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Palpatine
10/18/17 09:43 pm
Granted, and thank you, Pari, for pointing that out to me, so that I could write to the author and address the issue personally. I'm most grateful.
Pari
10/07/17 01:42 am
@Palpatine authors are in charge of the banners they add to their stories, so you will need to contact them personally to let them know their banner pic is not showing.
Pari
10/07/17 01:41 am
@kelticmoon, I added some back but they are not updated, meaning things you find on the default skin may not be on the other skins :)
kelticmoon
10/05/17 10:47 pm
Where are the other skins that use to be here?
Palpatine
10/05/17 03:52 pm
Some of the pictures seem to be having real trouble being looked at, they keep on saying "enable third party hosting", a real problem it seems.
Pari
09/25/17 10:11 pm
Hey nmcil we got this strightened via email, thanks for the donation. Thanks to all who donated as we are now paid up through/to Jan 2019!
nmcil
09/21/17 03:08 am
How can we contribute using PayPal?
nmcil
09/21/17 03:05 am
What happen to the PayPal donation. I USE PayPal.
squawks
05/18/17 09:16 am
pj! I remember wishing one of your stories would be finished seriously about a decade ago. Amazing. I just tried an old password I used to use and amazingly got in too. Memories!
pj
03/20/17 06:20 am
10 yrs later, i finally rem my username and password. Pari, you rock. Hope you are well.

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Authors Chapter Notes:
The premise for this story just came to me a few days ago, and I literally couldn’t sleep until I started to pound it out on paper (or computer screen, as it were). I’d love to know what you think, hopefully, it’s somewhat of a creative take on the Wishverse/AU possibilities. Updating on this will be relatively slow, compared to my super-speed on “Crystal”, since that’s where most of my attention lies for now. I don’t own any of the characters or the Buffyverse, I have just twisted it on its head to entertain myself, and hopefully you. The name of this fic comes from a song by the Weepies, check it out. Great song. Name of the chapter comes from John Mayer.


Swirls of red and black smoke danced in patterns, and the scent of roses mixed with burning sugar was strong. Candles flickered. The room was cold, far colder than it should have been.

Magic was in the air.

“Clos est mi hubra e tourno la. Clos est mi hubra e tourno la,” Willow chanted, her face partially obscured by the smoke. Her eyes were shut tight, her entire body tense, holding a small red stone out in front of her. Giles sat next to her, sprinkling a glittery mixture into a small stone bowl, and chanting his own incantation.

“Deva est mi breva e mourno mi. Deva est mi breva e mourno mi.”

“Do you actually think this is gonna work?” Xander muttered.

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped angrily, willing her tears to cease as she tried to think positively. “It has to work. It has to.”

The two sat the stairs of the library, watching Giles and Willow cast their spell. Buffy was clutching her silver cross necklace so hard it nearly drew blood from her hands, and attempting to suppress her nervous panting.

In the week since Angelus turned, The Slayer had wandered about in a daze. Colors didn’t seem as bright, sounds didn’t seem as loud. Nothing could touch her. She floated along in an emotionless stupor. She went to school, she went on patrol, she did everything that was expected of her, even occasionally smiled. But something inside her had died that moment when she realized Angel, her Angel, was gone. And she couldn’t even seem to breathe without her heart hurting.

So wrapped up in her own misery, she hadn’t noticed the frantic research going on in the library. Giles had remembered something he’d read years before, and enlisted everyone he could—Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia---to help him search. Their constant studying and awkward moods didn’t even register with Buffy.

So when Giles ran up to her the previous day, breathless, stuttering, she had been completely confused at his ramblings until he managed to spit out, “I think we can give him back his soul.”

She hadn’t been able to move at she stared at the book he was holding. Old, obviously, as most of his books were, it was bound in smooth black leather, with an intricate design in silver etched on to the cover.

“It’s not the same spell that cursed him originally,” Giles explained as he walked her to class. “Those magics were lost long ago. But this, this book, tells of an ancient ritual, it’s quite fascinating actually, analyzed by Glorio Black, in regards to—“

“Giles, get to the point!” Buffy snapped.

“There’s a spell,” he said. “I can’t guarantee it will work, but from the translations, this spell would give Angelus—Angel---his soul. Permanently. And I think we can do it.”

It was like something out of one of her dreams.

And so now they were here.

Annoyed with Xander’s fidgeting and occasional cracking of inappropriate jokes, Buffy rose and cautiously approached the table, stopping five feet away when Giles raised his hand to warn her to stay away. Her eyes roamed over the scene in front of her, until her gaze focused on the red stone in Willow’s palm. A Stone of Filenia, Giles had told her, as if she wanted to know about the details. As long as the spell worked, it could use deer blood for all she cared.

