Oh noes! I have not memed in nearly a year.

I got this one from glimmergirl:

Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Feel free to ask about anything and I'll tell you the premise or paste you a tidbit for any of these.

Multiple questions encouraged.

citroen:Buffyfic> find . -type f | egrep -v '.git|Finished|Commentaries' | egrep 'text|txt|md' | xargs wc -w
894 ./ArsDraconis/
15216 ./box_christmas.text
13395 ./Claiming/02_consolidation.text
622 ./Crackfic/gx_mpreg.text
841 ./Crackfic/
173 ./Crackfic/magic_the_gathering.text
4456 ./DoctorWhoXOvers/ge_rescuing_jamie.text
3139 ./gb_catalysts.text
6369 ./gb_cliched.text
4565 ./gb_council_marriage.text
10646 ./gb_iceland.txt
13191 ./gb_legacy.text
9866 ./gbx_montana.text
14749 ./geb_hell.text
13263 ./gj_watchers_child.text
563 ./
761 ./gs_recidivist.text
15590 ./gx_schoolboy_kink.text
5677 ./gx_talk_about.text
1183 ./inversion.txt
527 ./KinkBingo/dp.text
3709 ./KinkBingo/hand_fetish.text
1441 ./KinkBingo/penance.text
54864 ./NaNoWriMo/
1864 ./plot_ideas.txt
11117 ./
12250 ./Signet/gb_signet.text
5665 ./Thusia/
4318 ./

The number before the file name is the word count, to give you some idea of which projects have more progress than others. I confess that I deleted some stuff by hand, to weed out files that contain nothing significant enough to push them over into being real projects. (Some are just sort of prompts and nothing more.) If nothing else, doing this inspires me to reorganize my fic repository.

Fire away!
Oooh, what's the box Christmas one? I love me some Christmas fic.
This one is, cough, um, not very Christmassy. It's set a Christmas time though! It's more of an "end of term" story. One thing to know is that I generally prefix the story file name with a shortcut for the pairing so I can sort things easily. "BOX" stands for "Buffy/Oz/Xander". This one is a sequel to a kink meme fill I did in the very first iteration of the meme. Rough sex all the way.
Darn! I was hoping for Christmas fic. I suppose I would have gotten the initial thing if it hadn't spelled a word, lol. Now I'm imagining all sorts of stories that involve a Christmas box. :p
Council Marriage with Giles and Buffy?

Giles/Ethan/Buffy Hell?

And of course...

Council marriage
It was a shotgun wedding. The shotgun wasn't visible, but Giles knew it to be present in the room in a metaphorical sense if not the literal. Quentin Travers, who'd given away the bride, had a syringe of poison in the pocket of his tailored suit. Giles's best man had a bulge under his left arm where he wore a semi-automatic in a shoulder holster. Behind them was the Council warlock, casting a working that made the air in the room strange. And the warlock had done something to Joyce, Giles was sure of it, for she was standing dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief instead of firing at him with a literal shotgun she'd acquired for the sole purpose of murdering *that man*.

That man, who was repeating his wedding vows with more of a stutter than was usual even for him. Dull vows, he thought, as he listened to his bride say hers in turn. Prosaic, bland, denatured. An American civil ceremony. Not what he'd dreamed of.

Travers poked him in the side and Giles started. The official was prompting him to kiss his bride, and he bent to her, because it would look better if he did. Her eyes, he thought, were more gray than blue. They were still angry.
Giles/Ethan/Buffy in hell
The horses steamed in the wet. They were nervous about something. Ethan set to cursing the horses, the rain, the starless night, the entire benighted world and every being that walked upon it, human and otherwise. The only consolation he could find was that they'd be leaving it soon. If he could get the packs lashed to their saddles correctly, that was. Wilf would have had it done already, the foolish boy.

Ethan tugged at the leather with wet, freezing hands and got the last pack moved. The horse had a name, but he couldn't remember it. Probably something tedious like Blaze. Silver Blaze, the horse that kicked its owner in the head in the night.

Footsteps from the fortress wall. Ethan straightened and put his hand on his dagger, but it was Ripper at last. He held Buffy in a fireman's carry over his shoulder. He laid Buffy across Blaze's saddle and rested his head briefly upon her back. His boots were damp with fresh blood and he had left bloody footprints behind himself. The rain washed the blood away as Ethan watched. The horse didn't seem to mind the smell; horses seemed to love Ripper.

Ripper straightened and began methodically lashing Buffy to the saddle. He tucked a blanket over her and lashed that down as well. She'd be out for a while, then. Ethan undid the picket ropes and led Ripper's horse to him.

"Three hours to daybreak."

"Fewer until we have pursuit. One escaped."

