck, peppering the skin there with kiss after kiss. “You know, every day I wake up and think that I have reached my limit for how much I love you, Pacifica Elise Northwest. But then we have a fishing date on your family yacht in which I find out you keep an intimately romantic framed picture of the two of us on the dashboard of the ship, and it becomes apparent that the limit does not exist.
Pacifica laughed, “I love you too, you dork, but did you just quote Mean Girls at me during your romantic confession?”
Mabel playfully shoved her away, “So what if I did. You speak almost solely in quotes from old movies I’ve never seen before and probably never will.”
“Whatever,” the blonde scoffed, still unable to quell her beaming smile, “Should we get to the fishing now?” And with that, Mabel allowed herself to be led back out to the upper deck.
“I trust my butler has your fishing gear,” asked Pacifica. Appearing out of thin air, said butler came and deposited said gear onto the deck of the ship.
Mabel began rifling through her things, searching for the perfect lure to start off the day, “Wait,” she noticed, pausing her search, “Where’s all your stuff?”
“Well,” her lover started, rummaging in the many pockets of her coat, “My fishing method, like everything else about me, is...unique.” The blonde then brandished a large stick of dynamite. A stick on the side of the explosive said ‘Corduroy and Co.’. Without another word, Pacifica lit the TNT off the end of her still smoking cigar and chucked it into Lake Gravity Falls as far as she could. It disappeared into the water with a plop, prompting the socialite to pull out a copper pocket watch to count down the seconds until detonation.
Like clockwork, the lake suddenly erupted into a huge splash, spraying both girl’s with lake water, putting out the cigar, and causing fish to rain down and flail on the deck of the ‘SS Shooting Star’. Pacifica drug around for a replacement smoke, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“How’s that for fishing?”
“I’d say it’s a fairly effective method,” the brunette joked, narrowly dodging a large salmon before it made direct impact with her nose.
Explosion after explosion rocked the lake as well as the boat, sending fish flying off in every direction. Each reaction from the two girls was the same: Pacifica’s pride paired with Mabel’s fearful awe.
The blonde threw another stick of dynamite into the lake, spraying the surrounding water once again. She watched the fish scatter around them, mouth open in glee. Apparently, her mouth was open a bit too wide, because upon its descent, one of the fish struck her right in the face, wriggling its way into her mouth. Pacifica struggled to breathe, but with a single heaving gulp, managed to swallow the poor sea creature whole. She felt it squirm down her throat and into her stomach, meeting its end with a belly-aching plop. The girl cringed hard at the sensation of the wet, slimy, cold fish in her mouth, and with a hand on resting on her stomach, looked up to see Mabel’s face full of abject shock. The brunette pulled out a vintage ivory pipe from her tackle box and gave it a contemplated huff, sending a cascade of bubbles out of the end.
“Well damn, Paz...I knew you loved to eat...but that sure was something else…”
A swarm of butlers appeared, offering the blonde a variety of items, from sparkling water to antacids. Pacifica waved them away with a weak hand, still clutching her abdomen.
Her girlfriend approached, worried, “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”
“Nope,” the other girl managed to squeeze out. She closed her eyes, bunched up her eyebrows, and took in a deep breathe through her pointed nose. A gurgling sound emanated from the heiress’ stomach and the color began to return to her pale face. “I’ll be fine. That was totally gross, though.”
“I thought it was kinda hot,” Mabel teased, failing to bring any glee to the face of her still embarrassed girlfriend, “Seeing you unhinge your jaw like that. Like a sexy snake.”
The blonde glowered, but found it in herself to give a weak chuckle, “Stop it you, goof,” she said, playfully shoving the other girl. A kiss was lovingly planted on her cheek, lifting her spirits even more.
The lovers went back to fishing, Pacifica still miffed at her fishy oral encounter. She was a fan of sushi, but that was just too far. The girl took a break from her explosive methods in favor of just observing her girlfriend. Every movement the other girl made was art to Pacifica’s eyes, regardless of how clumsy Mabel was known to be. She watched as the brunette fluidly cast her line into line into the water, making micro-adjustments onto the slack on the wire with such care. She continued to stare; Mabel caught her watching and shot her girlfriend a goofy smile, eyes full of love. Pacifica responded by masterfully blowing the shimmering golden smoke of her cigar into the shape of a skull and crossbones, making the other’s girl grin even wider.
