A post-humous rec, only not.

OH MY GOD. DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO FIND GOOD BOONDOCK SAINTS FIC? DO YOU? DO YOU? OH MY GOD.

Y'know how in every fandom there's that fic that really, really hits you? Like, at the end there's this tightness in your chest and you're thinking, "That's it, man. That's it. That's the fic." I was beginning to think that maybe the Boondock Saints fandom has no such fic for me, but now I think this next one would make a pretty damn good bet.

speed enough to blur the windows by gymnopedies

Two good BDS fic in two days. Wow.

This fic. Slayed me. omg. It's about Connor and Murphy, and not Connor/Murphy, but who needs Connor/Murphy when the relationship between them is already so deliciously fraught with... STUFF. (My kingdom for some eloquence here.) It makes your heart hurt.


There are only 7 entries in her LJ and most of them appear to be BDS fic, most of which I haven't read... yet. Her last entry was posted in October, so I guess I won't be seeing anymore fic from her. Aww. :(


Edit:-------------------

paronymous as brothers tend to be, and sepulchral as romances tend to go

Connor has always been much better at keeping silent, even though Murphy was the one who went through a period of time when all he would say were his prayers and fuck you. Something to do with their temperaments, and beyond that, the very way they're made, like two mirror images with very specific, very heavy handed, and very deliberate mistakes.

Daresay it's better than the first fic. The detached austerity of wandering around the church you're bumming in for the night. And god, Connor's left hand. *incoherences* If you don't read this fic, I will shoot you.

I reckon I should stop here for the night lest I end up reccing everything she wrote.

*holds connor in a headlock while trying to beat murphy with a spatula*

My 'current mood' is being ironic.

I shouldn't write fics when I'm tired because I'll probably end up writing shit, but when I'm tired, writing fics is suddenly what I want to do. I want to make John say this this and Harry do that and Murphy say whatever. But. I'm tired, deflated, weighed down, and my head's full of cotton balls. I don't want to recover. I want to be recovered already. I want to skip the sleeping and the resting and just fucking write already.

I open my Fics folder and peruse unfinished documents and I'm like, "Shiiiiiit shitty shitty shitty shiiiiiiii--" and so on.

'Kay, so, like, I have this fic, right? And [cut for excessive whininess]. Like.

Eurgh.

*throttles characters*

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

You insignifiCUNT. Little fuck. Fucks.

I'm tired but I don't want to sleep. I never want to sleep. I wonder if I'll develop some Pavlovian... thing, and I'll end up not being able to sleep unless I feel like the world's fucking me over. *poses dramatically* CHEER UP, EMO FIC WRITER.

And then sometimes, I find these great fics to read and I'm like, "Why do I even try."

Speakin' of which, if you still haven't read and reviewed those BDS fics I recced in my last entry, then, uh... why? Why haven't you? Why?

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY.

You insignifi

yeah.