Another chapter, folks. Things are progressing onward, and we're past the beginning phase. Get excited!

Chapter Ten: The Arrival

At six in the morning, a knock wrapped on the door.

Dipper barely registered the first one, immediately throwing it off as the stupid woodpecker banging its beak on a tree by the window. But when the second one came, he knew it wasn't the red-headed bird.

A low groan rumbled in his chest. His eyes wouldn't budge. They burned with fatigue. He stayed up all night using his new cell phone to text a certain blonde.

Two weeks had passed since the were-squirrel incident, but it felt like two days to him. From dealing with a giant raccoon on Pioneer Day to sealing away ghosts on Summerween, it somehow felt like a flash. Suddenly, his attention shifted focus to the ongoing screen conversation between he and Pacifica.

It was funny. He hadn't seen her since that night, yet every day he felt as if she were right next to him.

Getting the device was easier now than it would've been last summer. Grunkle Stan and Soos came up with a haunted house idea on Summerween, garnering a lot of profit. Soos paid both Dipper and Mabel generously for their work, and hearing Dipper's intentions behind getting a phone was enough incentive for Mabel to help him out and lend him some cash before the ink of Pacifica's number on his hand disappeared. He wasn't proud of how long he avoided washing that area.

Dipper flipped over and used all of his will to crack open his eyelids. Mabel still lay on her bed, snoring in a spread-out angel position with Waddles curled up at the end.

Finally, the door creaked open, "Dipper?"

The whisper had a recognizable, powerful cadence. Dipper craned his head, "Grunkle Ford?"

Ford stood in the cracked doorway wearing his usual attire, perked up and excited about something like he'd already been up for hours. He knew that look. He'd discovered a new anomaly and wanted to tell Dipper. Normally, it was no question, but he wasn't sure if he could stand properly right now.

"Dipper, I'm sorry to wake you up, but there's something important I need your assistance with."

"What is it?"

"It...would probably be easier to show you. Get dressed, I'll wait for you downstairs." With that, his footsteps lumbered down the hall and the stairs. Mabel kept snoring.

Dipper forced himself out of bed and threw on the first thing he could find. An unwashed orange t-shirt from last week, gray shorts, sneakers, and his trademark hat. He found the wrong Grunkle downstairs in the living room, passed out on his recliner, so he figured Ford must be outside.

When he slipped out, he tried to be as quiet as he could. Not that his family were light sleepers, but in the off chance he did wake someone up, he would incur their wrath. A disrupted sleeping Mabel is a grumpy Mabel.

Luckily, the door shut without a peep. Ford stood with his back turned to the Shack, hands positioned on his hips. He stared unmoving at Soos's truck, hitched to a strange box container made of thick metal.

Dipper walked up beside him, rubbing his eyes and trying to adjust to the morning thickness. "What's in the container?"

"Remember the baby dragon I showed you and Wendy? Well, it's far past the 'living in the basement' stage. It's ready to be set free in the lake."

Suddenly, Dipper lost his fatigue. His chest twisted with anxiousness. The idea of wrangling a large dragon didn't exactly sound like a cake walk. "Uh...so you want me to help you carry it? It won't bite me, will it?"

Ford chuckled, "Not at all. It's a gentle creature. However, she's been cooped up in a small space for a while now, so being out in the open may spook her. I just need someone to help me stabilize her while eased in the water."

"Stabilize as in..."

"Keep her still." He said it like it would be simple and quick, smiling down at Dipper without worry. "Really, there's nothing to worry about."

On cue, a low grumble came from the container, then the entire thing shook violently, nearly ripping the hitch off the truck.

Dipper looked at Ford, eyes now wide as saucers.

"Yes...well, it should be easier once we get there." He took off towards the car faster than Dipper could object, "Now let's hit the road! Fishing season is in its hay day right now and we must beat the traffic!"

Luckily, the lake was light on boats at such an early hour. Ford parked the truck in a clearing off road. A clear path where the ground sat equal to the water and reflected a vast orange glow from the sunrise.