The little white and red float on the end of her line suddenly bobbed under the water, causing Mabel’s face to light up in excitement. She quickly reeled in her catch, being cautious not to snap the line or give away too much of it. After a few moments of push and pull, the water broke and Mabel wheeled a good-sized cod onto the deck of the ship. The fish wriggled and writhed in the brunette’s triumphant hands, and after the blonde took an obligatory picture of her girlfriend and her prize, Mabel shot Pacifica a mischievous look, stepping ever closer and tossing the fish between her two hands.
“Paz...have you ever seen Lady and the Tramp?”
The blonde did not like where this was going one bit, “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Nooo,” her lover replied, grin not slipping an inch.
“Mabel I am not recreating the spaghetti scene with you using a live fish!”
The socialite’s girlfriend stuck out her bottom lip in a pout, making her eyes as wide and glossy as possible. “Oh so we’re bringing out the big guns immediately,” the Northwest girl thought to herself. Why even try to fight it at that point. The next logical step in Mabel’s tactics was a tickle fight, and the blonde was not interested in that in the slightest, especially with all her servants milling around. Mabel knew all her...secret spots...and that information would be deadly in the wrong hands.
Pacifica sniffed once, releasing any pride left in her tall frame, “Fine-,” Mabel’s joyous squeals cut her off. “BUT,” the girl continued, “I start at the tail.”
“Fine with me. Pucker up Miss. Pirate Queen!” Mabel offered the blonde the tail end of the fish, which she took between a pinch thumb and forefinger. Shuddering in anticipation, Pacifica placed the tail in her mouth; it squirmed uncomfortably, but settled when it’s head was bitten into by Mabel. In a way, Pacifica felt jealous of the fish; it didn’t have to witness what was about to occur.
The two girls made intense eye-contact, or rather, Mabel stared into Pacifica’s eyes, unrelenting and daring the other girl to look away, which at that point was impossible with their quickly approaching faces.
Pacifica continued to slurp down the fish bit by bit, longing for the experience to be over and mentally reminding herself of all the reasons she loved Mabel. Speaking of the other girl, after what felt like hours of slog through scales and guts, Pacifica’s lips finally touched her lover’s and the blonde was swept off her feet into a dipping and passionate kiss. Forgetting the fish entirely as well as the group of ever-present butlers, she let herself become lost in her lover, her thoughts converging into a single message; Pacifica would do anything to put a smile on Mabel’s face, be it hell or high water, or any fish in between.
The two girls finally broke apart, leaving Pacifica a dazed mess. Mabel watched on with glee, returning to her pipe and hiding her grin behind a wall of glossy pastel bubbles, distorting her vision as well. When the soap cleared, the brunette took in the scene in front of her. She watched her girlfriend rummage around in a whole pile of boxes before selecting one rather large one and heaving its contents onto the deck.
A large, imposing naval mine thunked onto the deck, threatening to break through the wood planks any second. Its thick metal chain was grasped between Pacifica’s delicate hands, and the blonde slowly but surely dragged the mine to the ship’s edge.
“Hey babe,” Mabel asked, pausing to take another puff on her bubble pipe, “Where did you get all these explosives?”
“Wendy’s mom,” her lover replied matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Pacifica took a heaving inhale, mustering all her strength, and managed to begin to swing the mine over her head like a flail. The mine made a loud whoosh as it passed over the girl’s heads.
“Ah. Of course. How could I not have seen that.”
After a few seconds of spinning, the mine built up quite the velocity. With a grunt of effort, Pacifica let go of the chain and let the mine sail over the railing of the ship and into the lake below. It disappeared under the water, leaving large waves in its wake that rocked The Shooting Star. The following explosion was bigger than any other the girls had paid witness to that day. Water sprayed everywhere, drenching them completely as fish fell from the heavens like a biblical plague. The deluge put out the fat, golden cigar sitting in Pacifica’s lips, the end hissing like a wounded snake. Mabel grabbed the biggest net she could find to catch them, but even that was filled in a matter of seconds. The fish kept falling, but nothing could make the gleeful grin fall from Pacifica’s face.
