To try and make up for lack of fic lately...

[hardparade]

First of all -- still obsessing over the Jonas Brothers. I downloaded their latest album and within about four days, went from being like "psh, this sucks" to liking about nine of the twelve songs. WHAT. I've been watching their Youtube videos too and being generally charmed by them, and, I don't know, it depresses me. But ohnojobros is an AWESOME community where comment threads often spontaneously turn into porn ficlets, and I'm starting to feel at home there. I'll probably be doing a JoBros picspam soon, not that anybody cares. XD

When you see this, post an excerpt from as many random works-in-progress as you can find lying around. Who knows? Maybe inspiration will burst forth and do something, um, inspiration-y.


ANNA/GEORGIE/WILL
This is set a couple of years in the future, and follows a basic storyline of Will and Anna both having feelings for Georgie, and struggling with the whole thing, while Georgie attempts to seduce them and get them to give in. It sounds ridiculous, but it's actually just really angsty and weird. I definitely want to continue it because I like it, but I keep feeling like it's just a bit too intense, and insane -- almost crack. :/

Will takes a deep, long breath, then taps out the name of the hotel and his room number into a text. His disbelief at what he's doing makes his fingers sweaty and slip along the keys and before he realises what's happening, he's sent the text to Anna.

Swearing under his breath he starts a new message, 'sorry wrong number' and sends it on to her as quickly as he can.

Then he takes another deep breath, finds the first message again, and anxiously sends it to its intended recipient.

**

Anna will openly admit that it's a bit of an overreaction. People send texts to the wrong number all the time, particularly clumsy and forgetful people like William Moseley. An accidental text message doesn't, in itself, require her to drop what she's doing and travel halfway across London.

But it's not just the text message. It's the way Will's been acting lately in general. The way he seems so all-over-the-place, so lost, so confused. The fact that, not so long ago, she walked in on him crying and then left with his come on her jeans is enough to make her worry, surely. And now he's meeting someone in a hotel for the night, and that fact alone is so unlike the Will she knows that she can't help but want to get to the bottom of it.

Plus, if she remembers correctly, Georgie is staying in the same area this week, so if Will's perfectly all right and sends her on her way, she's always got a second option for the night. It's probably about time she and Georgie had a proper chat, anyway. Sighing, she pulls her jacket tighter around her and heads down the steps to the tube station.

In ordinary circumstances, Anna Popplewell has an innate skill of connecting the dots.

These are not ordinary circumstances.

WILL/SKANDAR, ANNA/GEORGIE
I started this a long time ago for politelypuzzled and I've never got around to finishing it because there's just no real plot.

"I can see the headlines now," says Will, laughing over his fifth or sixth drink later that evening. "Pevensie sisters spotted canoodling at -- at -- what bar are we in, again?"

"If you can't remember the name of the bar, you're in trouble," Skandar informs him, shaking his head.

"No, but really, what's it called?"

Skandar is saved from having to admit that he doesn't actually know by the sudden rush of movement next to him as a song comes on and Anna and Georgie leap up.

"I love this," Anna exclaims, "oh, George, do you remember?"

Georgie's face breaks into a wide grin. "Um, obviously," she laughs. She leads Anna to the dancefloor, leaving the boys sitting cluelessly behind.

"I still can't believe it sometimes, you know," slurs Will, shaking his head slowly as he watches the girls dip and dance.

"You're so drunk," Skandar informs him. "What can't you believe?"

"The way things are," Will says vaguely, taking another long sip of whatever brightly coloured cocktail he's picked this time. Thankfully, he does elaborate. "I mean, that we've all ended up together."

"Yeah," Skandar smiles. "Just not in the way people would have expected."

I also absolutely NEED to share with you the ending, which I have already written for some reason. Ah, weird!Ben. We've missed you.

"So tell me Mr Adamson," a reporter says loudly and obnoxiously to Andrew on the red carpet, "was it a conscious decision of yours to choose an entirely gay cast?"

"Well, you know, casting is a complicated--" Andrew begins, and then does a double take. "I'm sorry, what?"

"What," Ben echoes flatly from somewhere behind him. He comes up to the reporter. "I'm at least a hundred and nine per cent heterosexual, I'll have you know. You'll be hearing from my lawyer."

LULU/SOUMAYA/DAISY
I want to finish this because the girls are gorgeous and I totally have a massive crush on Lulu -- I just really want to write her. But it's, you know, going to be porn about the sisters of Anna, Skandar and Will, and the whole thing makes me nervous. HA. Okay.

"Are you as bored as I am?" she blurts out. "This sucks."

The barman slides a glass of wine across the bar to Soumaya and the older girl takes it, flashing him a smile. "Are you serious?" she asks Lulu with a grin. "You fit right in."

Lulu raises her eyebrows. "I feel like a joke," she replies. "Some guy just talked to me for twenty minutes and I didn't take in a single word."

"Was he talking about lights?" Soumaya asks, frowning.

"What?"

"Lights," says Soumaya, looking thoughtful. "I think that might be Dave The Lighting Technician. Was he tall with a beard that looked like ginger pubes?"

Lulu almost spits out a mouthful of wine, laughing. "Yes," she gasps, grinning. "I don't know if he was talking about lights, I wasn't listening."

"He probably was," says Soumaya. "He asked me if I knew anything about electrical generators, and I think saying 'no' was a mistake, because then he told me everything there is to know and I nearly fell asleep."

"Yep," Lulu grins. "Same guy."

They sip their drinks in silence for a moment, and Lulu finds herself feeling slightly awkward again. "God," she sighs. "I hate these things. I really do. I turn up in Anna's dresses, looking like a little girl playing dress-up or something, and then stand around for hours being basically ignored. I don't know why I came."

Soumaya blinks at her. "Are you serious?" she asks. "You look amazing. I can't believe you said that. That dress is just--"

Lulu snorts. "You should've seen it on Anna," she tells her. "If you had, you wouldn't be saying that."

"At least you have a sister to borrow stuff off," Soumaya grins. "If I raided Skandar's wardrobe I'd go everywhere looking like a picnic basket."

Lulu giggles. "That shirt he's wearing tonight is quite unfortunate."

"He has plenty more," Soumaya says gravely, and Lulu grins.

PETER/EDMUND
Ooh, srs bsns time. I wrote a fic forever ago called Seven, which was from Edmund's POV, connecting him to each of the seven deadly sins. And this was going to be a companion piece, from Peter's POV, using the seven holy virtues instead. But it just got really difficult. :(

And one night, he slips into bed with him, curving himself to echo the shape of Peter's body, his knees pressed into the hollows behind Peter's, thighs against thighs, stomach and chest against back. His chin hooks over the arch of Peter's shoulder, and Peter can't breathe.

"What are you doing?" he whispers. He thinks, the girls will wake up, the girls will wake up.

"I had a bad dream," Edmund whispers back, breath hot against Peter's ear.

Peter can hear a smile in his voice. "You're lying."

Edmund does not argue with this. He slides a hand round to Peter's stomach, spreads his fingers across the worn cloth of his pajamas. He tucks his fingers into the gaps between the buttons, stroking the skin beneath, and Peter shudders, feeling his brother press ever closer behind him. Edmund is hard against him.

"Stop it, Edmund. Go back to bed."

Edmund does not react.

"Go back to bed," Peter hisses, frantically, desperately, concentrating only on the words leaving his lips and not Edmund's warm hand slipping down to his hipbone, skimming the waistband of his pajama trousers—"Go back to bed, go back to bed, go back to bed."

Edmund heaves a sigh, draws back his hand, kicks Peter's feet under the covers, and then does as his brother says.