About the size of a tennis ball, it was a deep blood red, with jagged edges and missing chunks, and it glittered prettily as the candlelight reflected off of it. As Buffy inspected the stone, it started to shift and change in front of her. Within its depths she could see more than just red, but black, and green, and gold, and blue. It grew and shrunk, mutated its shape, began to show her images she didn’t recognize.

She couldn’t look away.

From the base of her spine, a shiver began to creep up, and the room got even colder. Willow continued to chant, louder now, and Giles dropped something into the bowl.

Then, a flash of bright light from above their heads illuminated the entire room in a firey golden glow.

Willow screamed and ceased her chanting.

“Buffy?” Xander yelled, but his voice seemed muffled.

Giles fell to the ground, as if pushed by some unseen force.

She couldn’t look away.

From deep inside her belly, she felt an insistent tug that grew in strength and power until it felt as if her insides wanted out. Her eyes began to burn. The skin on her face felt frozen. Goosebumps appeared on her arms. More and more smoke swirled around her, until all she could see was the stone.

It was glowing from within.

The ground seem to fall out from beneath her feet, and she felt as if she was spinning through the air. Buffy wanted to cry and laugh and scream, she wanted to throw up, she wanted to die. She reached out in the dark for something to hold on to, and found nothing.

Suddenly, her feet hit something solid with a thud. And with a searing pain up her spine and out the top of her head, Buffy collapsed, unconscious.


“Buffy? Buffy, are you alright?” A deep voice emerged from the darkness.

As she slowly regained consciousness, she became more aware of her surroundings. Cool tile on her cheek, warm sunshine on her back, and a gentle hand stroking her hair.

“Ow,” Buffy muttered, all at once feeling the pain in her body. She struggled to open her eyes, recognizing that she on the floor, in the library, right where she’d collapsed. But now, it was daytime. Her gaze still blurry, she moved to sit up, but strong, firm hands stopped her.

“Don’t move, you could hurt yourself more,” that same slightly familiar voice said. A British accent, but not Giles kind of British. Rougher, younger. “Should I call a doctor? Buffy, what happened?”

Her vision finally cleared, and Buffy turned to look into the face of the man kneeling beside her.

Impossibly blue eyes.

Chiseled cheekbones.

Pale skin.

“SPIKE?” she cried out in fear, and leapt away from him. Oh, it was Spike alright. Curly light brown hair instead of bleached white, a tweed suit instead of those inappropriately tight jeans and leather duster, but those eyes were the same. It was Spike.

“Spike? Why would you call me—“ he started to say, as the door to the library burst open and two dark haired figures entered.

“Pratt, any way you could write me a note to get out of gym?” The boy asked as he tossed his book bag on the counter.

Buffy’s almost felt her heart bubble up in her throat as she looked at the person in front of her.

“Angel?” she whispered.

“Uh, yeah?” he said, confused. He glanced at the older man, who was still staring at Buffy with concern. “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, are you okay?” the girl asked. Buffy managed to tear her eyes away from Angel, dressed as she’d never seen him in baggy jeans and a blue polo shirt, to see that his companion was Drusilla. A young, smiling Drusilla.

Something finally clicked in her brain, and she darted behind the table and grabbed a cross that was laying there.

“You all stay the hell away from me,” She threatened as she held the feeble weapon in front of her.

“Um,” Drusilla said slowly. “Okay. Buffy, did you hit your head or something?”

“Yeah, Buff, you look kind of pale,” Angel said. “Maybe you should eat a cookie. Get some sugar?”

Buffy stared at the three of them, wild-eyed. “I will stake each and every one of you before I let you touch me.” She knew if all three of these sadistic monsters chose to attack her at the same time, she had no chance, but the fury in her body kept her from showing her weakness. What the hell had they done to her?

Spike started to move slowly towards her, saying “Buffy, what the bloody—“

The girl lunged forward like a cat and pressed the cross to his chest. He glanced down at it quizzically.

“What the…” Buffy whispered, staring at the religious artifact, which was having no effect on the man in front of her. She glanced up at Spike, who was now staring at her as if she had grown a second head. She backed up slowly and let the cross fall to the ground, glancing individually at each of the three vampires in front of her.

Except that, they weren’t vampires.

The cross didn’t burn Spike.

Drusilla was standing in a patch of sunlight.

And Angel…oh God. Angel was breathing.

She fainted to the ground again.




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