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FicWar Prompt? If you're still taking them? :) Kurt struggling through grievous injury to help his friends in a dire situation.

(#00141)

[AN: Yes, I am taking ficwar prompts. I’m doing one story a day, every day, for as long as humanly possible. Give me lots of prompts. Feed the beast ;) ]

Friends. His friends were trapped. Kurt tried to get up, and was rewarded by searing pain. He dropped back down. Okay. Think. This wasn’t the first time he’d been unable to use his legs. Last time, they’d been burned.

Bloody Winzeldorf.

His faithful tail still worked, though some movements really stung. Kurt used it to keep his agonizing left arm out of the way.

The rubble was on fire. Not a big blaze, and not a smoky one, thank God. Not yet, anyway.

He knew from experience that smoke killed quicker than fire.

Memories of Winzeldorf threw everything into sharp focus. Even the Lights only he could see.

Good news, bad news. Good news - his panic attack had induced a state in which he could find his friends. Bad news - he was constantly battling flashbacks that could kill both him and his friends.

One good arm, maybe half a leg. Sundry bleeding wounds, but his friends were trapped in burning rubble. He had to travel in a least-cost path from Lights to Lights and hope that someone would be useful. Or helpful.

The first one he found was Lance. The idiot who started this mess.

Kurt did his best to get him free and poked him roughly. “Aufwachen, dummkopf!”

“…uzt…?”

He was not in the mood for this. Full volume. Drill sergeant mode. “[Get up off your lazy arse and do something helpful,] Dreckel!”

Lance shook off most of the dust and was at least sitting up before he realized he couldn’t understand the language he was getting yelled at in. “What t’ hell…?” He coughed. Looked around. Peered blearily at Kurt. “Jeez… you look even more like shit.”

“Your fault,” said Kurt. “Condemned skyscraper. Worst possible place to use earthquake powers. Got that NOW?”

“…where’s Kitty?”

“I can’t see her. I can’t find her Lights, either. Third time lucky[1], ja?”

Unfocussed glare. “Not funny, Fuzzbutt.”

“Try being charming with three broken limbs, sometime.”

“Ha. Must be why you’re more worm than usual, right?” He tried to laugh at his own joke and wound up coughing. It was a dangerously liquid noise.

“Next-nearest person’s three meters that way.” Kurt pointed. “We need to get everyone out before the fire gets bad.”

“There’s a fire?”

Kurt rolled back to glare at him. “How bad is your vision, right now?”

“Uhm. Blurs? I know you’re awful ‘cause even your legs don’t bend like that…” He mimed with both arms.

“There’s no time. I’ll be your eyes. You be the arms and legs. I’ll be the eyes and brains, ja?”

“You want me to shake the rest of this shit down?”

“Depends. Want to kill your friends?”

Silence. Too long by Kurt’s measure. He started dragging himself towards the next set of Lights. He didn’t have time for an arrogant, entitled arschlock[2]…

Who picked him up and slung him on his back. “Okay. Fuckit. Which way?”

Improvised straps helped, and freed up Kurt’s tail to help clear rubble.

“Damn, I keep forgetting how useful that thing is,” Lance muttered. “Who’ve we got?”

“Fred,” said Kurt. “His breathing sounds… awkward.”

“Is he on his back?”

“Ja.”

“Shit. Lardbutt’s got apnea when he lies on his back. Help me out.”

“I can only do so much from this angle, understand.”

It took another subjective forever to get Fred propped up on his side by inserting rubble under the tiny lifts Lance could manage. The unnervingly gurgling snore was, apparently, normal.

The next one they found was Jean. Also unconscious. With a nasty head wound. They got her comfortable, patched her up as best they could, and moved on.

Ororo. Injured and unconscious. Pietro. Same. Toad… delerious and chatty and pinned by something Fred could have shifted in a cold second.

“Why is it,” muttered Lance. “Everyone who’s halfway useful for saving our asses is out of it or too injured?”

“What does that make us, then?”

“Smartass.”

“Rather be a smart ass than a shit head.”

“I could dump you right here, you know.”

“And then how would you find Katzchen?”

Logan. Half-concussed and covered in blood. Still healing and unsteady. He made short work of the beam that trapped Todd, at least. And told them that he could not smell any death under the stinking miasma from the fires.

