(no subject)
Have just found the world's best fic. Accidents Will Happen, by holli. It's SPN, but so, so genius, that I think everyone should go and read it, because I know most of my flist will get a kick out of it.
(If you're not a Supernatural fan, all you need to know is that Dean and Sam Winchester are brothers whose mother was mysteriously killed by a demon in Sam's nursery when they were kids and their house burnt down, and now they drive around America, being extremely attractive and fighting evil.)
But I'm getting ahead of myself. So my parents were out of town for the weekend-- long story-- and they said absolutely no overnight guests, which, please, I'm sixteen. They're lucky I didn't go get an STD from a boy with a flaming dagger tattoo or something; three girls sleeping over is no big. Right? Right.
And since the spring equinox was that weekend, too, we decided we'd hold the ritual at my house, since Allie's parents are kind of uber-Catholic and still periodically spritz her with holy water to make sure the Goth thing hasn't gotten her possessed. Steph's parents are insane Martha Stewart neat freaks, and Noreen-- well, Noreen never gave me a good reason, actually, which is one of the reasons I blame her for everything. Anyway. She'd spent the last couple weeks putting the ritual together, and getting way too into it, if you ask me. She made Allie ask her uncle, who collects rare books, if he had anything on pagan religions or the history of witchcraft that she could borrow, and she Netflixed the first three seasons of Buffy, and she kept calling me at weird hours to ask how to spell things in Latin and if I knew where she could get chicken feet. Which, no, and no.
…
Noreen had me painting weird symbols on the backs of everyone's hands: protective sigils, she said. I was starting to think she was getting a little too into her role, here; I knew perfectly well that no one in the room, myself included, had so much as worn black nail polish before sophomore year, and now here we were, all gothed out and about to practice the black arts.
"Hey! 'Black arts' is totally misleading, Leah. We're summoning a protective influence," Noreen said, all snippy. "It's supposed to guide us away from harmful forces, if it works right."
"Fine, whatever, we could have just played 'light as a feather, stiff as a board' and held a seance, we don't have to get in touch with Mother Earth right off the bat." Possibly I was a little on edge. And with good reason, because right as we were lighting the candles and sitting down around the circle, the door at the top of the stairs opened, the lights flicked on, and a supremely bratty voice said "Leah, Mom and Dad said you couldn't have people over. I'm so telling."
I scowled up at my little sister. "Leslie. You are supposed to be in bed."
"Yeah, well, you're supposed to not buy concert tickets with the emergency money Mom left us." Crap. I wish I knew how she figured that out. Devil child.
(If you're not a Supernatural fan, all you need to know is that Dean and Sam Winchester are brothers whose mother was mysteriously killed by a demon in Sam's nursery when they were kids and their house burnt down, and now they drive around America, being extremely attractive and fighting evil.)
But I'm getting ahead of myself. So my parents were out of town for the weekend-- long story-- and they said absolutely no overnight guests, which, please, I'm sixteen. They're lucky I didn't go get an STD from a boy with a flaming dagger tattoo or something; three girls sleeping over is no big. Right? Right.
And since the spring equinox was that weekend, too, we decided we'd hold the ritual at my house, since Allie's parents are kind of uber-Catholic and still periodically spritz her with holy water to make sure the Goth thing hasn't gotten her possessed. Steph's parents are insane Martha Stewart neat freaks, and Noreen-- well, Noreen never gave me a good reason, actually, which is one of the reasons I blame her for everything. Anyway. She'd spent the last couple weeks putting the ritual together, and getting way too into it, if you ask me. She made Allie ask her uncle, who collects rare books, if he had anything on pagan religions or the history of witchcraft that she could borrow, and she Netflixed the first three seasons of Buffy, and she kept calling me at weird hours to ask how to spell things in Latin and if I knew where she could get chicken feet. Which, no, and no.
…
Noreen had me painting weird symbols on the backs of everyone's hands: protective sigils, she said. I was starting to think she was getting a little too into her role, here; I knew perfectly well that no one in the room, myself included, had so much as worn black nail polish before sophomore year, and now here we were, all gothed out and about to practice the black arts.
"Hey! 'Black arts' is totally misleading, Leah. We're summoning a protective influence," Noreen said, all snippy. "It's supposed to guide us away from harmful forces, if it works right."
"Fine, whatever, we could have just played 'light as a feather, stiff as a board' and held a seance, we don't have to get in touch with Mother Earth right off the bat." Possibly I was a little on edge. And with good reason, because right as we were lighting the candles and sitting down around the circle, the door at the top of the stairs opened, the lights flicked on, and a supremely bratty voice said "Leah, Mom and Dad said you couldn't have people over. I'm so telling."
I scowled up at my little sister. "Leslie. You are supposed to be in bed."
"Yeah, well, you're supposed to not buy concert tickets with the emergency money Mom left us." Crap. I wish I knew how she figured that out. Devil child.