"Okay, I think she's calmed down a bit," Ford said, hand hovering over the lever keeping the container closed, "Once I release her, stand back and give her space. If she thinks we're crowding her, she may attack."

"Do you have anything to keep us from, you know, being eaten?"

"Of course I have countermeasures, but I would really rather do this without stunning her. The second I do that, our bond will be broken, she may isolate herself and refuse feeding. So to sum it up, her future development depends on this moment right now. No pressure, Dipper."

"Right...no pressure."

Ford waited a few more moments, then gently turned the lever. He pulled open the heavy container door, revealing the same baby dragon from two weeks ago, sitting in that small cylinder. Now, it had quadrupled in size, with shiny black eyes the size of Dipper's hands. It had beautiful pearl white skin, slender, but strong limbs covered in smooth scales, and a tale nearly as long as it's body. One swipe of that thing and it could no doubt cut clean through his body.

"Remain calm," Ford whispered, "Let her come out on her own."

The dragon didn't immediately pounce like Dipper thought she would, which eased his nerves a bit, but didn't really do much to slow his racing heart. It never ceased to amaze Dipper how in this town, he could go from a normal night's sleep to waking up tasked with freeing an artic dragon.

She poked her long neck out of the container and swiveled her head, taking in the new scenery. With each careful footstep, the container shifted under the weight. Instead of turning her attention to Ford, she focused on the new face, bringing those flickering reptilian eyes inches from Dipper's face.

"Don't move," Ford advised, "Don't speak or blink, Dipper. It is imperative that you let her inspect you. It's a common dragon ritual."

He obeyed, not daring to flinch or twitch. Dipper didn't know much about dragon culture, but he knew when to stay cool in front of a monster with that many teeth.

The dragon showed no obvious signs of hostility. In fact, it regarded Dipper like an interesting foreign object, sniffing him all over and using that long neck to peer at him from different angles. When she was finished, a soft purr came from her chest, her head bumped into Dipper's briefly before she turned to look at the lake.

Ford beamed at him, "She likes you, Dipper! Frankly, I'm surprised. I didn't know you had such a way with dragons."

Dipper smiled nervously, moving a shaky hand towards his chest to make sure his heart hadn't jumped out. "M-Me either."

"You did good, but the job isn't over yet. She's waiting for us to lead her to the lake. Come, Dipper, place your hand on her back."

Once again, he followed instruction and together, they lead the dragon. As it approached the lake, it crouched down and left their grasp, diving headfirst and disappearing beneath the orange glow.

Ford slapped his gloves together, letting out a proud sigh, "Would you look at that. She's come a long way from the other side of the world."

The cell phone in Dipper's right pocket, diverting his attention. A fisherman out in the middle of the lake would've noticed the speed at which his hand shot to snatch the device.

The reason; a notification from the certain blonde. Pacifica was up too, bright and early like him. He clicked on the alert, opening up their ongoing messages. At the bottom, sat a new one, reading-

Pacifica: You up, dork?

His lip twitched upward. Within a couple of seconds, he typed up a quick response. She hadn't messaged this early before.

Dipper: Yeah, mystery stuff. Why are you up?

A bubble appeared and disappeared in a blink, a new message following with a picture attachment that he looked at first. Pacifica must've taken a quick photo of a tennis court. It appeared she was sitting on a bench.

Pacifica: Practice starts at the crack of dawn three times a week. So lame.

Dipper: So I'm guessing that's one of the hobbies you don't like, then?

Pacifica: I hate it. Too sweaty.

Dipper's concentration broke when Ford began snapping his fingers, "Dipper, are you even paying attention? You're missing out!"

He looked between the screen, the water, and Ford, stumbling over his words, "What? Oh...yeah, sorry Grunkle Ford. My mind hasn't been focused for the past couple of weeks, and-" He yawned, "-I haven't slept too much, either."

The brown eyes behind his glasses narrowed with concern, "This doesn't have anything to do with the mysterious new author, does it?"

Dipper shook his head, "No, no, I haven't even seen or heard anything else from that guy. This is honestly something harder to deal with."