Good news: nobody had died. Bad news: yet.

Kurt was used to pain. It had been his frienemy since the first time he had tried to play with children who had not come from his village. But even so, it was difficult to stay awake. Had to. For everyone trapped.

“Deep breaths, Elf. We can do this.”

“…es ist ein wenig schwierig…”

Darkness closing in. Logan yelling at him to clench. Lance complaining that his eyes were passing out. And finally… gratefully… the separation of him from his pain.

*

Beep. Beep.

The smell of antiseptic. There was a tent over his legs. Too much white for his tender eyes. There was pain, but it was far away and he could easily ignore it.

And there was also Lance. “Relax, Fuzzy. You still got all your freaky pieces.”

“…sehr gut…”

“ver-y. good.” said a mechanical voice in Lance’s hand. He grinned and held up Kitty’s iPhone. “Translator app. Quacks said you’d be a little bit lala for a while on the pain meds. You’d never guess who saved all our asses in the end.”

“Katzchen?”

“kit-ten.” said the mechanical voice.

“Yeah. She just popped up with Rogue in her arms and complaining that she could hear us, like, five floors away.” He switched into a passable imitation of his erstwhile girlfriend as he was talking.

Kurt found the strength to smile.

“Anyway. Good-news, bad-news. Good news, we got rescued. Duh.” He gestured at the too-white surroundings. “Bad news… we were rescued by some government thing. The -uhm- Strategic Hazard Intervention… Essss…. Es… E-somethingorother. They really wanted their initials to spell “Shield”, okay?”

Kurt drifted back into the happy pink fog where pain didn’t happen. “Ich möchte einige Apfelkuchen, Mama…”

There was a small ‘pip’ noise before the mechanical voice could translate.

“I’ll see what can happen,” said Lance.

[1] Refers to _X Impulse_, where Lance tried to kill Kitty (and her family AND Jean) in a fit of anger, and that episode where his powers caused her to be nearly crushed by a falling episode.

[2] Probably misspelled. Look it up.

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FicWar Prompt

Building a superhighway with good intentions.

(#00140)

[AN: Shoutout to Sir Tim Berners-Lee and the monster he created]

“See, with quantum entanglement, we might not be able to transmit objects, but we can transmit data. That’s still a breakthrough,” she argued. “You can send data to a 3D printer on mars, or in orbit of Jupiter, and instructions to go with it. Without the comms delay of conventional radio.”

“And what about temporally-joined entanglements? Can

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Evoverse - even heroes can die, and no matter what you do and how much you try, it's not possible to save everyone (GO AHEAD, MAKE ME CRY...

(#00139)

Cold. Remember the three O’s.

Objective. Orientation. Orders.

Objective. Get the survivors safe.

Orientation. Back to the plane. If plane empty, downhill and downstream.

Orders. Stay safe.

Sara hunched inside her impromptu space-blanket cloak and wished her bio-mimetic battle outfit (a) covered more territory and (b) was warmer than it was.

Splint done. This individual would need help getting down. Travois. Skis and blankets and gaff. Loads of gaff. Drag them out and catch up with the last of the

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Another ficwar prompt: The one time when it mattered, Sara failed.

(#00138)

Negative. Again. For the thirty-ninth time.

Sara tried to control her breathing. She did everything she could to remain quiet, but inside her head… a thousand suns were exploding.

Their anniversary was next week. Their third anniversary.

It was crucial that this test be positive. And, for the thirty-ninth time in a row… negative.

She’d failed him.

And now he’d go away.

To someone more shapely. To someone more fertile. To someone who would not wake him up at

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Challenge #00137: Elves Don't Live Forever.

As per the fic war… go old school. Kitty realizes her feelings for Kurt after he dies in some horrible manner. KILL ME.

[AN: Fic war prompts will have priority while they are in my inbox. I will get to the others in the fullness of time.]

They got most of the people out. Not all. Nobody could have got all of them out. And for a change everyone was working together. Lance beside Scott. Fred beside Jean. Pietro beside Ororo&

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Challenge #00136: Just Like Her Father

“No one ever tells you that the true taste of victory is not sweet; it lies like bitter ashes upon the tongue.”

