This is a completed request for @waldorkler from a few weeks back. They requested a Dippica one-shot set in a Gravity Falls Circus AU. Thank you for the request and the opportunity, I hope you enjoy the story!
Note: Story is under a read more. Requests are currently closed.
Before this moment, if you had told Dipper that he would willingly let his sister fire him from a cannon into certain death for the sake of a blind date, he wouldn’t have believed you. Yet here he was: he had donned one of Mabel’s special capes, the silver one, and a crash helmet, then crammed himself into the bright blue death-contraption. His sister was poised with a frightening grin and an unlit match at the ready.
Dipper really needed to re-examine his life.
“Mabel, this doesn’t seem like a good idea.” His voice wavered, wary of his sister’s mischievous look.
His sister scoffed at him. “This is a great idea, Dip-Dop.”
“Actually, I’m going to second that: this isn’t a good idea, Mabel.”
Ah yes, another wrench in the plan. Not only was Dipper plunged into a cannon, oh no – he was squashed in a cannon with none other than Pacifica Northwest, similarly dressed in one of Mabel’s sparkly capes – the purple one, of course – and a white crash helmet. A new addition to their troupe no older than he, Pacifica was sharp tongued, quick witted, and too clever for her own good. A heavy smoker, the young woman constantly reeked of cigarette smoke, but for some reason, Dipper couldn’t find it in himself to be bothered by it. Especially when she was undoubtedly one of the prettiest, snarkiest, most intelligent women he had ever been near.
So yeah, Dipper was in deep with this one.
“Oh come on, guys! The surprise is half the fun when it comes to a blind date!”
Mabel had come up with the brilliant plan to set up a blind date for the two of them, and to Dipper’s surprise, Pacifica had accepted the invitation. Despite her shellacked exterior, there was an occasional softness that bordered on tender that would emerge and catch him off guar. The gentle smiles, the bell-like laughter, and the soft lilt of her voice when it was just the two of them made him wonder if she had a crush on him, too.
Dipper was smitten, but Pacifica was more difficult to read, even for Mabel. She had promised to set up the perfect surprise date, one that would give him an opportunity to see if Pacifica liked him, too. Despite his hesitation, Dipper had agreed, secretly relieved that Mabel was going to help him woo Pacifica. Mabel was a matchmaker, and Dipper trusted his sister’s judgement.
That was before the cannon, of course.
“Can’t we just use blindfolds? Dipper protested weakly.
Mabel propped an elbow against the mouth of the cannon and leaned in to her brother. “Listen, Dip-Dop,” she said sagely, “I’ve been fired out of this thing multiple times a day for the past three years and I’m totally fine! No damage whatsoever.”
Dipper would have argued that point, had he not suddenly felt a hand graze his backside. He yelped.
“Sorry, my hand’s falling asleep,” Pacifica apologized. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Dipper replied in a constricted voice.
“Well, let’s get this show on the road!” Mabel bounced over to the fuse and took a stance. “Ready?”
“No,” Dipper and Pacifica said in unison.
“Perfect! One…”
She struck the match.
“Two…”
She lowered it to the fuse.
Dipper’s heart jumped into his throat and he started to say, “Mabel, wait–”
“Three!”
He heard the tell-tale sizzle of the fuse, and suddenly he felt Pacifica turn and wrap her arms tight around him from behind. He only had enough time to take a deep breath before he was propelled into the air.
The world whizzed by in a blur of blue and green, and Dipper could only hear his own screams over the whip of the wind. Pacifica gripped him like a vice, tight enough to hurt, but he kept still and hoped they would make it to the ground in one piece. They arced over the treetops, and as their momentum slowed, Dipper could make out the unforgiving woods that rushed up toward them on the decline. His heart hammered; Mabel said she recalibrated the cannon to clear the woods, right? So why were they falling directly into the trees.
“Brace yourself!” Dipper shouted to Pacifica as they fell faster. Her only response was to wrap her legs around him and bury her face in the back of his shirt.
They broke through the canopy with a crash, and Dipper prepared himself for the impact of the hard ground. He scrunched his eyes and took another deep breath.
He didn’t expect it to be wet and warm. Strange contractions pressed him through a slick opening, and then he landed with a splash.
