curtkenobi: (Default)
So...I, for want of better organisation -- not because I actually have a lot of fic -- am throwing together a masterlist. Most things can be accessed through their tags, but I figured a HQ of links would be nice. Updated with each new entry...cos I have no life.

This-a way... Like most things here, it's a WiP -- )
curtkenobi: (dean)
Title: Family
Author: Curt Kenobi
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: Sammy wanted him to promise to have a family. Well...he did.
Rating: PG/K+ (one bad word, oh well)
Word Count: 100 (after much mincing)

Disclaimer: This is all Kripke's bad trip. I just add my own dashes for fun. Don't sue me -- me = poor admiring fan.
A/N: I've had this on my mind since Swan Song aired. I finally found a way to present it as more than just the last line, which I wanted to shout for the first coupla episodes of season six.
I haven't actually heard the song I use for the break, but I like Fleetwood Mac and I stumbled across it and it screamed Dean.

-----I---a-m---w-h-a-t---I---a-m:--/---A---f-a-m-i-l-y---m-a-n--/--M-o-t-h-e-r...---f-a-t-h-e-r...---b-r-o-t-h-e-r...-----


Ben has his mother’s eyes, all big and full of concern, glancing furtively across his dinner plate at Dean. Lisa’s all sympathy and quiet backing – what every good man needs, right? Bright, sweet kid and a strong, supportive woman to stand at his side. Family: ready-made.

He cares about Lisa, and Ben. He really does. Or did – y’know, before what was left of his heart was ripped out and tossed down an otherworldly chasm. He’s trying to have a family, that apple-pie life. For Sammy.

…But he never wanted a family of his own.

He just fucking wanted his family.

(The lyrics in the page break are from "Family Man" by Fleetwood Mac.)
curtkenobi: (cas glare)
Title: Inefficacious
Author: Curt Kenobi
Fandom: Supernatural
Summary: He knows he doesn't want to hear what's coming. 5.04"The End"!verse/apoca!fic.
Rating: PG/K+ (cos it's angsty)
Word Count: 100 (w00t, an actual drabble!)

Disclaimer: This is all Kripke's bad trip. I just add my own dashes for fun. Don't sue me -- I is po'.
A/N: Totally got hit with this idea right before I passed out this afternoon and scribbled it down in like a few minutes. Polished up it just a bit ago; it's just a little something.

-----I---j-u-s-t---d-i-d-n-’t---w-a-n-t---t-o---k-n-o-w-----


“You can’t save everyone,” Cas offers as Dean spirals further into his closed-in rage. The green glare cuts across the distance between them with intent, as surely as the Bowie would. Cas stares at the blood-covered, balled fists – at Dean’s tense, wired, worn form. The light glinting upon the bottle in his hand.

He knows he doesn’t want to hear what’s coming.

“And you can’t save anyone!

I saved you – it’s on the tip of his tongue. But Dean’s right: that was Castiel. And looking at the ragged man before him, what’s left of Dean Winchester, -Cas- realises he’s right.

(Lyric in the break is from “Blue" by A Perfect Circle.)
curtkenobi: (young obi)
again...gonna let it wallow here, til i like it enough to post it at [livejournal.com profile] tpm100... *sardonic half-smile*

Title: Too Late
Author: Curt Kenobi
Rating: K+ (I’ve a horrible adversion to just K ratings…)
Summary: Belatedness sometimes makes something too late to matter.
Era: this is JA (Book 8, to be exact), with Obi/Xan preslash to be had underneath, if you'd like.
Disclaimer: me: poor. George Lucas: god. Who do you think owns the lovelies? (hint: not me :D)
A/N: Try as I might, I couldn’t get it down to a dead-even 100. It’s 116. ...And I've a soft spot for Xanatos.

------------

I saw it in your eyes, the first time midnight-blue glared upon me. Devilry, yes. Maliciousness, assuredly.

…I saw beyond your façade, too. Hurt – honestly.

I wanted to reach out and take your hand – for I felt something kindred deep within us. But I also wanted to live, was a Jedi...and you had your vendetta.

