#last year I clocked immediately what conman was doing

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[enigmatist17]

Memory (Ford and Stan Pines) (Bonus?)

This is a sequel(?) of a stangst thing I wrote for @a-million-chromatic-dreams

Also I tried my hand at the Guilty!Ford that @skaleigha made I believe (?)

Stan grunted as he moved about the cabin’s kitchen, eyes glancing at the clock that stated it was now almost noon. The younger twin frowned as he looked over at the kitchen table, a cup of ice-cold coffee still sitting untouched in the place reserved for his brother to sit, as was an untouched plate of eggs and toast. Stanford always at least came up fro coffee, but Stan had not seen him once since last night, his twin giving a weak goodnight before shutting himself away in his cabin.

“What the hell Sixer...” He grumbled, placing the salmon he had finished cooking on the table before making his way to his brother’s cabin, knocking a little harder than necessary. “Sixer! Food’s ready, again.” His heart began to beat a little faster when there was no answer, Stan surprised to find the door was locked, but with an expert flick of his wrist with his trusty lock-pick the door swung open into the dark room. Stepping into the room Stan felt the hair raise on the back of his neck when the smell of blood filled his nostrils, the male immediately flicking on the light switch. Stanford was sitting on the floor against his bunk, the man’s right arm slowly dripping blood onto the wood below between the fingers clamped over the wound. “Sixer?!”

“S-Stanley?” Ford’s voice was raspy, tears slipping down his cheeks as his brother vanished for less than 30 seconds, returning with the first aid kit and a damp cloth, which he placed over his brother’s bleeding arm. The room was silent as Stanley worked as quickly as he could to stem the flow of blood, the wound deep enough to cause worry, but easily could be sewed up with Stan’s skill he had picked up over the years. 

“What the hell were you doing?!” The younger twin cursed, Stanford glancing away as Stan checked over his handiwork with a quiet grunt.

“Fixing a mistake...” He replied quietly, Stan’s eyes going wide in alarm as Stanford tried to curl in on himself, as if trying to retreat from his alarmed brother. “I was so close this time...”

“This time?” Time seemed to stop as Stan stared at his weeping brother, whose face was pale and sickly looking at the blood loss. “What do you mean this time?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I shouldn’t have come back, I should have died when I was fighting Bill.” The words spilled from Stanford’s mouth faster than he could stop himself, Stan listening in shock as his brother started to cry even harder. “I ruined everything and I want it to fix it...this is the only way.”

“You didn’t ruin anything...” Stan said, though Stanford seemed to not hear what he said, left hand searching for the blade he had used on himself.

“I brought Bill here, I nearly killed the whole town, I nearly got the twins killed, I drove my closest friend to insanity, I deserve nothing more than to die so I can atone for my mistakes!” Stanford screamed at Stanley in desperation, eyes flashing as his slender fingers wrapped around the blade he had come across in some long-past dimension. Hearing the clink of metal against wood Stan snatched Stanford’s wrist before he could drive the blade into his neck, wild and desperate blue eyes staring into determined and concerned navy. the two struggled for a few moments before Stanford eventually ran out of strength, sobs bursting from his lips as he sagged forward onto Stanley’s chest, left hand weakly grabbing at his shirt when Stan tossed the blade far from reach.

“Sixer, this ain’t the way to do this.” His voice was low and resigned, gently cradling Stanford close to him as he began to rub his shaking back in small circles. “Jesus Ford...why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I-I was bothering...you a-and...I don’t want to l-lose you...” Stanford whimpered, his grip tightening on Stan’s sweatshirt as if letting go would be the end of him. “I’m so sorry...I-I just ruin everything...”

“No, you don’t. We both made our mistakes Sixer, don’t you dare put it all on yourself.” Stan frowned, sighing as he felt his brother weakly try to push himself away, though he didn’t get far due to the thick arms securely wrapped around him.

“If I had believed you...I wouldn’t have lost you.” His brother whimpered through his tears, Stan wincing at the memory of the night he had been kicked out of his house. “I ruined everything...and my greed nearly cost the lives of everyone in the multiverse...”

“Bill manipulated you Ford, that’s what he did.” Stan grit his teeth at the mention of the demon, his grip loosening so he could pick his brother up with minimal resistance, Stanford looking just exhausted as he was carried to Stan’s bunk. “He’s manipulated people before, you were not the first.”

