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Multiversity	By : GeorgeGlass Category: +G through L > Gravity Falls Views: 31382 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The authors of this story do not own Gravity Falls, its characters, or its giant lumberjack statue. We made no money from writing this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9: Chicks Before Flicks
Dipper practically leaped out of bed, having been startled into full consciousness by the realization that he was no longer in Gravity Falls but was instead back home in Piedmont, California. How had this happened?
He looked at his bedroom mirror and saw two things that started the flow of acquired memories into his head. Stuck in the bottom-right corner of the mirror’s frame was a postcard: “Greetings from Gravity Falls.” He knew without turning it over that it was from Mabel. She had gone to Gravity Falls by herself, and she was having a good time but was missing him. He missed her, too, he realized. And as he put on his tan-and-green baseball cap, it was strange to think that this universe’s Dipper had never even seen the blue-and-white pine-tree cap that had become Dipper Prime’s trademark during his time in Gravity Falls.
The second item on the mirror, stuck in the bottom-left corner, was a strip of photo-booth pictures. In them, Dipper was striking a series of goofy poses with a blonde girl whom Dipper instantly recognized—but whose appearance next to him in those pictures was nothing short of astonishing.
Holy cow. It was Tiffany Litz.
Dipper had admired Tiffany from afar since the fourth grade. And as time passed and the effects of puberty set in—both his and hers—his attraction to her had only grown. But Dipper Prime had never even had a full-length conversation with Tiffany, let alone a photo-booth session. Clearly, the Dipper of this universe had taken some rather different tacks in the recent past.
He pushed these thoughts from his mind so that he could hurry up and get ready. Riding with his dad would be better than biking; even in June, the temperature in the mornings was still a bit low for him to be out in the breeze.
***
“You’re pretty quiet this morning, kiddo,” his father said as they drove.
“Oh, uh,” Dipper started, “just thinking about lasers. That’s what we’re doing today—lasers.”
What his mom had called “science camp” was in fact a summer science achievement program that was being put on at the local high school. Dipper Prime had lobbied to attend, but his parents had insisted that he go with Mabel to Gravity Falls instead. Apparently, this universe’s Dipper had lobbied harder. And suddenly, Dipper remembered why: He and Tiffany had gotten together during the last month of the school year, and she had pushed Dipper to find a way to stay in Piedmont for the summer so they could spend time together. Thus, for this universe’s Dipper, the summer science program had been both a reason and an excuse to stay in town.
“Lasers? Neat,” his father replied as they pulled up to the high school’s entrance. “Well, have fun, and tell Obi-Wan I said hi.”
Dipper chuckled dutifully and got out of the car. Then, as his dad drove off, he started toward the steps up to the high school’s front door—only to stop abruptly when a kid on a bicycle braked to a halt directly in front of him. He was black, tall, and skinny, one of those tween boys whose in-progress growth spurt made him look as though he had been through a taffy puller. His hair stuck out in random places from beneath his bicycle helmet.
“Hey, Dip,” the boy said. “You ready for lasaaaaahs?”
“You know it,” Dipper replied with a smile.
Nat was as big a science geek as Dipper, and he clearly was equally enthusiastic about today’s lesson. This was part of why they were best friends.
Wait, what?
Dipper stopped in his tracks as he realized that none of these memories of Nat were his—Dipper Prime’s, that is. In his own universe, Dipper had never even met Nat, let alone become best buds with him. Which was weird, because in every universe he had visited before this one, virtually everyone his alternate self knew was a version of, or was in some way connected to, a person Dipper Prime knew in his own universe.
Weirder still, Dipper Prime hadn’t simply missed out on meeting Nat by leaving town for the summer. According to his acquired memories, his alter had met Nat well before then, at the beginning of the spring semester, when the boy’s family moved to town and Nat had started at Dipper’s middle school. How could that have happened in this universe and not his own, or any of the others he had visited? Maybe-
“Uh, dude, you okay?”
Dipper shook his head to clear it as he turned to Nat, who had just finished locking up his bike and was now looking at Dipper with a mix of puzzlement and concern.
“Um, oh, yeah, sorry,” Dipper said. “Let’s, um, let’s go see what Mr. Lewandowski’s got for us.”
