Grunkle Stan Gravity Falls Novels & Stories

Just the essentials. Just her unborn daughter. She flicked off the lights, plunging the apart ment into darkness, then slipped through the kitchen and out the back door, an emergency exit leading to an outdoor stairwell. Cold air slapped her face. Her lungs seized. No footsteps behind her. No voice. No shadow. For a moment she thought she had escaped the stranger’s notice, until she reached the bottom of the stairwell and frozed cause she felt it was all a dream.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Lacelle." Stanley and Callie nearly fainted. After all, a half-naked man, with hickeys and red marks littered all over his body, had just come out of their eldest son's room and greeted them like that. They were shocked beyond words. Still, Callie managed to snap out of it. Her head was still in a whirl, but at least she responded to Leo's greeting with a hum. Then, she pinched Stanley on the arm, hard, and led him to the couch, where they took a seat.

Chapter Twelve The rain had been relentless all Friday. Sheets of water fell from the sky, drumming against windows and rooftops, as if the heavens themselves were mourning or warning. Nora sat in the art studio, trying desperately to focus on her presentation, but her brush hovered uselessly over the canvas. The colours and lines felt meaningless. Every stroke of paint blurred, smudged by the storm of emotions inside her.

Dominic slammed his bare foot onto the metal roof at the exact same millisecond, channeling his residual Alpha mass to anchor my gravity well. The air didn't just thin—it compressed with the force of a hydraulic press. CRACK. The massive, reinforced steel pillars supporting Vance’s elevated observation platform violently buckled inward. The reversed gravity vector tore the bolts straight out of the concrete walls with the sound of a firing squad. "What?! The grid is collapsing!" the tech specialist screamed, his console exploding in a shower of white-hot sparks as the platform tilted at a sickening forty-five-degree angle. The lead Stalker lost his footing, his heavy armor sending him slidin

Subconsciously, I got up to my feet and walked straight to the whiteboard, took the small marker that was cradled there, and uncapped it. The markings flashed faster and faster, rendering me dizzy. Without knowing it, I began engraving them on the board. My hand seemed to be moving on its own accord as it hurried to match the pace of the signs that tornadoed in front of my eyes. In just a heartbeat, the room started closing in on me, making my head so lightheaded. I wrote. The sudden lightness engulfed me and slowly, it felt like I was ascending into thin air. The ground beneath me gave out and gravity changed the game.

He was sitting there as if gravity meant nothing to him. I pushed the door open a little wider and stepped further out onto the balcony, my mouth slightly agape in shock as I tried to see the person’s face clearly. But before I could make out any distinct features or recognize who he was, he moved. With a sudden, fluid motion, he leaped off the railing and jumped straight down toward the ground below—from the second floor! My heart leaped into my throat. No!

"I'll rest when Roman realizes that his 'strength' can't pay the property taxes I’ve just tripled." Outside, the first cedar fell. The sound was a sickening crack .it echoed through the psychic link of every wolf in the Crescent Pack. It was the sound of a bone breaking. Roman fell to his knees as the tree hit the dirt, a low, broken whine escaping his throat. He looked at his hands, which were covered in the dust of the forest, and then at the bulldozer moving past him toward the heart of the Grove. He had lost. Not to a rival Alpha, not to a silver bullet, but to a woman with a pen, his wife.

He started to look up when somebody screamed. Annabelle’s scream ended in a grunt of pain as she hit the lighting rig. One hard bounce, and then gravity immediately sent her sliding ground-ward again. She reached up, scrambling for a hold somewhere along the steel frame of the rig. Her right hand touched a smooth steel bar, but she couldn’t keep her grip. The metal might as well have been coated in oil. She caught a bar with her left hand, but her grasp couldn’t withstand the downward momentum of her body. She slipped off. Like a cartoon character running off a cliff, she pumped her legs, stretched her arm, and snagged the last bar with the tips of her fingers. She locked her left hand aroun

I found Gravity on the couch crying hysterically, her face, hair, and clothes smeared with vomit and Tucker's shirt and pants stained with puke. "Thank fuck you're here." Tucker rushed over to me, gesturing to his stained clothes. "She freaking puked as soon as you left the building. Jesus Christ, it's everywhere! My clothes, my hair." I shoved him out of my way to Gravity, picked her up, and held her close to me to comfort her. She did not cry this much, if at all, when she vomited. "Mommy, he st-started screaming." She hiccupped, clinging to me with desperate little hands. "I-I-I did it by accident only. It just came out!" She hung her big eyes on me apologically. "Am I in trouble?"

Nico responded finally, straightening in his seat and stretching to ease up on the ache that’d started up in his lower back from sitting hunched over in the plane for so long. “Take me to Wall Street.”