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Lilo and Stitch was wonderful. I haven't been so happy about a Mouse movie since... Pirates!
It's actually a little distressing.
Boondock Saints is a nice tangle of brilliant film technique, gorgeous actors, and very scary semiotics. Connor and Murph ooze lean and dangerous sexuality, all the same. The little monsters. So glad they are fictional.
And, therefore, this.
Pater
a short musing by stungunbilly
Boondock Saints and its characters do not belong to me. No profit will be made my myself or any of my affiliates for this very short and pointless bit of fan fiction.
~
Connor missed the meatpacking plant sometimes. The people there had been almost like friends, if not quite so close. He and Murph made them laugh, kept things fun. Most of their co-workers had appreciated that.
Now it was just the three McManuses. Murph, Connor, and Il Duche, also known as Father. Hard to reconcile the man who had fired upon Murph and himself, shot off Roc’s finger, with the spiritual leader of their tiny clan.
Sometimes he couldn’t do it. Two mornings ago, he and Murph showered together for help with cleaning the healing wounds they both bore. Father had torn the curtain from the hotel shower, flung it to the tile, and questioned them on the subject of sodomy.
It wasn’t a pleasant thing. They had agreed between the two of them that sodomy wasn’t one of the deadly sins they hunted men over, and now Father wanted to re-write the rules.
It frightened Connor, though he would not admit it. Murph kept to his own bed, even on the nights the bad dreams came. Innocent blood, pleading eyes, the crying of widows, these haunted the brothers after such a short time on their path. Hard not to wonder, *what if*.
What if one of the men who begged for life were simply there by mistake, undercover, trying to fight evil just like they were. Even one telling the truth, and they were not heroes, but murderers. The more they killed, the more the odds came up against them. At night it was so hard to believe what he knew for certain in the light of day.
And there were no more gentle touches, easy sharing of each other’s hands and mouths and holding back the darkness. Not sodomites, they’d never been. Connor, though, had thought maybe they would be, and it wouldn’t be so bad. Just a little step more and not a black sin at that.
But… Father. He was so very fast with the six guns he carried. And he seemed to have no doubts at all.
Funny, how family had used to seem the safest thing.
It's actually a little distressing.
Boondock Saints is a nice tangle of brilliant film technique, gorgeous actors, and very scary semiotics. Connor and Murph ooze lean and dangerous sexuality, all the same. The little monsters. So glad they are fictional.
And, therefore, this.
Pater
a short musing by stungunbilly
Boondock Saints and its characters do not belong to me. No profit will be made my myself or any of my affiliates for this very short and pointless bit of fan fiction.
~
Connor missed the meatpacking plant sometimes. The people there had been almost like friends, if not quite so close. He and Murph made them laugh, kept things fun. Most of their co-workers had appreciated that.
Now it was just the three McManuses. Murph, Connor, and Il Duche, also known as Father. Hard to reconcile the man who had fired upon Murph and himself, shot off Roc’s finger, with the spiritual leader of their tiny clan.
Sometimes he couldn’t do it. Two mornings ago, he and Murph showered together for help with cleaning the healing wounds they both bore. Father had torn the curtain from the hotel shower, flung it to the tile, and questioned them on the subject of sodomy.
It wasn’t a pleasant thing. They had agreed between the two of them that sodomy wasn’t one of the deadly sins they hunted men over, and now Father wanted to re-write the rules.
It frightened Connor, though he would not admit it. Murph kept to his own bed, even on the nights the bad dreams came. Innocent blood, pleading eyes, the crying of widows, these haunted the brothers after such a short time on their path. Hard not to wonder, *what if*.
What if one of the men who begged for life were simply there by mistake, undercover, trying to fight evil just like they were. Even one telling the truth, and they were not heroes, but murderers. The more they killed, the more the odds came up against them. At night it was so hard to believe what he knew for certain in the light of day.
And there were no more gentle touches, easy sharing of each other’s hands and mouths and holding back the darkness. Not sodomites, they’d never been. Connor, though, had thought maybe they would be, and it wouldn’t be so bad. Just a little step more and not a black sin at that.
But… Father. He was so very fast with the six guns he carried. And he seemed to have no doubts at all.
Funny, how family had used to seem the safest thing.