***
He walked into the classroom and inhaled. This was a real high-school chemistry lab, and to Dipper, it smelled like science. Then Dipper and Nat sat down at their shared table, which was directly in front of and three rows back from the teacher’s workbench. Dipper noticed that about half of the tables in the room had a sort of circular rig with long and short arms like the hands of a clock. The short arm had something sticking up from its end—some kind of light sensor, Dipper guessed—while the long arm had two such protrusions: a polarizer halfway down its length and, sweetest of all, a diode laser at the end.
At the table to their right sat Dipper’s friends Jude and Clay. This time the previous year, the two boys, although unrelated, had been near-lookalikes: short, skinny eleven-year-olds with wild, dirty-blonde hair. But now, at age twelve, Clay was nearly a head taller than Jude, and Jude was half a foot wider than Clay.
“So,” Jude said, leaning over to him, “you guys goin’ to Marissa’s party tomorrow night?”
Clay, leaning over to put his head above Jude’s, added, “Heard her folks are out of town. It’s gonna be epic.”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll definitely be there,” Dipper replied.
He didn’t add that for him, not being there wasn’t an option. All of the cool kids would be attending this party, so Tiffany had insisted that she and Dipper be in attendance, as well.
Tiffany could be pretty bossy about certain things. But then, Dipper—at least, this universe’s Dipper—could be bossy about a few things, too, so it seemed like a fair trade. His relationship with Tiffany did take a bit of a toll on the rest of his social life, though.
“You guys up for a superhero movie marathon tonight?” Jude asked.
“Sorry, I can’t,” Dipper replied. “I’ve got a ‘mall date’ with Tiffany.”
“Aw, dude, seriously?” Nat said.
“Come on, bro,” Jude said. “We just got Plex Fiber at my house. I’m streamin’ like a demon.”
“And I’m, like, three movies behind in the Shared Universe,” Clay added. “I need to get caught up before Vindicators 3 comes out.”
“Good morning,” said Mr. Lewandowski, stopping all conversation. A large, mustachioed man, Mr. Lewandowski looked and talked more like a football coach than the high school physics teacher that he was. “Today, we’re going to be learning about Brewster’s angle. Get into groups of four around the tables with equipment on them, and I’ll pass out the worksheet.”
Jude and Clay’s table had the requisite equipment, so Dipper and Nat immediately paired up with the two blonde boys. As Mr. Lewandowski went around the room with the worksheets, Jude quietly resumed their conversation.
“Dipper, just tell Tiffany you need some guy time,” Jude said.
“Yeah, dude,” Nat agreed. “Don’t let her hog you for the whole weekend when serious cinematic adventure awaits.”
“Guys,” Dipper said, “you know our rule: Chicks before flicks.”
Jude’s eyes widened. “Whoa. None of us ever invoked the ‘chicks before flicks’ rule before.”
“Yeah, there’s a reason for that,” Nat said. None of the four boys had ever been in a dating relationship until six weeks ago, when Nat had dared Dipper to ask Tiffany to the Spring Semiformal, and the girl had surprised Dipper by saying yes. The other three boys remained unaffiliated.
“Wow,” Clay added. “I feel like this calls for a moment of silence.”
“Well how about five minutes of silence,” Mr. Lewandowski said gruffly as he appeared behind them and slapped four copies of the worksheet onto their table, “while you read up on what we’re going to be doing today?”
Chastened, Dipper picked up a worksheet and started to read. “Brewster’s angle is the angle at which unpolarized light can be polarized when refracted through a material. You will use an apparatus to split the light of a laser into polarized rays, then use an appropriate polarizing filter and a pinhole photo detector to test the effects of different angles of polarization on the intensity of the beam. You will then plot the results to determine…”
***
That evening, Dipper and Tiffany rode their bikes to the mall, where they ate dinner at the food court and window-shopped. Dipper was more or less okay with engaging in this clearly girl-biased activity, partly because it would earn him points with Tiffany and partly because it was not at all thought-intensive. The Brewster’s angle exercise, with the attendant complexities of Malus’ law, reflection coefficients, and s- and p-polarization, had left his brain feeling half melted.