A shadow descended upon the deck of the ship, specifically over the head of one Pacifica Northwest. Suddenly cast in shade, the girl looked up to see a quickly approaching giant bass falling from the sky, mouth open and poised to swallow her whole. And envelope her it did. In a split second, the entirety of her girlfriend was gone.
Mabel looked on in worry. She stepped closer to the squirming fish, she pressed her eye against its belly, able to hear a faint hissing sound from inside. A second later, the fish was gone, obliterated to atoms. In its place stood Pacifica, smoldering slightly from the explosion, but otherwise unharmed.
“Oh my god, Paz. Are you alright?”
The blonde inspected her nails, carefully flicking off a bit of fish guts from her immaculate manicure, “Of course I’m fine. Growing up in Gravity Falls, I get swallowed whole at least twice a month.”
After that, the detonations were practically constant; the socialite was making it rain TNT. Boom after boom went off, each threatening to sink the ship and take away their hearing.
“Watch this,” Pacifica said, making sure her girlfriend was watching with rapt attention. The heiress grabbed another stick of dynamite. Turning away from the lake, she lit the fuse off the end of the cigar and threw it into the water behind her. She waited the customary couple seconds, then with a flick of her blonde curls synchronized with the explosion, caught a fish out of the air with her teeth and swallowed it whole. The girl turned, waggling her eyebrows, to the adoring crowd that was Mabel, cheering up a storm as the butlers around them politely clapped along with her.
Once more, Pacifica doubled over slightly, clutching at her stomach, “Ugh. I can’t believe I’ve eaten three whole raw fish today. I hope you’re impressed.”
Mabel rushed over and placed a comforting hand on her girlfriend’s back, “Of course I’m impressed. I’m always impressed with you, all this is just extra.” She rubbed soothing circles on the blonde’s back, “That’s not to say it’s not nice to see you make an effort.”
“You’re worth it,” Pacifica groaned in response, finally finding the strength to straighten back up.
Mabel eyed the pile of explosives, as she had been once Pacifica had shown her that they were completely safe to use. She rummaged around before pulling out a bright red stick on dynamite, “May I,” Mabel asked, holding it up for her girlfriend to see.
“Be my guest.”
With her lover’s blessing, Mabel stuck the stick of TNT in her mouth and walked it over to Pacifica, kissing the fuse to the end of the blonde’s smoking cigar. It lit up in a rainbow of colors and before the flame could get too close to her nose, the brunette spat it out into the lake.
“Butler, bring me my golf bag,” Pacifica requested. In an instant, one of many servants materialized presenting the Northwest girl with her clubs on a silver palette. The blonde carefully selected a shing nine iron, and as the sky was once again filled with misplaced fish, she took up the backswing and hit one of the creatures with all the strength in her body.
It sailed overhead, becoming only a twinkle in the night sky.
“Nice shot Paz. I reckon that one will make it all the way to Mars.”
“Thanks babe,” Pacifica said with a smirk, replacing the club back onto the platter, “I try my best.”
Luckily, the rest of the explosions went off without a hitch. At least, until Mabel managed to catch another fish the old fashioned way.
Pacifica threw another stick of dynamite into the water, leaning over the ship’s railing to watch it sink to the bottom of the lake. After a few seconds, nothing happened. The blonde simply shrugged and began preparing another stick. She watched as Mabel reeled in a catch. The brunette pulled a fish out of the water, but aside from the usual squirming, this one was also smoking at the mouth. The girls held it between them to get a better look, but it was too late. The fish detonated, spraying its guts over the entirety of the deck, including the lovers, whose clothes became singed. Pacifica scrambled to put out the tips of her precious blonde hair, which fizzled with small fires. Mabel stomped a healed foot on the burning hem of her shimmering dress. The formerly drenched cigar was relit, much to Pacifica’s delight. It was bad luck in her eyes to waste a cigar, and she happily watched as the glittering smoke ascended around them, surrounding the girl’s with the thick scent of sea water.