"Well, perhaps I can help. I once beat an eight eyed card mechanic at poker in dimension B-56. Trust me when I say, there aren't many harder tasks than that."

He didn't have to contemplate it long. If he told anyone about his true feelings, Grunkle Ford's reaction would probably result in the least amount of embarrassment.

"It's about a girl."

Ford's confidence visibly melted. "Oh...yes, that is much harder to deal with. I see your point."

Dipper turned to him hopefully. Grunkle Ford always seemed to have the answers about everything. He's faced down countless monsters, discovered anomalies, solved paradoxes, and created weapons capable of killing intergalactic gods. The likes of a teenage crush shouldn't be an issue. "Hard but not impossible, right? I mean, you've asked out girls before, haven't you?"

"Asked out? Oh yes. But a successful date? Can't say. I once had punch thrown in my face at the school dance, so...I'm not the best person to give advice on girls. Heh, even Stanley would be a better option. Why don't you ask Mabel for assistance?"

"Nah, she'll just go overboard. The girl's Pacifica Northwest, and Mabel has this notion that we're destined to be together."

"Do you have the same notion?"

"No," He said immediately, then didn't like the answer, "Or maybe it's...I don't know, and I won't know until I ask her out!"

He plopped on his rear in the grass, putting his chin in his hands. He was tired. This entire ordeal was making him tired. Not even Wendy had this kind of hold on him.

Ford knelt down next to him, "Well, if that's the solution, then do it."

"Easier said than done, Grunkle Ford. I don't know the first thing about asking a girl out. Every time I've tried before I either overthink things and chicken out, or I get rejected. I think Pacifica likes me back, but it's hard to tell with her. She's...different. I feel like if I made a move, it'd have to be with a white horse and a carriage or something."

"The Northwests are impressed by grand gestures."

"You wouldn't happen to know where we could find a white horse and a carriage, would you?"

Ford shook his head and shifted so he could sit with Dipper on the ground. A passing gust of wind blew by, ruffling their hair. In another circumstance, it would be a nice, peaceful moment. The beauty of Gravity Falls lay before him, a perfect picture of serenity. But his mind was all over, going haywire.

"When we were younger, Stanley and I told each other everything," Ford reminisced, "Even though we were complete opposites, somehow we were always able to help each other with our problems. We complemented each other's strengths and weaknesses. It's the same with you and Mabel."

"I know. It just feels like I rely on her too much sometimes."

Dipper felt Ford's hand rest on his shoulder. "Like I said before, a sibling bond like the one you and Mabel have should be embraced, not pushed away. I'm fully aware how...much she can be to take in, Stanley was the same way, but it balances guys like us out pretty well."

"Yeah." He still wasn't sure. He was thirteen now. Yeah, still a kid, but he should be old enough to at least handle something like this on his own. He shouldn't have to recruit his entire family for backup.

But then again, Pacifica Northwest was worthy of requiring backup.

Ford removed his hand, starting to get up, "Well, we should get back. Everyone will probably be waking up soon."

"Can we just sit here for a minute?" Dipper asked, "You know, before all the chaos starts?"

Ford paused for a moment, then sat back down, nodding. "Sure. It's been a while since I've seen the lake like this anyway."

And they sat, but Dipper didn't feel any better.

Pacifica frowned at her phone screen. She sent her last message five minutes ago and still hadn't gotten a response.

She sort of lied to him. Tennis lessons were three times a week, usually bright and early, but not today. Pacifica just wanted to get out of the house and away from her parents.

It had been happening a lot since the werething incident. After her father made that deal with the old rat, he honored it, out of fear that if he went back on his word, the attacks would just start up again and get worse. But of course, that meant he would have to come up with a new plan to replenish their family's money. So for the past several days, any time Pacifica found him, he would often be in the living room by the fireplace, drink in hand, thinking deeply. He wouldn't acknowledge or speak to her, he just sat there like her mother did on the porch. Both were getting lost in the bottle.

If asked, she'd pretend to not care. But in truth, the entire thing scares her. Her mother has been like this for weeks, but her father? He never acts like this. One thing she can definitely say about him, is that he doesn't stay quiet for very long. He's always in meetings and trying to find new business ventures, anyway to make more money. He may not have any part in the physical aspect of it, but he makes all the decisions.

