Fic Rec: New Anywhere Road
Jul. 1st, 2009 09:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat_lairSo
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zeitheist, Andy to my Ash, my co-pilot and adopted kid sister, wrote me AN EPIC (no, nothing less than caps locks will do) for my birthday and I am finally getting my ass on gear to rec it. You may have noticed that my birthday was over three months ago. You may have also noticed that despite my good intentions it often takes me a very long time to deliver on my promises (for reference see every birthday fic I have promised, started and failed to finish... but i will! some day! *hangs head in shame*) Anyway, enough about me and my failings. More about this EPIC FIC OF EPICNESS.Fic: Play Hearts, Kid (NC-17, 29,000 words)
Author:
zeitheist 'Verse:
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anywhere_road - it's where the action is baby! (and the pot! and the tequila! and the hot boy sex!)Why you should read this fic, a mini-essay: So you guys know the premise of
anywhere_road by now, right? Andy and Ash, fighting evil, being dorks, falling in love, the usual. Play Hearts, Kid takes our 'verse and fucking makes it fly, chronicling what happened to Andy and Ash during the events of season 4. And wouldn't you know, it turns out that Dean Winchester isn't the only one worthy of his own personal angel... Enter Malchediel, possibly the most adorable heavenly creature ever (and yes, I am counting Castiel in the comparison group). Add interesting hunts, huge dose of h/c, spot-on character voices, zeitheist's impeccable comedic timing, epic continuity and destiny stuff, cameos from all the regulars and you get this fic. In my feedback to zeitheist I said that this fic reads like a love letter to me (there are some in-jokes and continuity stuff that nearly made me wet myself with glee) but really it's a love letter to this world we've created and hope others enjoy at least half as much as we do. I cried and laughed and shouted OMFGNOOOOOOOOO out loud on several occasions when reading this. Don't deny yourself the same. Drop everything and run, don't walk, to read Play Hearts, Kid right now.An excerpt to whet your appetite (selecting one was hard, but in the end I went for humour, leaving the heavy stuff for your solitary experience):
“He’s an angel.”
“He’s a… well, that’s just great.”
“No, seriously, dude.” Ash is already holding his phone to his ear, like this is a conversation he can’t finish fast enough. “Wings and everything. It was gre—yeah, Ellen?”
Andy turns the relevant facts over in his head. In the past forty-eight hours he has shot a man—an angel—in the chest, almost died on I-40, achieved a motel room through unscrupulous means, sat in wait of a mysterious enemy, met said mysterious enemy, been knocked out, and had to perform a mad dash from the destroyed motel room to the van. Oh, and by the way, Andy, that demon? Is actually an angel. Andy mimes the words at the thin trickle of morning traffic, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
He glances in the mirror and almost chokes all over again.
The angel, Malchediel, is holding up the impressive glass funnel that Dean Winchester had once dubbed ‘Moby Dick’s bong’. There’s a frown on his face as he tilts it this way and that, as if trying to divine its uses by the way the light sparks against it.
“Put that down!”
Malchediel looks up at him sharply, like a predator disturbed from its kill. Then, carefully and without taking his eyes off Andy, he replaces the bong where he found it. Then he pulls his hands back, still slow and wary, and folds them neatly in his lap. He’s obviously waiting for Andy to attack him, which is slightly unfair and yet still manages to make Andy feel guilty. He looks back to the road and flexes his fingers around the wheel, knowing without looking that the angel is watching him like a hawk.
“He’s a… well, that’s just great.”
“No, seriously, dude.” Ash is already holding his phone to his ear, like this is a conversation he can’t finish fast enough. “Wings and everything. It was gre—yeah, Ellen?”
Andy turns the relevant facts over in his head. In the past forty-eight hours he has shot a man—an angel—in the chest, almost died on I-40, achieved a motel room through unscrupulous means, sat in wait of a mysterious enemy, met said mysterious enemy, been knocked out, and had to perform a mad dash from the destroyed motel room to the van. Oh, and by the way, Andy, that demon? Is actually an angel. Andy mimes the words at the thin trickle of morning traffic, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.
He glances in the mirror and almost chokes all over again.
The angel, Malchediel, is holding up the impressive glass funnel that Dean Winchester had once dubbed ‘Moby Dick’s bong’. There’s a frown on his face as he tilts it this way and that, as if trying to divine its uses by the way the light sparks against it.
“Put that down!”
Malchediel looks up at him sharply, like a predator disturbed from its kill. Then, carefully and without taking his eyes off Andy, he replaces the bong where he found it. Then he pulls his hands back, still slow and wary, and folds them neatly in his lap. He’s obviously waiting for Andy to attack him, which is slightly unfair and yet still manages to make Andy feel guilty. He looks back to the road and flexes his fingers around the wheel, knowing without looking that the angel is watching him like a hawk.
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on 2009-07-01 09:44 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-07-01 09:49 am (UTC)