After a frantic couple seconds, Mabel and Pacifica paused, chests heaving, and made intense eye-contact. A beat passed between them, but then both girls nearly collapsed onto the deck with laughter, leaning on each other to keep from falling over as tears of mirth fell from their eyes. Pacifica reached forward, still giggling, and wiped a piece of raw fish from the cheek of her girlfriend, feeling the other girl’s dimples under her thumb. They spent a couple seconds staring lovingly into each other's eyes until the ticking of Pacifica’s pocket watch tore her attention away. She pulled the antique out of her pocket, and upon seeing how quickly time flew by, decided to cast one more line for good measure before packing it in for the night.
The sun continued to set. Deciding to save the remains of her explosives for another day, the blonde picked through her choices to select one last stick to throw. Finding one suitable, she lit it up, the light of the crackling fuse reflecting on her face and dramatically accentuating her angular face. With a pitch that would make a baseball star proud, she threw the dynamite as far as she could into the water, waited, and...nothing. Another dud.
The debutante girl turned to her beloved, “Let’s try that again.” But just as she picked another piece of TNT out of the bunch, a rather large salmon flopped onto the ship, once again smoking from the mouth.
The girls smiled, knowing what was about to happen, but their smiles faded as the fish took with three large leaps and hopped over to the cache of explosives.
“NO NO NO NO NO,” they said in unison, running to scoop up the salmon before it could detonate. Comically crashing into each other and slipping on the wet wood, it was no use. The fish detonated and like a snap, The Shooting Star was completely obliterated in a corona of light and sound, shooting Mabel and Pacifica high up into the stratosphere. The wind whipped around them as the blonde tried desperately to hold onto her pirate hat, as well as all the other priceless jewels that made up her outfit.The sky grew closer and closer as the girls flew into space hand in hand, becoming nothing more than a twinkle in the among the stars as they came to a stop above Gravity Falls.
“The Earth really does look so beautiful from up above. Makes everything seem so insignificant, ya know? Not like in a bad way or anything. Just in a way that let’s me know that all my problems will come to pass,” Mabel mused, awestruck by the sight of the tiny town from so high up.
“Yeah, yeah that’s great babe. Can you look this way please,” said Pacifica, bringing her lover in closer to her. Mabel turned her head and was greeted with a camera flash and seconds later, her own phone pinged with a notification.
“@PerfectlyPaz tagged you in an image,” it said. Mabel opened Instagram to see a photo of her and Pacifica, floating in space together. The caption read, ‘Watching Earth from above but she’s my whole world’. Mabel squealed, turning red. Somewhere below them, Dipper groaned at the mushiness displayed on his phone screen. Obviously he dropped a like, but would deny it to his grave.
Suddenly, their orbit began to speed up again, as the girls began their descent. Pacifica remembered that she owed a certain someone a call for a job well done...
Pacifica managed to get her phone out without dropping it and tried her best to dial it as she and her girlfriend broke the sound barrier, “Mrs. Corduroy? Hey, can you hear me,” she screamed into the phone, “Yeah, hi. The stuff is great. I’m totally going to be placing another order very soon...okay...bye.”
She hung up and noticed that Mabel watched her with bated breath.
“What is it,” the blonde asked.
“It’s okay. You can admit it...you had a good time.”
Pacifica sighed. There was no use denying the truth, “Yeah...I guess I did have a good time,” trying to keep her face as neutral as possible. It was no use. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face as Mabel pressed her lips into her girlfriend’s cheek. The evidence just kept mounting; Pacifica could watch paint dry with her lover and have a good time. The fact was simple; Mabel made Pacifica happy, and if a day of fishing could make her girlfriend feel the same way, then the blonde would do it everyday for the rest of her life, hell or bomb-filled water.
“You sure do know how to name a boat Paz,” Mabel joked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well the SS Shooting Star truly is now...a shooting star.”