He spluttered and opened his eyes, only to be met with darkness. He thrashed, and Pacifica instantly released him. The two of them scrambled to their feet, drenched in a foul smelling liquid and gasping for breath.
“Where are we?” Pacifica wondered.
“No idea,” Dipper replied as he brushed the water from his eyes. No matter how hard he squinted, he couldn’t see the hand in front of his face, let alone anything else. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out his keyring. He fiddled with it until he found the miniature flashlight and pressed the button. The feeble blue light illuminated the warm, wet cave they were in, and he could see slick ribbed walls. The closer he looked, the more convinced he was that they were moving in rhythm, but that was impossible. Walls don’t move.
He heard a shriek from Pacifica and whipped around so the beam of light landed on her. Her hair was matted and her makeup was smudged from their wet landing, but that wasn’t what caught his attention: her face was contorted in fear.
“What is it, Pacifica?”
She pointed a shaking hand away from the light and Dipper swung his flashlight around. What he saw turned his stomach.
It was the half-decomposed carcass of a raccoon.
“Where the hell are we?” Pacifica demanded, he voice trembling.
Dipper raised his flashlight and shone it around them. The walls stretched higher than he could see, but now that his vision was clear, he could tell the walls were definitely moving. The slick walls, the faint, rhythmic roar, the putrid stench, and the carcass floating in the water led him to a frightening conclusion.
“I think we’re in a stomach,” he said in a low voice.
Pacifica whirled to face him. “What?”
“I don’t know exactly what it is,” Dipper waded toward what he hoped was the cardiac sphincter, “but we’re definitely in the stomach of something huge.”
“Typical,” Pacifica huffed.
Dipper sighed, a little annoyed by her response. “I think the appropriate response in this situation is ‘Brilliant deduction, Dipper, whatever would I do without you’?”
“Brilliant deduction, Dipper,” Pacifica recited, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “How do we get out of here?”
“Working on that.” Dipper sloshed to the far side through the waist-deep liquid and reached out to press his hand against the stomach lining. He made a face at the slick, rubbery texture on his palm and tried not to think too hard about what they were doing.
“If my hypothesis is correct–” he threw his shoulder into the wall with a grunt “–we can get this thing to toss its cookies. We just need to create some waves.”
He repeated the action once, twice, while Pacifica watched with a dubious air.
“You think if you give it indigestion, it’ll just spit us back out?” she demanded.
“If we give it indigestion. You start pushing against the other side.”
Ordinarily, Pacifica wasn’t the type to do what she was told. But by some stroke of luck, she only rolled her eyes at him and moved where he indicated. She jabbed her elbow into its side and he heard a grumble of disgust. Pleased that he had help, Dipper resumed his work.
As they struck the sides of the stomach lining, the mixture started to slosh around more forcefully. From somewhere beyond them, Dipper heard a moan of discomfort and threw himself more heartily into his next lunge.
“I think it’s working! Keep going!”
Pacifica let out a roar of exhaustion. “It better be!”
As they struck the beast’s insides, the stomach fluids built up into strong waves that struck Dipper higher and higher on his shoulders. Suddenly, he heard a shriek from the other side, followed by a loud splash.
“Pacifica?” Dipper raised his flashlight and shone it in Pacifica’s direction. His heart leapt into his throat when he saw no sign of Pacifica.
“Pacifica!” he waded through the waves, spluttering and scanning his beam of light over the surface.
There was another splash, and a white-capped head popped up for a few seconds before it sunk from view. Dipper splashed over to where she was and dove under. He didn’t open his eyes, but he groped through the water until he felt her sequined cape brush his fingertips. He clawed over to her and grabbed her around the middle to drag her to the surface.
They broke with a gasp, and Pacifica immediately started to cough. Dipper raised a hand to push her fringe out of her eyes, and the keyring slipped from his fingers.
“No!” he cried as he watched it sink out of sight.
His disappointment over the loss of his flashlight was forgotten when Pacifica rasped, “There’s something over there! It looks like a raft!”
Dipper followed her line of sight and squinted. Sure enough, a large plank of what he could only guess was wood floated atop the slowing waves. He kicked and stroked with one arm until they reached it, and he was surprised to find it was a large wooden desk, swallowed whole. Dipper wondered for a moment about the fate of the owner of the desk, but then banished the thought. He supported Pacifica as she heaved herself onto the desk and accepted her offered hand to help him up. He collapsed on the wood panting and drenched, his limbs burning from the swim.