If only I…

Ultimately we found ourselves: me watching you distantly; hurt roiling off of you, standing on the abyss’ edge, backlit in bloodred.

Would they mattered, the words silent on my tongue again?

“Please. I understand. I care.”

…I’ll never know. They were only whispered – you beneath the death-black acid, Qui-Gon Jinn walking away – past-tensed. Too late. And:

“I’m sorry.”
curtkenobi: (Iago "I am not what I am")
So, I think it's rather crappy, which is why I'm not putting it up at [livejournal.com profile] tpm100, though this week's challenge inspired it. Going to try for another, I think. But since I haven't really the time to work on the longer works, doing drabbles is becoming a nice side-hobby.

Okay, changed my mind. I like the concept, and I'll edit it up when I've the time. I've already got so many things I know I'm going to fine tune, mainly focusing on that Anakin's anger is a product of his fears. But for now, the rough cut.
(It's all Anakin's fault -- the way his mind twists. Never can get anything out right the first go through >_<)

Title: The Truth of Anger
Author: Curt Kenobi
Summary: Who are you angriest at, Anakin?
Rating: let's say PG. it's kind of heavy.
Disclaimer: O He of the Wooden Dialogue, The Great Flanneled One, I am only borrowing thy creations for fun, never profit.

It felt like drowning. One of his greatest fears, drowning. And here the fuel of his greatest powers felt exactly the same.

It had been building, steadily. From the first realisation that he wasn’t worth bantha shit, to this moment, the suffocating heat surrounding him incomparable to that he felt within.

He stared into the silver-blue eyes before him, the knowledge that a simple squeeze would extinguish that infuriating determination. Those lying, beautiful eyes would go dead.

Dull, sightless brown eyes, a moment before suffused with aching compassion.

He blinked. It was Obi-Wan’s fault, wasn’t it? That he’d lost so much.

Or was it his own?

You live the reality you focus upon, Padawan. I suspect that’s why you’ve come so far. Double-edged admission, but true.

Who are you angriest at, Anakin? The liar before you, though he doesn’t much seem like one, does he? Or the devil in you?
curtkenobi: (Default)
This is shite for the most part; disregard it. I wrote it to make myself feel better. It helped...not really.

Title: Guilty
Author: Curt Kenobi
Fandom: Star Wars
Summary: AU drabble (and a half), in which Anakin realises all his wrongs, and there’s only one right to be seen.
Rating: T (for character death/that whole permanent solution…)
Disclaimer: Georgie didn’t off him in Ep3; Ani’s still semi-alive and all his.
Word Count: 150
A/N: I needed something quick to get out a sudden onslaught of emotions, and what better why than via another borderline personality disorder-suffering killer of futures?

-----w-h-a-t---h-a-v-e---I---b-e-c-o-m-e---?-----


I hate him. He’s wronged me. He’s weak....

...But his words are getting through to me.

“She’s dead, Anakin. You’ve killed the woman who loved you – the child you could have raised. They whom you loved.”

He’s lying – but his eyes are brilliant, honest blue…

“You’ve killed children who did nothing but aspire to be a Knight like you” —

Shut up, Obi-Wan.

—“Your mother raised you better. She raised you with an open heart – what happened, Anakin?”

That struck, and shattered within. Oh, gods, I don’t know. I don’t know when things became a distorted black and white – where I went wrong – I just realise that I am.

I’ve killed so many…. Needlessly.

There’s no atonement for my deeds – nothing I can say or do.

I’m evil.

There’s only one way to deal with evil.

And as simply as turning the hilt toward my chest, I hit the ignition switch.

(The lyric in the break is from “Hurt” by Nine Inch Nails.)
curtkenobi: (views of ewan)
So yeah. Totally nothing to do with any of my current projects, but for some reason I've developed ideas with The Island and they won't go away.... So here's one.

Title: Life Lesson (aka “ Lincoln Didn’t Get Up”)
Author: Curt Kenobi
Rating PG Warning: character death
Fandom: The Island Characters: Jordan, Lincoln
Summary: any summary that I've come up with has been rather inane.
A/N: A bit of an alternate scene ‘cos it looked to me that that cop car getting rammed would have done more damage.