“You would have seen him for the conman he was...” Stanford muttered before finally passing out, Stan’s gaze troubled as he removed anything sharp from his cabin and eventually took a seat at his desk with a sigh.

Oh Sixer, how am I supposed to fix this?

[brigdh]

Reading Very Much Not-Wednesday

Ugly Prey: An Innocent Woman and the Death Sentence that Scandalized Jazz Age Chicago by Emilie Le Beau Lucchesi. A nonfiction book about Sabella Nitti, a woman who was found guilty of murdering her husband in 1923 Chicago – making her the first woman to be given a death sentence by an American court. (Note: not really. Plenty of women had hung or burned or otherwise received capital punishment before Nitti, but a lack of historical awareness meant that the lawyers, judges, and general public at the time reacted as though this was a new development, and chose to be proud of it or appalled by it as their personal politics dictated.) She is probably best-remembered these days as the inspiration for the Hungarian-speaking woman in the musical Chicago; here she is protesting her innocence during the Cell Block Tango. Nitti was an Italian immigrant, illiterate, a farm wife, ugly (at least according to the reporters covering the case), and spoke no English or mainstream Italian, but only a fairly rare dialect called Barese. In addition, she was saddled with a defense lawyer who seemed to be actively losing the ability to maintain a train of thought – his behavior during the trial was remarkably unhelpful to her cause, and he would later spend years in a mental asylum. These factors almost guaranteed she would receive a guilty verdict despite the fact that it was never even clear if her husband was actually dead (it seems likelier he just decided to abandon the family), much less that she was the one who killed him. The local sheriff and one of Nitti's own sons seem to have been the prime movers in pinning the crime on her, despite the lack of evidence. The depiction of the prejudices and passions of 1920s Chicago was where the book really shone. Women had newly gained the vote, and many saw the potential death sentence of a woman as connected to that – with power comes responsibility. Others argued that women were inherently deserving of mercy: "She is a mother and a mother has never been hanged in the history of this country. I do not believe the honorable court here will permit a mother to hang.” And then, of course, there was the issue of looks, of proper decorum – the pretty, fashionable yet obviously guilty women judged innocent by their all-male juries, and Nitti condemned to hang. The first 2/3rds or so of the book, when Lucchesi is guiding the reader through Nitti's life before her husband's disappearance and the subsequent trial, are pretty great. Unfortunately the last third loses the thread. Lucchesi detours into describing the backstories of various prisoners Nitti would have met or other contemporary court cases in Chicago; none of it seems to have much to do with Nitti, who disappears from the page for chapters at a time. Some of these would become the inspiration for other characters in Chicago, but since Lucchesi won't mention the musical until the epilogue, the reader is left to make the connection on their own or be confused. (Overall I found the book's lack of direct acknowledgement of Chicago odd – it's so obviously hanging there, waiting for the reader to notice it, and yet Lucchesi treats it like a devil who will bring bad luck if its name is invoked. Not to mention the missed marketing opportunity.) Others, like the two chapters spent on the Leopold and Loeb case, just seem to have interested Lucchesi and were vaguely connected, so she threw them in as a afterthought. It's a good example of historical crime writing, even if it needed a better structural editor. I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. Golden Hill by Francis Spufford. THIS BOOK IS SO GOOD EVERYONE READ IT IMMEDIATELY. A novel set in 1746 New York City, the book opens with the arrival in town of Richard Smith, fresh from London and bearing a bill for a thousand pounds. All of the novel's action is compacted within the next 60 days, as various New Yorkers wait to receive word from England proving Smith is who he says he is and if he really is owed such a fabulous sum; in the meantime they (and the reader) are left to figure out the mysterious Smith: a conman who should be thrown in the city's freezing jail? a wealthy aristocrat who your daughters should be encouraged to woo? a French spy, come to exploit the division between the city's new-born political parties? an actor, a Catholic, a gay man, a libertine, or possibly even a Turkish magician? Through it all Smith delights in giving no answers, reveling in the New World as a place to remake himself. I generally am suspicious of books that deliberately hide information from the reader, but it's done so well here and leads to such a delightful revelation that I think it was the perfect choice. Spufford's style is a moderate pastiche of 18th century novels; here are the opening lines as an example: The brig Henrietta having made Sandy Hook a little before the dinner hour—and having passed the Narrows about three o’clock—and then crawling to and fro, in a series of tacks infinitesimal enough to rival the calculus, across the grey sheet of the harbour of New York—until it seemed to Mr. Smith, dancing from foot to foot upon deck, that the small mound of the city waiting there would hover ahead in the November gloom in perpetuity, never growing closer, to the smirk of Greek Zeno—and the day being advanced to dusk by the time Henrietta at last lay anchored off Tietjes Slip, with the veritable gables of the city’s veritable houses divided from him only by one hundred foot of water—and the dusk moreover being as cold and damp and dim as November can afford, as if all the world were a quarto of grey paper dampened by drizzle until in danger of crumbling imminently to pap:—all this being true, the master of the brig pressed upon him the virtue of sleeping this one further night aboard, and pursuing his shore business in the morning. (He meaning by the offer to signal his esteem, having found Mr. Smith a pleasant companion during the slow weeks of the crossing.) But Smith would not have it. Smith, bowing and smiling, desired nothing but to be rowed to the dock. Smith, indeed, when once he had his shoes flat on the cobbles, took off at such speed despite the gambolling of his land-legs that he far out-paced the sailor dispatched to carry his trunk—and must double back for it, and seizing it hoist it instanter on his own shoulder—and gallop on, skidding over fish-guts and turnip leaves and cats’ entrails, and the other effluvium of the port—asking for direction here, asking again there—so that he appeared most nearly as a type of smiling whirlwind when he shouldered open the door—just as it was about to be bolted for the evening—of the counting-house of the firm of Lovell & Company, on Golden Hill Street, and laid down his burden while the prentices were lighting the lamps, and the clock on the wall showed one minute to five, and demanded, very civilly, speech that moment with Mr. Lovell himself. However, it's 18th century language hiding a 21st century attitude; this is a novel deeply aware of gender and racial divisions, for all that they're mostly hidden behind humor and a page-turning sense of suspense. It's a New York City shaped and haunted by the ghosts of the slave revolt of 1741, and its shadow lies over every page, thought it's only ever directly addressed in one on-page conversation (though goddamn, it's a conversation with resonance). Smith meets and begins to court Tabitha Lovell, who is described as a "shrew" by her family and the rest of this small-town New York. Her portrayal though, is much more complex than that stereotype, and it's never quite clear how much she is an intelligent woman brutally confined by social strictures or how much she suffers from an unnamed mental illness. And yet it's fun book, an exciting book! There are glorious set-pieces here: Smith racing over the rooftops of winter New York, outpacing a mob howling for his blood; a duel fought outside the walls of the city that turns in a split second from humor to horror; a play acted on the closest thing New York has to a stage; a card game with too much money invested. The writing is alternatively beautiful and hilarious, and I'm just completely in love with all of it. I really can't recommend this book enough. I came into it not expecting much, but it turned out to be exactly what I wanted. I read this as an ARC via NetGalley. (DW link for easier commenting)