Now though, he's not doing anything. It's rattling her, so she has to escape. More often than not, she lucks out by catching a morning shift at Greasy's, which she has today in a couple of hours. But she needed to clear her head. If she could avoid that place entirely, she would. Lars just happened to be finished preparing breakfast for the family when she slipped downstairs and asked him to drive her to the tennis court. He obliged without question.

They didn't share any meaningful conversations or moments, but Pacifica felt like Lars was more related to her than her actual parents. He treated her with respect, not like she's some tool to be used. He understands her concerns and keeps his distance. She's alone with herself and her thoughts.

Except that's not true anymore. Now, she has Dipper on the other end of the phone, engaging in a back and forth she considered to be thrilling. Even though they talked about nothing. Just whatever came to their minds. The messages were impulsive, silly, and so unlike her. But Pacifica has come to realize that unlike her, is the real her she's becoming. Someone she can stand to look at in the mirror.

Of course, even through virtual means, she can't muster up the courage to say certain things. Like for instance...her feelings. The mushy stuff. Dipper hasn't made a move yet, or talked that way, so she won't either. To her, it's kind of like a friendly battle of who'll cave in first. Who will reach their breaking point.

If she's being honest, she's getting close. A conversation over text can only quench so much. Against her better judgement, she has to admit to herself that she misses the nerd. Despite getting manhandled by freaks a couple of weeks ago, she liked spending time with him, she liked the rush of the chaos, she liked the mystery, and she understood why he enjoys chasing ghosts and weirdos.

At least, it beats everything going on in her life. Pacifica couldn't even look at past events the same again. She'd been missing out on a lot, and the sad part, is that she's lived in Gravity Falls her entire life. Everything was right in front of her the whole time.

Pacifica takes a deep breath. The sun is at her back, dousing the exposed skin with a warm massage. There's little to no wind, but the air isn't humid, it's comfortable and pleasing. She breaths easy, fluidly, like a subconscious routine. Mini-meditation to separate herself from the real world and live in her own pocket planet for just a moment.

The peace doesn't last. Her bubble pops when footsteps approach.

Lars's voice comes at her apologetically, "I'm sorry Miss Pacifica, but I just received an urgent call from your father. He wants you home immediately."

She squints when she looks up at him, "Why?"

"He did not say."

For half a second, she considered running for it. But that would get her nowhere. She has no survival skills, and couldn't rough it in the woods if she tried. Reluctantly, she agrees, "Okay."

The drive from the court to the Northwest cabin took ten minutes. The entire time, Pacifica tried to not worry about what would happen once she got there. For the past two weeks, it was like she turned into a ghost, but now her father acknowledges her escape attempts. It made her fidget and squirm in her seat.

To distract herself, she took out her phone again and checked her message strand with Dipper. Still no response. That was weird. Dipper usually sent something back right away. She always thought it was cute too. Since he got that phone, he's been glued to it, asking her about certain social media apps, always using proper grammar, and never giving a minute of space between texts.

Barely looking, she types a fast one, not caring if she seemed desperate.

Pacifica: Dipper?

For the remainder of the ride, it was spent in silence, with her eagerly waiting for those three bubbles to pop up, meaning he was typing back a response. But nothing came. Weird. Pacifica put it off as him just being busy with some dorky thing, or maybe even the idea that Mabel got ahold of it and was snooping through their messages.

"We're here, miss. Your parents are on the porch waiting for you."

Pacifica scooched to the middle of the seat, looking out of the main windshield. In the distance, she could make out her mother in her usual statue like state, sitting in the rocking chair and sipping wine, while her father stood stiff in front of the steps, arms crossed.

A wave of dread radiated within. "Did he sound mad?"

"It was...hard to tell," Lars answered, "I apologize. I would've said you already went to work, but he sounded-"

"I get it. It's okay."

Lars hummed regretfully and slowly parked the limo to the side, still remaining on the neat gravel array. Pacifica took a deep breath, prepared herself for a screaming match, and opened the door.