Ethan uttered another oath, but forbore to lecture Ripper further. The urge for revenge was what had kept Ripper moving in the last weeks. Ripper mounted, and tied Blaze's reins to his pommel. Ethan clambered onto his own horse as well as he could. It would be another long night wet and cold, followed by hours of cramp in his legs. He squeezed his legs, a gentle touch of heels to the horse's sides, not a kick, and his nameless horse was in motion, following Ripper along the main road way. North, into the forests again, into the snows, back the way they had come. The world gate awaited them.

"A nice hot cup of tea, proper tea, in bone china, with little silver spoons and milk," he said, to his horse.
Three energy bars in the jacket pockets. Holy water, stakes, her favorite wooden cross, the one with the spiky point on the long part. Scare 'em then stake 'em. Buffy caressed it while she tried to think. Bilbo underground, with the ring in his pocket. She just had to find a Gollum to follow out. Fishes, blind fishes. No fish here in this water. It was so hot and sulfurous. The water, she realized. The water found its way out eventually. All she had to do was follow it. And hope it didn't jam itself through spaces smaller than she could fit. But there was air, stuffy and hot as it was, so maybe.

Or maybe not. Maybe the river rushed through tunnels for longer than she could hold her breath. She could drown.

She'd dreamed she would stand by the lake with the sword on her back, Giles standing by her side holding a thermos bottle full of tea. She remembered smelling the tea, seeing the steam curl up from the mouth of the bottle, Giles's green eyes, his long black coat. Remembered? It hadn't happened yet. If she wanted it to happen, she had to get her butt into gear.

She pulled the webbing belt out of her hiking pants and poked it through the two rings on the scabbard. The belt went over her shoulder and under the other arm, then she buckled it tight. She tested her range of motion. Okay. Could she swim with this honking big chunk of metal on her back? She'd have to.

The water was hot. It was like swimming in a bath, it was so hot. And fizzing. And it tasted bad. Buffy breathed out through her nose and tried to keep her mouth shut.

The channel opened up and spat her out into a bigger stream of water. It was moving faster but not scary fast, and it was still hot. Buffy swam along with it, letting it carry her downstream.
oh good, iceland is still bubbling. and more thusia? bonus. signet looks a tasty chunk. all i can do is send supportive thoughts, so i do. yay!
His voice was coming from outside. Buffy followed it down the hall and out a back door into bright late-morning sunlight. She blinked. The house had a little walled garden, with a bricked patio. Rip was there with an overturned ten-speed bicycle, up on a little table. He was wearing jeans, as yesterday, and a t-shirt with a Fender guitar logo on it. He tossed a rag onto the table. The bike's white paint was chipped, but the chain gleamed with fresh grease. Rip gave the rear wheel a hard spin. The chain ticked in the derailleur. He poked his face close to the gears and watched something for a moment before leaning in with a screwdriver. Buffy ate her apple and watched him tinker.

He looked up at her and blushed for some reason.

"Sleep okay?"

"Yeah. Log-like. What's up?"

"Spot of maintenance. I was out cycling in the rain yesterday. Keeping fit. Got soaked. Brilliant ride." Rip grinned and Buffy grinned back. He really was kind of gorgeous when he smiled like that.

No. Bad Buffy. Think about something else.

"Does it rain a lot here?"

"Fair bit. Looks like not today, though."

"I need a raincoat or something. As well as more clothes to wear. How about heat waves? Does it get hot here?"


"It's not like I had time to pack. I just reached out and took the rings where they were hanging there and boom! Half-way around the world in a second."

Buffy swore Rip's ears came to a point when she said that.

"Rings? What do you mean? How many? What color was the portal?"

Buffy cocked her head and replayed the incident in her head. It had happened pretty fast. "Regular rings for fingers. Two. Blue, I guess, though it was kinda black in the middle."

"Did you recognize the rings? Both of them?"

"Yeah, both. One's mine and the other is y-- why are you asking?"

"Need to identify the spell that sent you here. So you can go back. If you want," he added, hastily, raising the hand with the screwdriver in it to forestall her protest. "Want to give you the option."

He gathered up his tools and put them into a metal box neatly, each tool going into its own compartment, with a wipe of the rag over it first. He was so Giles. Every weapon with its own peg on the wall of the rare book cage, every weapon wiped down and sharpened first, so that when she put her hand out what she found was worth using.

Buffy turned her back on Rip and pretended to look over the little garden while she got her sniffles back under control. Tomato plants, flowering herbs, roses in bloom. Bees droning past. The garden smelled good, like flowers and earth and green things, yesterday's rain, mown grass. Brick walls, other yards beyond it. A pretty neighborhood.

The sun was rising to noon. She'd slept the morning through. She stretched, working out kinks in what felt like every muscle in her body, then turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed.

