Gravity Falls Stan Pines Novels & Stories

Jake As I stood in the center of the clearing, the cool, crisp scent of the surrounding pine trees enveloped me, their fragrance mixing with the earthy undertones of damp soil. The towering pines formed a natural shade, their thick trunks stretching skyward like ancient sentinels. Sunlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting dappled shadows that danced on the forest floor.

The "Chronological-Borehole" didn't collapse with a bang; it dissolved into the sound of Rain on Asphalt. Avery Vane-Thorne opened her eyes and felt something she hadn't felt in fifty years: Weight. Not the "Basalt-Weight" of the Earth's core or the "Gold-Weight" of the Vanguard, but the simple, heavy pull of a 2024 gravity on a 2024 body. She was standing on a balcony in Geneva, the air smelling of ozone and expensive coffee instead of "Amethyst-Spores."

If you look down it might ease your mind… Stop trying to be nice! Stop interrupting me! I was going to say. It might ease your mind to know how far you’re going to fall! That’s not any better than pretending to be nice to me! I continued to climb down until I reached the last step, how am I going to get enough momentum? Maybe if I can find something to hang onto in case I don’t make it? My eyes looked to the sides of the ravine as fast as I could until I spotted a vine like object hanging from the walls of the gorge. Ok let’s do this.

It wasn’t there, I lost my grip and quickly swung forward. “Jamie!” Callie screamed after me. I grabbed all around me, my nails broke against the rocks, the rocks were too steep, and I was going too fast to stop myself. There was a twist and then another in the opposite direction. It felt like I was on a waterslide made of rocks without water. I let gravity take me with Callie’s voice growing softer and softer the farther I slid down the narrow path. I tried to call back to her, but my voice wouldn’t come out. My throat felt dry. I prayed it would end. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. On the last turn, the bottom was no longer there. I free fell maybe six feet and found myself sprawled

December brought the first snow. Thick, feathery flakes drifted from the sky to form a thin layer on my gravestone. I heard footsteps in the distance. They grew louder as the visitor approached. Marcus wiped the snow off my gravestone and placed a bouquet of dark red roses before it. Then, he got on his knees before my gravestone and lowered his head without saying anything. He remained like that for such a long time that the snow piled on his shoulders instead. Finally, he spoke. "Renee, I know you don't want to see me, but let me be selfish once more. I promise this is the last time I'll be here."

My hands slipped on the damp leaves, and I fell down hard against the cold ground. Pain shot up my spine, but I refused to give up. I looked around the dark perimeter and saw a large decorative rock near the landscaping. I dragged it close to the stone wall. I climbed onto the rock and actually used every ounce of my remaining physical strength to climb over the high fence. I swung my legs over the top, but my footing slipped. I tumbled down the other side, crashing through the manicured bushes.

The blackout was not an absence of light: it was a presence of absolute, devouring gravity. Inside the central altar of the Silver Moon palace, the air had reached a state of "Super-Saturation." Every molecule of oxygen was so laden with antagonistic static from the government’s towers that breathing felt like inhaling pulverized glass. I stood between the statues of the Stone Sister and the Mountain Man, my hands trembling as I reached for the central nervous system of the mountain.

Pine trees crowded the road on both sides, big and dark and smelling of something clean, something that had nothing to do with Chicago or Garrett Hale or the particular kind of fear that had lived in her chest for the past eleven days. She breathed it in through the cracked window. Then she got out of the truck, looked at the engine like she knew what she was looking at, closed the hood, and picked up her bag. The town was about a quarter mile down the road. She had seen the sign: Crestone Falls, Population 3,847. A gas station. A church. What looked like a diner with the lights still on. And at the far end of the main strip, a bar with a neon sign in the window that said IRONSIDE in blue an

​The Iron Grove was no longer breathing. The black, oily sludge from the Revisionists’ attack had reached the secondary xylem, and the golden sap was curdling into a bitter, non-conductive resin. Without the Grove to filter the resonance, the Ninth Peak was becoming a tomb of cold obsidian. The Vesper refugees huddled in the lower wards, their breath visible in the freezing air as the life-support systems flickered and died.

She didn’t forget to reassure that the branch where the nest lying was strong enough and unbreakable easily. “Ouch!” Qeiza screamed. When she got down, she was a bit careless. It caused her slip before she could stand on the base of the branch. Qeiza kept directing her gaze at the maple leaves that had changed their color. They were getting more beautiful in the fall. However, when her body was sliding fast following the gravitational pull of the earth, Qeiza closed her eyes. It’s better for her not to know how far she fell down. All of that was meant to keep her from thinking about the pain she would feel when her back hit the ground covered by the fallen leaves.