Surprisingly, nothing was said at first. Her mother didn't even look at her, or anything really, and her father just stared ahead, almost...anxiously.

Pacifica joined him on the porch. Before she could say anything, he spoke under his breath, tone harsh and demanding, "What gave you the idea to sneak out at the crack of dawn to go play tennis?"

"If you cared enough, maybe you could've stopped me."

Her father growled, "This is not the time to be smart with me, Pacifica. This is a very important day, and I want you on your best behavior."

"Why? Are you meeting new business partners or something?"

"In a way...yes. Your grandfather is coming to visit."

That was the furthest thing from what she expected to hear. Pacifica scrunched her nose, "Grandpa Auldman? Why?"

Her father never shed his anxious, grim tone. As if her grandfather's arrival were the arrival of a foreign, murderous dictator. "Why else? To help us get out of this hole we're in. I have no other choice, Pacifica, I had to ask for help. Every other venture I tried didn't pan out, either due to our sullied reputation or intervening giant squirrels thanks to your friend."

Pacifica glared at him, "None of that was even Dipper's fault! Those attacks happened before he came back!"

Her father put up a silencing hand, "Whatever the case may be, this is the way things are. Given the situation, he may be here a week, or maybe a month. Get used to his presence."

She didn't see the big deal. Grandpa Auldman came by once or twice a year for holiday parties at the old manor. His and Pacifica's interactions were cordial and brief. He would ask how she's doing in school, she'd answer, he'd remind her that one day she would inherit the family business, she would force a confident nod, and that would be the end of it. He was blunt and shady, as all Northwests are, but he wasn't a demon or anything.

"Whatever," She said, "It's not like anything will change anyway. I still won't be able to do what I want."

"Please," Her father started, his voice rising, "You've been doing what you want for the past year. But rest assured, once he arrives, that will end. You will behave like a proper member of this family."

Pacifica didn't say anything. She just kept her eyes forward. Soon enough, another limo pulled into the driveway, briefly stopping at the gate and waiting for Lars to open it. Once that was done, the long, black vehicle closed the distance, overshadowing anything on the property. The limo had been freshly waxed, it had golden trim below the doors, chrome plated rims, and a fancy N insignia on the front for Northwest.

Auldman didn't get out first, his two bodyguards did. One from the driver's seat and one from the adjacent passenger seat. Two men in black suits that looked more like gorillas than human. Each stood over six and a half feet, with shoulders bigger than two of her dad side by side, and hands that could crush the brick steps in front of her. Pacifica had no idea how they even fit inside the limo.

The one that drove walked all the way to the back of the car, opening the door and waiting. From behind the gargantuan man, emerged her grandpa. He hadn't changed since she saw him last. He still looked like the splitting image of her father, only older, still sporting a clean haircut, a thick, gray mustache, hawkish eyes, and a slender, but tall build. Her grandfather could've been a boxer or an athlete in the past. Pacifica didn't know exactly how old he was, but he didn't resemble the other old people she knew of in this town, frail and senile. Auldman carried himself like a thirty-year-old. Always paying attention, always looking, always plotting.

Swiftly, he walked past his bodyguards and elegantly strolled down the rest of the driveway, not once looking at Pacifica or her father, instead examining the property in three straight minutes of silence. Nobody dared say a word.

Finally, he looked at her father and cleared his throat. Pacifica could've sworn she felt her dad flinch, "Well son, I must say your new home is...quite humble."

Preston stumbled. The man in front of him had an interesting voice. The slow, strong bass of a bull was to be expected, but the grace like tempo of a songbird could throw anyone off. "Y-Yes, well, I could've gone for bigger but this was all we could get with the cabin aesthetic. Priscilla chose it."

Auldman pointed his chin at her mother, who didn't react, "Priscilla."

Her mother blinked lazily and muttered a response, "Hello, Auldman."

He nodded condemningly, "Drunk, I see. Yes, things are as bad as I expected."