When Dipper could finally move again, he turned his head and let out a weak groan. “That didn’t work.”
“Nope.” He heard a rustle of wet clothes, then a flick, and his eyelids fluttered open to a small flame that was quickly snuffed out. He saw a burning point of orange in the darkness that flared up, and then smelled the tell-tale scent of cigarette smoke.
“Those things will kill you, you know.” It was the first time he had ever bothered to comment on her smoking, and the moment couldn’t have been more ironic. Pacifica must have agreed, because she laughed out loud.
“I don’t think it matters, since it looks like we’re going to die in here, anyway,” Pacifica said.
Dipper hated the pessimism in her voice, but he couldn’t disagree; the situation was dire. As they bobbed in an ocean of stomach acid and animal bones atop a desk, Dipper was struck with the realization that Pacifica might be the last person he saw before he died. He had always expected and hoped it would be his family, but this wasn’t a bad alternative.
“Good point.” He reached out a hand and asked, “Can I have a drag?”
Pacifica hesitated, caught off guard, but then she held out the cigarette and said, “Knock yourself out.”
He was careful to avoid the ember on the end of the cigarette, and once it was squeezed between his fingers, he brought it to his lips and took a pull. The smoke filled his lungs, and waited for a few seconds before he released the smoke with a cough. Pacifica laughed again.
“You’re not supposed to hold it in,” he teased, and her fingers brushed his as she took the cigarette back for another pull. He felt the smoke blown in his face more than he smelled it, and he coughed again.
“I’m not too worried about the etiquette. It’s my first and last cigarette.”
“I guess so.”
Dipper flinched when a damp, warm hand found his and held it. There was no shame or self-consciousness, maybe because of the darkness, but it was a tender gesture. Tobacco on his tongue and his fingers linked with Pacifica Northwest’s wasn’t the way he had planned to go, but in the moment, he didn’t feel a single regret.
“Can I try it again?” Dipper asked, suddenly bolder.
The embers drifted closer to him and her voice pierced the darkness. “Sure.”
This time, he had butterfingers, and he dropped the cigarette onto the desktop they sat on. Their hands sprang apart and Pacifica cursed. It tuned into a squeak of shock when the ember lit up a puddle of stomach acid in bright orange flame. In a show of quick thinking, Dipper brought his shoe down on it to stomp out the flame. When it fizzled and died, Dipper was left staring at the place where it had been, the cogs starting to creak into motion in his mind.
“I have an idea,” Dipper said suddenly. “Do you have any more cigarettes? And your lighter?”
Pacifica snorted. “This is me you’re talking to,” she replied as she opened her stainless steel case and pressed a cigarette into his palm, then her lighter. She could tell he was onto something. “What’s the plan?”
“These stomach juices are flammable, right?” Dipper scooted back and turned toward the esophagus, the hole where daylight entered every so often when the creature swallowed some unfortunate animal or inanimate object. He eyed the entrance and continued, “We’re going to give this thing some serious heartburn.”
Pacifica’s voice went serious. “You think that’ll work?”
“It’s our only option. Come on; help me paddle us to the opening.”
They used their hands to row the makeshift boat toward the cardiac sphincter, and once they reached their destination, Dipper turned around and squinted into the darkness.
“I’m going to light this up and throw it as far as I can, alright?”
Pacifica squeezed his shoulder to show she had heard.
Dipper steeled himself as he flicked the lighter and pressed it to the tip of the cigarette. He returned the lighter to Pacifica and narrowed his eyes to judge the distance. It was dark, but he could make out the dark shapes of unmentionables floating in the water. With a decided breath, he launched the illuminated cigarette into the darkness. The tiny ember made a large arc before it dropped into the waiting acids. Within a few seconds of being swallowed, flame swept over the surface of the acid on the far side, lighting up their cavernous prison.
“Keep your arms and legs tucked!” Dipper commanded as the fire spread.
As the dark water turned to a lake of fire, they heard a resounding groan of agony.
“It’s working!” Pacifica exclaimed.
Dipper chanced a smile, but it disappeared when he heard a sizzle, followed by a small explosion on the far side. A second later, there was another, and yet another, nearing their raft. His stomach dropped.
“It’s combustible,” he said in a near whisper.