-----k-i-s-s---m-y---e-y-e-s---a-n-d---l-a-y---m-e---t-o---s-l-e-e-p-----


Lincoln didn’t get up.

“Lincoln! WAKE UP!” Jordan shook him hard. Lincoln wasn’t getting up. “Lincoln!”

Suddenly, her wrist was freed and strong arms and hazy faces pulled her, then Lincoln from the car. The front half was missing. The men laid Lincoln out on the ground. He looked like he was sleeping…but half his face was sheeted in red -- blood. “He’s dead,” someone announced.

NO! Lincoln!” Jordan flung herself from the men holding her, falling at Lincoln’s side. He can’t be dead.Lincoln. Get up.” She put a hand on his chest, shook him halfheartedly.

Lincoln didn’t get up.

(The lyric in the break is from "Prelude 12.21" by AFI.)
curtkenobi: (S/E Eternal Love)
Yeah, same warning with this one. I've no clue what I'm doing with drabbles, but I got bored at work and the idea struck me, lol. And I couldn't decide which lyric I liked for a break more, so there's two for this one.

Title: Of Consuming Ardour
Author: Curt Kenobi
Summary: Ewan takes a break and reflects on him and Asmodei.
Fandom: ALG (Through a Looking Glass) Timeline: After Stuart and Brandon get out of Hell.
Rating: PG (‘cos I don’t do G-ratings)
Genre: Drabble, romance (slightly angst-tinged?)
Disclaimer: Oh, I’d sell my soul to Luci to own these guys…but I don’t think we’re on a speaking basis. And anyways, if I owned them, it’d not be as fun. ^__^
A/N: I couldn’t decide which lyric break to use. >_<

-----o-h,---c-a-n-‘t---y-o-u---s-e-e--/--y-o-u---b-e-l-o-n-g---t-o---m-e------


-----a-n-d---s-e-l-l---m-y---s-o-u-l---f-o-r---y-o-u---j-u-s-t---t-o---s-a-y-----


Ewan lay back on the bed with a sigh. It was an indulgence, this break, but one much deserved. Languidly, he pushed up his white button-down and the undershirt beneath it, undoing the button of his pants. Though he did not look down to see it, his fingers traced the familiar lines and swirls of Asmodei’s sigil. It was easy enough to do, considering the reddish flesh was raised as a scar. Brilliant, that. But it reminded him…it reminded him of the depth of his love for Asmodei, and Asmodei’s comfortingly possessive love of him. Belonging. Always there. Intense. Forever.

(Lyrics for the breaks from: "Every Breath You Take" by The Police, and "The Face of God" by HIM.)
curtkenobi: (Curt "Love Me")
So...I'm new to the art of drabbles. And I am rather...unsure of my attempts. This one is the "better one" in my opinion, but that's 'cos it's really a character sketch. ^_~

Title: Of Falling Stars
Author: Curt Kenobi
Summary: Curt Wild, short and simple.
Fandom: Velvet Goldmine
Rating: PG (‘cos I don’t do G-ratings)
Genre: Drabble, angst. Character sketch
Disclaimer: Ah, to own Curt Wild. I don’t think anyone can except maybe Arthur, let alone little ol’ me.

-----t-h-e---b-o-y-s---a-r-e---n-o-t---i-m-p-r-e-s-s-e-d-----


Curt’s a flawed creature. He’s aware of this fact, as are those around him. Some have embraced the fact as endearing, some have used him – taken advantage of him… A few have done both. But Curt’s ever the same. A lost boy, with no innocence, but a willing heart. Just as he’d been as a child.

That willing heart’s his biggest flaw – but he’s finally realised that. Now…it’s cold. But his want – need – to love…stays. A lost boy, with an indelibly hurting heart. With no relief, for he pushes it away to stay safe, all the while badly needing it.

(The lyric in the page break is from: "Hot One" by Shudder to Think.)

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