[animationnut]

To Gravity Falls, From Piedmont: Chapter 19

Summary: It’s a long way until next summer. Until then, Dipper and Mabel share their daily antics and life problems with their lifelong friends and attentive great-uncles through an endless string of e-mails. Distance makes the heart grow fonder after all, and there’s no place Dipper and Mabel love more than Gravity Falls.

                                                   Chapter List

To: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject: New Year Resolutions

Hey!

The New Year is almost upon us, and Dipper and I have planned a bash loaded with sugar and action movies. I've already got my resolutions figured out, so I totally have to know what your New Year's resolutions are going to be.

Much love,

Mabel

As Dipper carted several plastic bowls into the living room his phone beeped, indicating he had received an email. He set the dishes on the coffee table before checking the message. His eyebrows raised and he called, "Mabel, one of your New Year resolutions is to give up sugar!"

"I know!" she answered from the kitchen, over the noise of cupboard doors opening and shutting.

"Yet you just said to Grunkle Stan and Grunkle Ford that tonight was going to be a complete sugar fest!"

Mabel appeared, carting with her bags of potato chips, packets of gummy candies and a pitcher of Mabel Juice. "A sugar fest which is happening before the new year," she pointed out, starting to pour the snack food into the bowls readily laid out. "Once it hits midnight I'm stopping."