Pacifica snapped her head toward him. “It’s what?”
“This thing’s gonna blow!”
In a moment of adrenaline, Dipper covered Pacifica’s body with his own and spread his cape, hopeful that it would protect them. Mabel used it when she did her act; surely it was flame retardant, at least?
There was a barrage of small explosions as the creature wailed and rocked from side to side. Their life raft bobbed and listed, but they held firm and rode out the waves. There was a large blast that made his ears ring, followed by a roar, and Dipper screwed his eyes shut.
Orange light lit up behind his eyelids, there was another explosion, and then a release of pressure. The light died into something softer: daylight.
Dipper popped up and looked around to see they were surrounded by the exploded carcass of the creature that had swallowed them. Dipper scrambled to his feet, scuttling away from one of the burning remains, and brushed himself off. Pacifica hacked and coughed from the dark smoke and rolled over. She unfastened and tossed off the helmet with a grunt, then sat up, looking dazed. She was drenched, reeked of stomach acid, and her clothes were singed, but she was thankfully still in one piece.
“Are you alright?” He offered a hand and hoisted Pacifica to her feet.
She wrung out her hair with a grimace. “Just peachy.”
Dipper laughed. “At least your sarcasm is still intact.”
She narrowed her eyes on him, but not before her mouth quirked in a smile. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and popped a hand on her hip. “You’re on fire, Dipper.”
“Thanks.” He grinned, giddy at the compliment.
She withdrew a fresh cigarette and approached him with a swagger that made his heart shoot into his mouth. Her eyes were fixed on him, and man, were they blue, blue and cunning and nothing short of beautiful. His breath hitched when Pacifica stopped only a few steps away from him and rolled the cigarette between her fingers, her head cocked to the side in appraisal. He nearly shuddered when she opened her mouth to speak.
“No, really. You’re on fire.”
She touched the end of her cigarette to the edge of his cape to light it on a small flame that licked at the shimmery fabric and brought the cigarette to her lips for a casual drag. Dipper yelped and leapt back about three feet, then proceeded to slap at the flame until it was snuffed out. It stung his palm, but he just brushed it off on his pant leg with a huff.
A giggle bubbled out of Pacifica, and when he looked up she was smiling as she exhaled a cloud of grey smoke that floated up to mingle with the smoke from the burning creature. Then, she did the unthinkable: she winked at him.
As Dipper tried to restart his heart, she glanced around at the decimation that surrounded them with pursed lips. “Should we put out this fire and head back?”
Dipper could only nod, still speechless.
They dug up handfuls of soil and tossed it onto the fires until the billows of smoke died down into wisps, then nothing. Dipper was pleased to find his keyring, which he tucked into his pocket, and Pacifica was pleased to be done with the whole debacle. Once they were sure all of the fires had been extinguished, Dipper led the way back toward the circus tent.
As they walked down the path, the silence stretched between them, and Dipper felt his nerves start to set in. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, tapped an incessant rhythm on his leg, all while stealing glances at Pacifica from the corner of his eye. She had abandoned her cigarette and stomped it out fully back in the clearing, and now she looked much more relaxed. Yes, her face was smudged with soot, and her hair was drying into a matted mess, but beneath it all her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone.
Dipper, unable to stand the silence, finally spoke. “Thanks for coming out with me, and helping me back there. I’m sorry this date was a total disaster.”
Pacifica cheated her head toward him and met his eyes. “You’re right, it was a disaster,” she agreed, “but you saved me back there, so I guess thanks or whatever.”
He resisted the urge to laugh because he sensed she was being genuine in that aloof way of hers. However, he couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “I’m also sorry about Mabel, she’s kind of wild when it comes to this sort of stuff. She didn’t mean for this to happen, but it still sucks that it did.”
“Don’t be sorry.” When Dipper shot her a confused look, she shrugged and said, “I like Mabel a lot, wild and all. And as dates go, at least this was exciting.”
“Really? You had a good time?”
Pacifica shot him a sardonic look. “I didn’t say that.”
Dipper shrank a little in embarrassment, and he went stiff when her hand brushed his again. Like when they were smoking on that make-shift raft and contemplating their own demise, but this time they were in dappled sunlight and there was no impending doom to push Pacifica. The thought warmed Dipper from the inside out.
He stole a look at her, and Pacifica was blushing – blushing! – as she stared straight ahead.