Her father scrambled to tear the wine glass from her hand, offering several nervous smiles to the visitor, "Drunk? Oh no, not at all, father, she's uh...just celebrating your visit! That's all! May have had a bit too much red wine, but-"

"If you can't admit the problem, then you're a fool." Auldman interrupted coldly, "Your wife is drunk. Has been for weeks. Don't lie to me."

She'd never seen this side of her family before. At least, not with each other. The judging, yeah, the cold stares, sure. But...they were always directed at other families. Now it was different. Her grandpa's impassive look troubled her, and the way her father melted and quivered at his presence...it was all completely new to her.

"A-Apologies. We've been under a lot of stress, and-"

"Spare me," He interrupted again, "Northwests don't collapse under pressure. You've failed your duty as a member of this family, but I am willing, as your father, to help you and get you back to where you need to be. And that begins with identifying the issues. Priscilla is a mess. From here on, I will ensure all alcohol is removed from the premises and she goes through rehabilitation. You, my son, will be my shadow, as I guide you through this mess you've created. Your daughter..."

He paused and regarded Pacifica for the first time since his arrival, the wolf's gaze landing on her. She fought the urge to break eye contact and hide. This wasn't the grandfather she remembered from those holiday parties at all. There, he hardly spoke, he just observed and monitored. But here...here, he was taking action, and Pacifica already didn't like it.

"...Has become quite the rebel," He continued, coming closer and bending down to her height. "Disobeying her father and running off to explore the supernatural with some peasant boy. A Pines, if I recall correctly."

"Yes, father. Dipper Pines. We thought we were rid of them when the previous summer ended, but now they're back."

Auldman nodded, "I remember when your father was a young realtor, he sold property to a man named Stanford Pines. A six-fingered freak that wasted his intelligence hunting ghouls and goblins. Imagine my surprise when I found out our future CEO is being friendly with his nephew."

Pacifica's face got hot under the scrutiny. Just how much did her dad tell him?

Auldman stood back up, "But you're still a child. I can forgive one silly rebellious phase. Now, it's time to move on to better things. Your father tells me he has forbid you of seeing this 'Dipper' again, and that's good, it will stay that way. I've also been told you're working at a local diner. That is also over."

Pacifica reared her head back, "What? I'm not quitting! I've been there for almost a year!"

"You don't have to quit; I already had a conversation with the lazy-eyed owner. I got rid of your job for you."

Rage coursed through the entirety of Pacifica's being. Even though it would be catastrophically stupid, she wanted to march up and hit him. He had no right to control her life like that.

"But...no! You can't do that!"

He turned and smirked at her over his shoulder, "My dear granddaughter, you'll soon find out there's not much that I can't do."

When Dipper and Grunkle Ford returned to the Mystery Shack, everyone was awake. Soos preparing the knick knacks and register for the day's opening, Mabel sat at the kitchen table, drenching her pancakes in syrup, while Grunkle Stan sat in his recliner, sipping coffee and reading a magazine about mullet spray.

"Heh, even Stanley would be a better option."

Dipper stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes. He already knew this would probably be a mistake. But he was pretty desperate.

"So, Grunkle Stan..."

"No, I'm not the one that spilled glue on your hat."

"Uh...I have no idea what you're- wait, there was glue on my hat?"

Grunkle Stan looked up from the magazine, eyes wide, "Hat? What hat?"

Dipper sighed, "You're pretty old, right?"

"If you wanna borrow money, kid, this ain't the way to do it."

"I was just thinking, you probably have a lot of experience with girls, right? You know, back in the day and what not."

That made Grunkle Stan close the magazine entirely. "And what not, sure."

"OkaysoIreallywannaaskPacificaoutandIdon'tknowwhattodoandIreallyneedsomeadvicehelpmeplease!"

Dipper stood there completely frozen; his lungs empty from the babble.

"Kid, I didn't understand a single word you just said. You'd make a heck of an auctioneer though. Hey...an auction, that's actually not a bad idea for-"

"Grunkle Stan!" Dipper blurted, then swiveled around to make sure Mabel hadn't heard. "I...need help asking a girl out."