"I want to point out that you've never successfully completed a New Year's resolution."

Straightening at that, Mabel narrowed her eyes at her brother. "I have too! I'm great at keeping my resolutions!"

Dipper immediately raised his hand and started to tick the examples off of his fingers. "Last year you were going to finish making that house cozy. Year before that you vowed to take synchronized swimming lessons. Year before that you claimed you were going to start and finish your own web series. None of these things were accomplished."

"You've got a real nasty memory," said Mabel with the pout.

"Nasty for you, maybe," said Dipper in amusement.

"I thought synchronized swimming would be a lot more free and creative, but they wouldn't let me do my own routine."

"You wanted to include dolphins in your routine. Any sane person would have told you no."

"And that house cozy was just getting too big," she continued. "I was running out of wool and I had other crafts I needed to work on."

"On the bright side Dad has a car warmer."

"And the web series would have worked great if my lead actor would have cooperated with me."

"Ashes doesn't do anything but sleep."

Setting her hands on her hips, Mabel declared, "You're not one to talk. What about that model of the sphinx you were going to make out of building blocks?"

"You knocked it down!"

"It was an accident! It wasn't all of it, anyway. You could have started it over. And what about the research report you were going to submit to American Science Digest?"

Dipper shifted his eyes back and forth. "Uh…I ran into some obstacles…"

"Or what about the time—?"

"Okay, okay." Dipper raised his hands in a surrendering manner. "I'm a hypocrite, no surprises there. Look, it doesn't matter anyway. New Year's resolutions are hardly ever kept, anyway."

"I don't mean to break them," insisted Mabel. "I try but then it all goes kabloom. But it's going to be different this year."

"Mabel." Raising his eyes heavenward for a brief moment, Dipper retrieved the pitcher off of the table and shook it, causing drops of glitter-infused pink juice to splash over the edge. "Of all resolutions, you choose to cut out sugar. I'm telling you right now that you're not going to be able to keep it. You are ninety-five percent sugar."

"It's so hard having a brother who doesn't believe in me," lamented Mabel.

Before Dipper could respond, a dual-ping sounded, alerting them to their great-uncles' response. Mabel was typing out a response before Dipper had even wrangled his phone out of his pocket.

Mabel Pines: Hey! The New Year is almost upon us, and Dipper and I have planned a bash loaded with sugar and action movies. I've already got my resolutions figured out, so I totally have to know what your New Year's Resolutions are going to be.

Grunkle Stan: Yeah. Eat, sleep and be merry.

Grunkle Ford: Which has been the closest thing he's ever come to a New Year's resolution.

Mabel Pines: I don't think anyone is taking me seriously here.

Grunkle Ford: What makes you say that?

Mabel Pines: Dipper's picking on me.

Dipper Pines: I was making observations that you didn't particularly care for.

Grunkle Stan: What did he do this time, sweetie?

Mabel Pines: He doesn't think I can keep a resolution because I haven't succeeded in previous years.

Grunkle Stan: You're not supposed to keep New Year's resolutions.

Dipper Pines: Thank you.

Grunkle Ford: Come now, you two. Attempting to accomplish a resolution is an admirable feat, even if you didn't manage to finish it. What's your goal for next year, Mabel?

Mabel Pines: I'm going to give up sugar!

Grunkle Stan: …

Grunkle Ford: …

Dipper Pines: I really don't think any more needs to be said.

Mabel Pines: I can totally do it!

Grunkle Ford: Dear, I think you're underestimating the amount of food you consume that has sugar in it.

Mabel Pines: Well…maybe not all sugar, then.

Dipper Pines: Backpedaling already.

Grunkle Stan: Ssh.

Mabel Pines: Hey, there's nothing wrong with creating parameters! I'll give up all candy, all soda, all sugary drinks, anything that has a high percentage of sugar.

Dipper Pines: You realize that means no more Mabel Juice.

Grunkle Stan: Not that I don't have faith in you, but it seems like a tall order, pumpkin.

Mabel Pines: I don't see any of you making any resolutions. Not that you'd stick with them anyway.

Grunkle Stan: Whoa there missy.

Dipper Pines: Annnd here we go.

Grunkle Ford: I admit its been many years since I attempted to keep a New Year's resolution, but I think I have enough control to stay with it for more than an hour.