“I have a feeling we can still salvage this,” she said in a softer voice. She turned toward him and her eyes flashed as she asked, “Do you have any brilliant ideas?”
His windpipe tightened and he worried that if he tried to speak he might actually collapse from the effort. He was spared the chance when a loud voice interrupted.
“There you two are!”
Dipper whipped his head around to see that they had nearly reached the tent and his sister was bursting through the treeline to meet them. When she met them, her jaw fell in shock.
“What happened to you two?” she demanded.
Dipper shared a look with Pacifica, and after a shrug from the latter, he took it upon himself to regale her with the story of their adventure: The creature, the plan and its failure, and Dipper’s sudden inspiration. He left out the smoking part because Mabel would have had a field day with that information, but thanks to Pacifica’s interjections, it still took him until they reached the tent to finish the story. When he reached the end, Mabel looked thoroughly impressed.
“I can’t believe it! You two are, like, a power couple or something!” she exclaimed.
Dipper rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I didn’t ask for this date in the first place! Pacifica didn’t, either.”
He turned to Pacifica for backup and was startled to see her face had fallen. She was quick to cover it with a haughty look and a careless shrug. “I don’t even think it counts as a date, anyway. We spent it stuck inside a monster’s stomach.”
“Alright, so it didn’t work the first time–” Mabel grunted as she swung the cannon around “–but nothing says we can’t give it another shot! C’mon, one more try! This time I’ll aim you toward the lake. There are no monsters in there, right?”
Dipper caught the cannon and gave his sister a scathing look. “The lake? Mabel, there’s a dozen cryptids in there!”
She stopped pushing against him and frowned. “Really? I thought those were just big fish. They like it when I feed them.”
“You feed–?” Dipper broke off in a sigh and said, “Look, we’re just – we’re just not interested in trying it again, okay? One disaster is enough for today.”
Mabel pouted and pleaded. “C’mon, Dip-Dop! The lake’s a big target, my aim will be better this time. And if you run into any cryptids, just tell them I sent you. Easy peasy! Just hop in here–” she jumped into the cannon mouth and wriggled about until she was comfortable “–and you’ll be on the fastest flight to romance!”
“Mabel, there’s no romance! There’s nothing here, okay?”
Dipper felt a bit embarrassed by his outburst, and he couldn’t bear to look at Pacifica’s reaction to his harsh words. He just wanted to get away from the humiliation of the day and avoid Pacifica until he stopped getting butterflies and hot flashes around her.
Mabel’s smile turned sly. “Nothing here, eh? Well, Dip-Dop, remember that time you told me that you think Pacifica is the prettiest–“
There was a boom, then a wail, and Mabel was flung over the tent and out of sight. Dipper stared at the place she had disappeared for a moment with his mouth agape, then turned to see Pacifica with her lighter in hand and an innocent smile on her face.
“Whoops. How clumsy of me.”
“Pacifica!” he spluttered. “You have no idea where we fired her, what if she–”
“Relax,” Pacifica stopped him with a raised hand, “I’ve been working this act with her for months now. I know if the cannon is pointed between 43 and 47 degrees north, then she’ll land on the acrobats’ trampolines. She’ll be fine.”
Dipper checked his pocket compass and saw that she was right. His heart slowed a bit in relief, but picked up almost instantly when Pacifica approached him again.
“So…about salvaging this afternoon.” She tucked a flyaway behind her ear. “Do you want to get cleaned up and go to the diner? There’s a low percentage of monsters there.”
Dipper’s appetite made a miraculous return at her proposition and he said, “Sure. Just as long as we don’t take the cannon this time.”
“Obviously.” Pacifica smirked and asked, “How about we take my car?”
Dipper’s eyes widened. He had seen her driving, and it was nothing short of reckless. With a shaky laugh, he stammered, “I-it’s a nice day, why don’t we just walk?”
She looked a little put out but she said, “Alright. Meet you out here in fifteen.”
Dipper watched Pacifica go, mesmerized for a few seconds by the swing of her hips. Once she had ducked into the dressing rooms, he slouched in relief, glad he had dodged another bullet.
He wasn’t sure who was going to kill him first: Mabel with her matchmaking schemes, or Pacifica with her…well, everything. One thing was certain, though: it was a risk he was willing to take.