Da had always said that.

Young Cordelia had never understood her father’s caution. Victory had to be good. Otherwise it wouldn’t make sense. And it really, really had to make sense now, with Da taken hostage and herself in disguise behind enemy lines with a pack of mercenaries as the only hope of getting

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Challenge #00135: Offerings of Embarassment

Cherry pie.

JOATs, by and large, are nocturnal. Either by accident or design, they largely manage to find themselves awake at 3AM when sleep is impossible and the ideas flow like a madman’s flood and nothing, NOTHING is impossible.

Rael, designed to be useful during most hours of the day, only needed a few hours’ rest in his heated fish tank before being functional once more. He rather liked the, for JOATS, earlier hours of 7AM to 10AM when

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Challenge #00134: Wrong Call

End with: “Only as the full measure of events came to bear did he realize that she was WAY out of his league.”

The envelope was fancy. Paul checked it five times to make sure that the embellished envelope had actually made it to the right destination. But there weren’t that many Paul Pleskins in Southwark County. And only one in the trailer park where he eked out an existence doing day work and temp jobs.

The return

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Challenge #00133: One Fine Day in a Play Park

Shayde and Nanny have a semi-civilized chat while watching the artist take a LOOOOONG overdue day off in the park to recharge. Vendors notice the juxtaposition with mild curiosity.

Julie was on the swings. Laughing. She’d been on them for half an hour and, without any other instruction, was likely to stay on them for the rest of the day.

“Be careful,” Nanny barked for the fifth time since Julie had sat in the swing.

“Aw, rest

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Challenge #00132: Monster in My House

Mr. Winters and how he ruined Scott Summers. Xavier makes an appearance.

Scott Summers devoted as much time as he could to extracurricular activities. If they were free ones, all the better. Money was a problem for Scott.

Mister Winters did not like Scott wasting money.

The ones that earned money were better, and funded the ones that didn’t. And sometimes contributed to his dinner.

But he had to be home by seven. Or Mister Winters would get angry.

Mister

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Ethical Heroism

Sam, Scott and defeating monsters while keeping one’s dignity.

(#00131)

The alleged victim was a monster. Scott had no doubt, because he was privy to a lot of stuff that the prosecution’s lawyers had managed to get removed from this trial.

The exact kind of monster who sued his victim.

Things were looking very bad, especially since his mutant defendant looked like a cross between a warthog and cthulu. Jurors judged by appearances, and none of Sara’

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Ding, Dong, Is The Witch Really Dead?

Jelly, Ice Cream, Maggie Thatcher and Sara’s obsession with all things empirical.

(#00130)

“Ah, the end of an era,” sighed Sara.

Kitty peeked. She was watching international news over a bowl of jelly and ice-cream, where people were protesting in the streets and holding giant puppets. It was interspersed with grainy old stock footage of people rioting. “Normally I like, ignore your what-the-heck moments, but… What the heck?”

“Margret Thatcher has passed on.”

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Creep

Anywhere in the story: “The element of surprise didn’t so much rest upon someone hearing you but registering the significance of your approach.”

(#00129)

“Okay,” said Rael. “They stole my coat. They somehow turned off your powers. We have, perhaps, two hours at most before they set off their doomsday bomb and all we have is the contents of a rather spacious storage closet with nothing useful in it. What, might I ask, is your

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Challenge #00128: Once Upon a Nightmare

A feverish nightmare from the slumbering mind of Duncan Matthews…while totally awake.

“How can you stand to breathe the same air as that thing?”

“Hm?” said Jean, her mind had been elsewhere.

Duncan pointed to Essel. “That tranny garbage. I heard you and that are roomies?”

“Well, at least she doesn’t steal my clothes,” said Jean. Her tired voice and monotone said nothing to Duncan. Nor did the notes she

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Challenge #00127: Conversations on the Twilight Zone

Jean, Wanda and a little bit of bonding over astral physics. Todd makes an appearance.

“Saw you in the dream-realm, last night,” said Jean. “You were… not exactly hallucinating? I thought I could help.”

“That was you? But you were–”

“Probably veiled behind a curtain of your understanding. I’m sorry about that. I backed off when I realized what was happening.”

“I don’t undertand what you’

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