Stan shoved a finger in his ear and twisted it around, "I'm sorry, but did I just hear you say you need help asking a girl out?"

"Not so loud!" He hissed, "Let's keep this between us."

"Is it Wendy? Please tell me you aren't sill hung up on her."

"No, it's not Wendy. It doesn't matter who it is. But I want it to go well and if I go in without a plan it'll be a disaster."

"Yeah, you're pretty awkward."

"Gee, thanks. So, any advice?"

"Hmm...I don't know, every woman I've been with only wanted two things. Money and..." He chuckled, then stiffened as if getting caught stealing candy, "...not important. Got a million bucks?"

"I'm serious."

"Look, Dipper, I wish I could help but I'm not exactly an expert on romance. Women don't usually 'like' or 'trust' me. Kinda like the old guys at the fishing lodge."

"Well what should I do?"

"Ask Mabel for help. Kid's seen more romcoms than a middle-aged cat lady."

Dipper's shoulders fell with disappointment, "Yeah, that's what Grunkle Ford said."

"Wait, wait, you went to Poindexter for advice before me? Knife in the back, kid. It hurts."

"Well I wonder why! You have no advice to give!"

Stan reopened the magazine, "True, but it still hurts."

Figuring it was pointless to keep trying, Dipper sulked upstairs and fell on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He didn't want to be stupid and overthink things again, or make long lists of step-by-step protocols like he did when he cloned himself to spend more time with Wendy. But he needed to find some common ground between obsessive Dipper and normal Dipper. If he didn't at least think of what to say or whether to get flowers or chocolates, Pacifica would totally reject him.

Maybe he should just ask Mabel for help. After all, when he hinted towards his feelings before, she seemed cooler about it than he expected.

In an act of frustration, Dipper flipped to his side facing Mabel's bed, hoping if he stared at it hard enough he would gain laser vision. Laser vision would probably impress Pacifica.

Something caught his eye to the left. A flicker of white on the desk between the beds. Dipper blinked and shifted, stretching his arm to grab the object. It was a slip of paper the size of a raffle ticket. At first, he assumed it must be some note Mabel left that he forgot to read, or a part of the journal he must've accidentally ripped out.

Until he read it.

If you have no one to turn to

Consult the journal, as you always have

Number Four, Page Thirty-Three

He reread the note at least ten times. Not to identify the person behind the writing, but to make sure this was real. Just when he thought the new author had forgotten all about him, they pop back up when he least expects it, and in the creepiest way possible.

Dipper couldn't put together how they even managed to plant the note. Through the window? No, it locked inside. A crack in the walls? That would take too much work. Through the front door? No way. Magical teleportation device? More than likely.

He yawned. It was too early to be worrying about this. Honestly, as creepy as this person is, they've helped him more times than not, so he could at least take a look. That wouldn't hurt.

All four journals were stacked neatly on the desk. Dipper threw his legs over the side of the bed and removed the fourth, rapidly flipping to page thirty-three. Immediately, it intrigued him, so he tucked his legs high and placed the journal between his knees. At the top of the left page, the words LOVE POTION MIXTURE were written in bold with a sharpie. Below, bullet points listed in a neat row, detailing the order to go in. He only skimmed it, but some of the ingredients were...questionable.

"A strand of Pegasus hair? A petal from the dragon flower? Silver-bellied frog saliva? What the heck?"

On top of sounding incredibly difficult to make, a love potion would be wrong on so many levels. Dipper immediately threw the idea away.

The next page sounded a bit more reasonable. At the top, it read- THE LOVE GOD SUMMONING GUIDE

Dipper raised an eyebrow, memories of an underdressed round guy with tattoos and potions attached to his hip coming in flashes. Hadn't they already dealt with a love god before?

Desperation overcame suspicion. He kept reading.

According to many legends, a deity of love has existed, and still exists. It has gone by many names. Cupid, Eros, Aphrodite, Venus, and so on. Through extensive research, I've found that these legends are all true. A deity of such does exist. I've obtained an ancient artifact, containing a message that I've deciphered. A chant to summon this deity. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to fully go through with the ritual due to foreign circumstances. But the process had begun, and a reaction was made. I believe the possibilities are endless here. If this ritual can be completed, a mythological god lies at the hands of the user. With the snap of a finger, a fantasy romance could come true.

