Something fun I found in my notes and polished into a ficlet.
This is stancest. (it always is)
Summary:
Prompted by an unexpected visitor arriving in Gravity Falls, Ford documents an unwelcome revelation about his personal tastes.
Journal entry
Gravity Falls, Oregon
Wednesday, October 1977
For the record, let me set something straight—I am.
Heterosexual, that is. Though it's a label that's generally irrelevant to my work, I find myself reflecting on it due to unfortunate circumstances.
I wasn't into men. I truly wasn't.
I am not into men.
They don't catch my fancy in any shape or form.
In mutual endeavors of science or regarding significant historical texts from male authors, yes, I have shown interest.
But my interest does not lie in lingering gazes. There is no thrill that runs down my spine at the sight of broad shoulders. I don't spare an extra glance at any chiseled jaw, rough with stubble.
Members of the fairer sex are appealing in their own right, though pursuits of the flesh do not entice me.
So, most certainly, thick, fuzzy arms and strong wrists do not entice me. The rough gravel of baritone vocals does not beckon to me like a siren's call.
I should know; my documented research on the local nixie population is tucked away in this very book, after all.
In conclusion, I am not into men.
Never do I find myself reacting to a male specimen in a manner that might indicate attraction.
Never, under regular circumstances.
However.
There is a problem.
I have noticed a discrepancy.
There is a man.
My reaction is incongruent with what I know about myself. All past data has been contradicted.
Below is my written account of the encounter that transpired:
Location
“Greasy and Sons Dinercar”
The third table from the front, seated in the booth facing the entrance
The bell chimed, alerting the establishment of a new patron.
A male entered.
I had not seen him around Gravity Falls before. This was not altogether unexpected. It's a small, tight-knit town, but I am not familiar with its inhabitants. I may be considered something of a hermit, not often venturing into civilization unless of utmost necessity, such as supplies or anomaly research. The limited interactions I've had with the townsfolk resulted in… undesirable outcomes. Due to my propensity towards bad first impressions (honest mistakes on my part; they fail to understand my methods), it's entirely possible they purposefully avoid me.
Such was my initial rationale for not recognizing this individual.
I will attempt to describe my first impression of said man. (I deemed a modicum of poeticism necessary, diverging from purely factual descriptions.)
He walked in. His stride was somewhere between a saunter and a strut. Something about his demeanor was flashy, confident, and brazen. Irritating.
He had the build of a redwood, limbs like tree trunks. His sternocleidomastoid muscles were defined, like galvanized steel cords beneath the skin of his neck.
He spoke to the waitress while leaning his elbow on the counter. Though I could not discern their conversation from that distance, his laugh was too boisterous to miss. It was as tough as a chainsaw and warm as the summer sun. A rowdy sound.
His hair was unfair. A rich chocolate fudge color. Tousled, wavy and long, an untamed mane that cascaded from his red beanie.
His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing forearms dusted in hair. He wore layers. A dark, heavy-duty field jacket on top, a rusty colored knit sweater over a button-up shirt beneath. The top button was undone. A peek of his collarbones was displayed from between the collar points. Said points were askew. I ached to straighten them, to restore symmetry. The itch made itself home inside my veins, simmering not unpleasantly beneath my skin.
I watched him turn to walk in my direction.
He was certainly a man.
So much man.
Entirely too much man.
As a result, I should have thought nothing of him. Or at the very least, my thoughts should have been unbiased, practical observations, generic, logical deductions.
Should have been.
…Not unlike the black coffee in my mug, his eyes were a deep, intense brown, swirling with the hint of a sharp, bitter taste. Relentless. They drew you in. Deep-set eyes shaded by thick, bushy brows. Faint bags beneath his eyelids implied the weight of some worldly burden. Yet his gaze was sparkling with mischief, lighthearted yet dangerous. Something hiding in their depths, something up his sleeve. All charm and ulterior motives.
He entered with his hands in his pockets- thankfully so. I had already seen too much.
Worst of all, below those fierce, unapologetic eyes-
The faintest smirk. A slight upward tilt at one corner that was dripping with an unnerving, roguish confidence. Fearless. Reckless. Asking for trouble. The kind of smile I'd seen on fae before they revealed a jaw of wolfish teeth and came upon me with vicious gnashing.
It's impossible to write this without embarrassment.
My higher functioning thought processes shut down.
It is true that my saliva glands were in a state of overproduction. I felt my mouth fill. A subtle gushing sensation that triggered me to swallow.
The forces of the universe, forever allied against me, cursed me with the most audible gulp imaginable.
At the squelch of my throat, he finally looked my way.
It was like the sun flared out from behind a tree, or the unpredictable, cold draw of the moon penetrating the forest leaves. Either way, chills wracked my body. I was suddenly pinned beneath that unyielding gaze.
Except…
Within moments, yield it did.
Our gaze held.
…those sharp, merciless eyes softened.
I've never been thrown for such a loop. In a second, I was observing solid oak morph into oozing honey. A thick layer, a hardened exterior of bark, a second skin was peeled away in an instant. I was entirely unprepared for-
“...Sixer?”
It began to click.
That raspy alto. The big brown eyes. Fluffy, unruly locks of hair. The Pines' jaw and prominent nose. The formidable stature that had only continued to develop.
He worked his jaw.
I must reiterate, I am not into men.
I am compelled to state, with utmost insistence, that I am not.
Subsequently, in addition, it goes without saying to assert that-
I am not into my brother.
