The Radge Curt

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 -- )

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.

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“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.)

So, I think it's rather crappy, which is why I'm not putting it up at 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?

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.

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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.)

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.

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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.)