Of course, this didn’t mean that he could disengage his mind completely. After ninety minutes of wandering the clothing stores with Tiffany, with only occasional respites when they happened by Game Spot or The Clearer Picture, Dipper couldn’t recall ever before having to render so many opinions about what outfit would look good on someone—himself included. He was perfectly content to look at Tiffany in the outfit she was wearing tonight: a frilly white sleeveless top, a pink skirt whose hem was a few inches above the knee, and fringed white boots.
When they had their fill of the mall, they rode to a public park that was about midway between the mall and Tiffany’s house. It had a couple of small fountains that were nice to look at, and at this hour, it was fairly private but still safe. Dismounting their bikes, they sat down together on a bench that looked at one of the fountains. The sun was fully below the horizon, and the last of its pink light was fading from the sky.
“I’ve been thinking,” Tiffany said. “Maybe it’s time you got a cooler nickname.”
“Really?” Dipper replied. “Like what?”
“Well, your real name is Mason, so…how about Mace?”
“Mace…” Dipper replied thoughtfully. “Well, a mace does get a plus two on attack rolls against opponents in heavy armor.”
“That wasn’t what I was thinking about at all, but okay,” Tiffany replied.
Dipper wasn’t sure how much he really liked the idea of taking on a new nickname. It would be a little like changing who he was. Then again, it wasn’t like “Dipper” was any great shakes as a nickname, not least because of the many ways in which it could be altered for the sake of mockery.
“Mace…” Dipper repeated. “Well, I guess you could call me that for a while, and we could, you know, see if it catches on.”
“I’m good with that,” Tiffany replied with a smile, which turned sly as she added, “…Mace.”
Dipper knew what that smile meant. He leaned over and kissed Tiffany, long and slow. They kissed that way again, and again, and soon Dipper’s and Tiffany’s tongues were gently massaging each other, their union like a foreshadowing of greater physical intimacy to come. At least, Dipper hoped so.
Dipper’s hands moved into Tiffany’s blonde hair, then ran slowly down her back. They moved around to the front, to her stomach, and then up again, until Dipper was feeling Tiffany up through her frilly white top.
They had done this a few times before, and Dipper could remember the first time as vividly as though he had lived it himself. Tiffany dragged Dipper to the last Friday night lacrosse game of the year—not because she was a fan of the sport but because lacrosse was the spring sport of choice for the cool kids, and those in that crowd who weren’t on the team themselves came in a pack to watch the games. Afterwards, Dipper and Tiffany had made out behind the equipment shed, and Dipper had gotten his first over-the-clothes feel of Tiffany’s firm little endowments.
Now, judging from Tiffany’s reaction to Dipper’s willingness to try out her chosen nickname, Dipper knew that tonight was the night to go further. So he slid his hands up under Tiffany’s top, his palms traveling slowly up her smooth stomach even as his eyes remained on her increasingly pink face. Now, there was nothing but a thin layer of pleasantly slick nylon between Dipper’s fingertips and the small, perky breasts that Dipper Prime had only ever admired from afar.
The number of pairs of breasts Dipper had touched in his lifetime had gone from zero to three in…however long it had been since he had begun his multiversal odyssey. But despite all of that recent experience, touching Tiffany’s firm little endowments was as exciting as it could be.
He kissed her more passionately, more deeply, as his fingers found their way under the bottom border of Tiffany’s bra-cups. Tiffany broke off the kiss and took his wrists—holding them in place, but not pushing them away.
“Di- Mace,” Tiffany said, “we…we shouldn’t. Someone might see.”
“C’mon,” Dipper replied. “We’re in total darkness right here. No one can even see that we’re on the bench, let alone what we’re doing.”
When Tiffany didn’t respond immediately, Dipper added, “You’ll like it. I promise.”
Did I really just say all that? Dipper asked himself. Then he realized: Everyone’s pushier here. Even me, apparently.
Tiffany blushed slightly and let go of Dipper’s wrists.
“Okay,” she said demurely.
Again, Dipper half-deduced, half-remembered what the rules were in this universe: Girls expected a certain amount of insistence from a guy. If he took the first “no” for an answer, they’d assume that he wasn’t genuinely into them. It struck Dipper that in a way, this was as extreme as any other difference he’d seen between his universe and another; the assumptions on which this Dipper operated were normal for this universe but could potentially make him a date-rapist—or at the very least a big jerk—in Dipper’s own.