Grunkle Stan: Is that a jab at the time I gave up potato chips?

Grunkle Ford: Yes.

Dipper Pines: Which obviously lasted a pitiful hour.

Grunkle Stan: Hey, I was young and reckless. Now I'm old and reckless and competitive. I'm gonna trounce all you dorks.

Dipper Pines: There's the gauntlet.

Grunkle Ford: All right then. What's your resolution?

Grunkle Stan: To not eat vegetables.

Mabel Pines: Boo!

Grunkle Ford: Leave it to a conman to manipulate his advantage in a challenge he knows he can't win.

Grunkle Stan: I can keep any resolution.

Mabel Pines: How about you promise not to trick people out of money?

Grunkle Ford: Very good, dear. That shouldn't be a problem, right Stanley?

Grunkle Stan: No problem at all. Just as it shouldn't be a problem for you to give up all-night research sessions.

Grunkle Ford: …touché. You're on.

Dipper Pines: Am I the only normal one here?

Grunkle Stan: Don't fool yourself, kiddo.

Mabel Pines:  How about you, Dipper?

Dipper Pines: I'm not taking part in this.

Mabel Pines: You could give up going on those dumb conspiracy theory blogs.

Dipper Pines: Isn't the point to select your own resolutions?

Mabel Pines: What's wrong? Afraid you're going to lose?

Dipper Pines: Right. Consider the gauntlet accepted.

Grunkle Stan: You're all going down.

Grunkle Ford: We shall see.

Morning rays spilled through the kitchen window, creating yellow ripples across the tiled floor. Grabbing a banana for breakfast, Mabel ate it on her way out the door, leash gripped in hand as Waddles scampered ahead of her. She graciously stopped to allow excited children to pet her pig and they eventually reached town.

Mabel stopped by the post office on an errand for her mother and then went to the park. As Waddles sniffed along the grass, she paused by a white snack stand and bought a rainbow slushie. She cheerfully took the first sip, the sweet fruity flavour splashing against her taste buds.

Her eyes widened.

"Oh. No."

Shifting her eyes between the nearest trash can and her slushie, Mabel took another long slurp as she accepted her fate.

"Should have chosen something other than sugar…Dipper is going to be impossible to live with after this one."

…

Feet propped up against the arm of the couch, Dipper listened idly to the documentary playing on the television. He browsed the Internet on his phone, automatically clicking on the notification that alerted him that his favourite blog had just made an update.

"Aliens and Bigfoot; How They're Related," he read aloud. "Ooh."

He was halfway through the essay when he realized exactly what he was doing. Mabel arrived back home then, shuffling into the living room with Waddles. He stared at the slushie in her hand and she knew by the instinctual way he angled the phone away from her what he was reading.

After a beat of guilty silence, they both burst into laughter.

To: Dipper Pines (GhostHarasserfan); Grunkle Stan (StantheMan); Grunkle Ford (Highsixer)

From: Mabel Pines (ShootingStarRainbowUnicorn)

Subject: Well so much for that

Hey,

All right, so making a resolution to give up sugar was probably way too much, especially for me. I sort of forgot but then when I remembered I couldn't throw my slushie away, because that's like a crime. Then I thought about how I would have to avoid slushies for a whole year...so I kinda gave in.

Much love,

Mabel

See all messages in this thread (Expand)

Grunkle Stan: Yeah…I swindled a diner out of a free meal after complaining of a hair in my soup—the hair in question belonging to me. This may or may not have happened three hours into the new year.

Grunkle Ford: I don't have a very good concept of time. When I looked at the clock it was ten, and when I looked again it was five in the morning.

Dipper Pines: Yeah, completely forgot about my resolution. Considering it's only January the third, I think we're all pretty terrible when it comes to making resolutions.

Mabel Pines: It was a lot harder than I thought. I think I'll focus on my new resolution, which is to be a good person and try to make the world a little bit of a better place.

Grunkle Stan: How about we just elect Mabel president of the world?

Grunkle Ford: If only it were that easy.

Dipper Pines: Happy New Year, guys.

Grunkle Stan: Happy New Year, runts.

Grunkle Ford: Happy New Year, kids.

Mabel Pines: And regardless of our resolutions, let's do our best to make it a good one!