Below is the translation of the chant in English. It works in all languages.

Dipper didn't want it to be done with the snap of a finger, for the same reason as the love potion. Wrong on so many levels. But if this love god could show up and give him some advice...who better to do it than the literal embodiment of the topic? He'd rather have this than some sweaty dude with small wings on his shoulders.

Before he lost his nerve, he slid off the bed and sat the journal face up on the floor, reading the instructions. Before he did the chant, he had to form the shape of a heart around himself. And not the cartoon heart he's used to seeing, but the shape of an actual human heart, exactly how it would look if you surgically removed one.

It took a bit of work, but Dipper took whatever items he could find around the room and created the shape, basing the reference off a picture on his phone. Once complete, nothing changed or felt different, but he continued, holding the journal in his left hand.

"Alright-" He cleared his throat, "Let's see...love god, I seek your power, rise and grant my wish, fulfill my quest for romance."

Nothing happened. A goat bleated outside of the shack.

"Must've not said it loud enough. Love god, I seek your power! Rise and grant my wish! Fulfill my quest for romance!"

The louder volume had more effect. The entire attic began rumbling violently, knocking small items off the shelves and desks. The air around Dipper got hotter and thicker, it became harder to breathe, any source of light within the room blinked off, being replaced with a bloody glow from within the heart configuration. He tried to back out, but found his momentum stopped, his back hitting a solid wall. He spun around, and no wall. An invisible barrier kept him inside.

"What the..."

If there were any doubt about this before, that was gone now. With just a few words, Dipper had begun a ritual, and it was getting more intense by the second. The hot air picked up, swirling in a circle, the pillows and miscellaneous items from the attic morphed on the atomic level, blinking into thousands of tiny rose petals, landing delicately on the floor.

Dipper began having second thoughts about all of this. He should've just swallowed his pride and asked Mabel for help.

Speaking of his sister, she chose the perfect time to walk in.

"Dipper? What the heck's going on in here?!"

"I may or may not have started a ritual to summon a love god!"

Mabel struggled to push through the intense air surge, "Why are there so many flowers on the floor?! They don't even smell good!"

Dipper pressed against the invisible dome with his hands, "I messed up! I should've just asked you for help!"

"Help with what?!"

"With-" The words were ripped from his mouth. An explosion from behind knocked the wind out of him, throwing both he and Mabel across the room and into the back wall.

Dipper's ears rang, his mouth tasted of iron and wood shavings. When he moved, he first checked to see if he'd broken anything by moving his limbs back and forth. Check. Next, he looked over at Mabel, who was sitting upright and rubbing her head. She seemed to be talking, but he still couldn't hear anything.

"What?" He said, or at least, he thought he said. Mabel pointed in the opposite direction urgently.

Across the room, the remains of the ritual were gone, everything replenished and as it was before. Floating five feet off the ground, must have been the result of the chant. The love god didn't look at all like what Dipper expected. Not that he really expected anything normal, but at least human looking.

It wasn't human though; it was a heart. A literal, red, glowing heart. As tall as Grunkle Stan and wide as Soos, like one of those people dressed in costumes on the side of the road flipping signs. It had a wide smile, shiny white teeth, and twinkling eyes, with thin black arms and legs protruding from its body.

Dipper's hearing returned in time to hear it speak. When it did, it sounded like a commercial narrator, charismatic and articulate.

"Hello kids! Lookin' for love advice? You've found the right guy!" He gave a thumbs up and winked, "Cupid is at your service!"

-x-

Yep, Pacifica's grandfather will play a big role here, but he won't be the big bad. That title still belongs to those darned hooded figures that we still don't know the identity of. Heck, even I don't know the identity of them. I should probably think of that sometime, huh?

Anyway, hopefully this summoned being doesn't turn out as bad as Bill did. The journal has a knack for that sort of thing. But wait, I should know because I'm writing this story. What's going on here?