He slid his fingers up underneath the cups of her bra. Thankfully, the bra was loose enough that it did not trap his fingers or constrict Tiffany uncomfortably. Removing the bra in this secluded but still public place would have been a non-starter. and Dipper was glad to save himself the embarrassment at what probably would have been a minutes long struggle with the clasp or hooks or whatever infernal mechanism was holding Tiffany’s bra straps together in the back.
Dipper now possessed a fair amount of knowledge—some obtained first-hand, and some from memories acquired from his alters—about how to pleasure a girl’s breasts. Having promised Tiffany that she would enjoy his attentions to that part of her body, Dipper brought all of that knowledge to bear, letting it guide him as he caressed the sides of her breasts just lightly enough to stimulate her. He squeezed her little boobs with just the right amount of pressure to punctuate his kisses, and he teased, rubbed, and gently pinched her nipples, quickly making them as hard as pebbles. Soon, Tiffany was panting even harder than Dipper was, and she was moaning softly into his mouth.
Maybe this was why, when Dipper’s slid one hand out from under Tiffany’s top, down to her knee, and then slowly up her thigh, her hand didn’t move down to stop his until his was close enough to feel the heat radiating from between her legs.
She looked at him, not speaking, just breathing hard, her little bosom heaving.
“Just over your panties,” Dipper whispered, raspy with lust.
This seemed to be all the reassurance that Tiffany wanted, because she immediately let go of Dipper’s wrist and put both of her hands under his shirt to caress his bare chest and back while they resumed their making out.
Dipper’s hand traveled up the last few inches of Tiffany’s bare thigh and found her puffy mound, covered in a layer of cotton that was utterly soaked through. He cupped it in his hand and squeezed gently as he simultaneously squeezed her breast with the other hand.
Then he felt her hand go down to his crotch, feeling his aching erection through his shorts. He wanted her to take it out and touch it bare, but the part of his mind that was still rational knew that if anyone were to happen by, he might not be able to cover up in time—at least, not without being obvious about it. Which meant that he would not be getting off until he was back home in his bed and doing the job himself.
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get Tiffany off. And if he could give her reason to believe that acquiescing to his sexual demands would be rewarding for her, that could only help him on future dates.
He found the place where her folds met, then traced his finger upward until he located her clit. He put his fingertip on a spot just above the head of it and began making small, slow circles. Tiffany moaned into his mouth.
Thanks, Wendy, Dipper thought. The teenage redhead might have broken his heart, but she had also taught him some valuable life skills.
Tiffany was already so aroused that it didn’t take long for Dipper to get her from moaning to squealing into Dipper’s mouth. He circled his finger faster, and then she was crying out “MMMMMHHHHHHMMMMMPH!” as she came, spasming, on the park bench.
“Ohmygod,” she panted. “I can’t…can’t believe…you…you made me…wow…”
“Glad you…liked it…” Dipper said, a little breathless himself.
After Tiffany caught her breath and got her bra and top to rights, Dipper looked at his watch.
“Guess we should be heading home,” he said.
“Yeah,” Tiffany breathed. “Yeah, it’s getting late.”
They turned on their bike lights and rode to Tiffany’s house—a two-story stucco building with big windows, a Spanish-tile roof and, Dipper knew, a pool in the back. It was quite a bit fancier than the Pines family’s split-level ranch house.
They walked their bikes up the driveway, and Tiffany punched four buttons on a keypad to open the garage door.
“I had an awesome time tonight,” Tiffany said as the door opened.
“Me too,” Dipper replied.
“And, um,” Tiffany said with uncharacteristic shyness, “I think Marissa’s party tomorrow night could be even more awesome…Mace.”
Dipper couldn’t help but grin. This seemed to bode well.
“Uh, yeah, definitely,” he said.
Tiffany rolled her bike into its designated spot in the well-organized two-car garage. Then she turned back to Dipper.
“Well,” she said, “g’night.”
He leaned in and kissed her, not with hormone-induced rabidity as he had earlier, but with just a hint of that passion—his way of saying that he was looking forward to more.
“Good night,” he said to her.
He stepped back, and Tiffany closed the garage door. Then Dipper rode away, whistling all the way home.
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