"All set to rights," said Rip, more to himself than to her. Buffy turned.

Rip had righted his bike and set it on its sidestand. He held the toolbox in one hand and was running the other through his hair. He had strong forearms. The adult version of him rarely bared his arms, probably because of the demon tattoo. Which Rip-the-kid didn't have. Rip the kid seemed like he was still in major obedient son mode, and was as far from getting into demon sex orgies as the middle-aged guy was. Buffy stuck her hand over her mouth again, at the thought of this guy in sex orgies. He was cute enough, though. She could sort of see it.
"Claiming" is the story that ended up with the title "Tradition & Protocol". Part 2 has been sitting in that half-written state since shortly after I posted T&P part 1. Sadness. I had structural problems with it and then I became distracted by other projects.

"Legacy" is the series of stories about Giles and the house he inherited from his rakish Uncle Charles. The segment that's in progress is the one about his rash promise to make giving Buffy an engagement ring a memorable occasion. Silly man.
Oh I have read both if those and they are good stories. Are you going write anymore in the blackmail series
I have a lot of words in unfinished bits of the Blackmail storyline, yes! It's one of my personal favorites and I really want to return to it when I have time to write fanfiction again. (Right now I'm concentrating hard on original fiction.)
Anything with Wesley makes me happy, so tell me about how he makes four.
Wesley makes four
"Leave Mr Giles to me. I'll take care of everything." Wesley brushed a hand at the air, as if to signify that 'everything' was not all that much. "All you need do is secure the cooperation of the lovely Miss Summers."

"Um, when? Tonight?"


"I'll convince Buffy," Willow said.

She stood up from her perch on the edge of Wesley's towel and went over to Buffy. Wesley enjoyed the view of her pert backside in the skimpy bikini. Long slender legs, unself-conscious grace-- all she needed was finishing. Giles shoved himself up from the towel and stood. Willow took his place. She began talking to Buffy, then the two sat up. Buffy hadn't remembered to tie her top first. Wesley sighed in appreciation at the brief glimpse of pink-tipped Californian heaven. Willow remedied the omission, cloaking Aphrodite, and the two girls moved off, down the slope of the beach to the edge of the surf. The pair clung to each other and put their heads together. It looked so much less innocent now to Wesley than it had earlier in the afternoon.

Giles sprawled out in the sand next to Wesley. "Did you know you have a raging erection? And what on earth did you say to Willow? She was babbling more incoherently than usual about something far down the beach that Buffy must see at once."

"I have arranged our entertainment tonight." He was deservedly smug.

"Oh, really. What is it?"

Wesley fixed upon Giles a withering stare. "It's a surprise for you. I rather think you'll like it. Assuming Willow persuades Buffy, and I think she will."

"What's this about?"

"As I said, a surprise. All you need do is go along with whatever I suggest this evening, even if it shocks you a trifle. You'll appreciate the end results."

"Very well. I do trust you to make it worth my while."

"Mmmm," said Wesley, dreamily. "I know what would happen if I didn't." Giles lifted the corner of his mouth again, and Wesley once again saw a flash of that delightful wickedness.

"Shall I take care of that for you?" Giles said, leaning on an elbow, seemingly addressing the surf.

"I am saving myself for tonight," Wesley informed him. "I recommend you do the same. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some preparations to make." Dinner to plan, wine to chill, flowers to purchase, supplies to acquire and hide in strategic locations around the house, in case of contingencies. Wesley folded his lounge chair and carried it under his arm off the beach, to the path that led up to the little house he'd rented for the week. He whistled a tricky little tenor aria from *Rigoletto* as he went. Woman was wayward, indeed.
Oooh, there sound like a lot of really cool stories in that. I hope you get them finished and posted!

(I'm not reading the snippets because then I will be sad that there's not more--I can't just do snippets of your stories, I need the whole shebang.)
Well, if you want more like it, all you have to do is finish more of your stories for me to read! hint, hint.
Well, this made my day, in a very odd, unique way. It's always fun to laugh out loud in a public library. And love that chunk of Signet, and that georgus avi that you've paired it with.

BTW, kink-bingo? Heard about it here and there. Wouldn't mind knowing a bit more about it. :)

Acutallt, the title here that caught my eye was the Giles/Xander crackfic mpreg. I love seing the way that different writers aproach the mpreg senario.
The mpreg one is, alas, only notes. I have a sort of scenario but nothing that carried it to the point where I felt the need to render some scenes. I more *want* it to exist than anything. I want some mpreg! Serious mpreg! There is only 1 story in the Giles fandom that has him pregnant (it's Giles/Willow and Ethan is to blame of course).
Alas, indeed! I'm still holding out hope that actual fic will come out of that prompt someday.