Current mood:	festive
Current music:	Bloc Party - Helicopter

Some festive hurtin'...
Holy christ, i've written more fic in the past few days than in the whole of this year. I've also written for some fandoms i said i never would - Firefly, Heroes, Scrubs and House. All fandoms i knew i could never do justice in plot or dialogue. Happily, whumpfics require neither. :P

My mum said goodnight to me as i wrote the last of these, at 12:37am on Christmas Day, and suggested that in order that i could go to bed i make the story read, "There once was an ending." :P
I have to say, although it was really hard work, i'm kinda proud that i knuckled down and wrote them all! Although some of them turned out awful (okay, a lot of them), i also produced some stuff i didn't know i could. Oh - quick warning, there are probably lots of mistakes as i've not had the chance to check through them even once. Apologies for typos and such, i'll find time to check them over and adjust over the next few days.
I hope that lots of you can enjoy all the fics, so that if yours is a little short on length and whump, you have others to fill up on.

So, Merry Christmas! Click on the relevant lj-cut below to read your whumpfic gift...


Requestor: itneversnows
Fandom: Kung Fu: The Legend Continues
Comment: Okay, so, this one got crueller than i had first pictured, and then i ran out of time and had to finish faster than i might have liked. I started it first, did all the others in breaks i took from this one, and finished it last. Also rewrote it about three times along the way, lol. And i still think i got some character traits wrong. However, there's certainly whump in this one, so i hope you enjoy. >:)

For what seemed like long seconds, Peter's stomach floated in mid air. In the quiet, he felt tiny pieces of heat flick against his ears, hot points settled on his face and started to dig in, striking inwards towards his skull. A soft breeze pushed his hair back.
And then everything snapped back into shape as the whole world was yanked violently ahead of him and he flew backwards, his breath left behind. A blast of red hot air followed him, pushing him backwards, until he lost all sense of direction and all he could feel was an intense increasing pressure on his chest, his spine bent painfully as he hurtled.

As suddenly as he had been thrown through the air, he stopped, a hardness slamming into his back. He felt cold sear through his skull, and the heels of his boots smacked against something, bouncing slightly. Soft heat glowed through his chest as flickers of sound burst against his ears like static from a radio. Lights danced behind his eyelids, casting epileptic sketches of fire and things falling. Falling inwards.

~~~

Kermit threw aside a blood-streaked piece of debris, wiping his hand down his shirt and leaving dusty blood there too from broken nails and grated fingers. Breathing hard, he dug deeper, his feet slipping on the uneven ground. A shout registered from somewhere to his right, as through the thick dust someone battled a small fire that licked over paperwork and threatened to start up the walls.
The bullpen of the police-station was gutted, the explosion having ripped divider walls from their place and strewn them across the floor. Desks were reduced to firewood, flames dancing over patches of floor and guzzling up piles of paperwork. A lone surviving fluorescent tube-light flashed excitedly over the staggering figures, Kermit side by side with Blaisdell and several other officers, all throwing debris aside and searching desperately. They searched for Peter.

Blindly pushing forwards, Kermit found his hands grabbing soft flesh, and jerked in surprised as he gripped Peter's limp hand.
"I've found him!" He failed to achieve the volume she was going for, dust catching in his throat and transforming the shout into a whisper. He coughed and shouted out again, scrabbling to unearth his friend.
He felt Blaisdell fall by his side, all of them staggering for footing amongst the reckage. Sinking to his knees, Kermit traced Peter's arm back and threw aside rocks and wood, finding hair matted with blood.

"Hey," he smiled reassuringly at Peter, the young man's face a picture of pain and confusion as everyone worked around him to clear the weight off his body. "We've got you, just hang on."

Blaisdell scrabbled round to the side of his adopted son, getting into his line of site and reaching for a limp hand. Peter was lying half on his front, half turned onto his side, buried in debris. Thick dust coated his neck and face, clinging to eyelashes and mixing with blood to sculpt his hair into a ridiculous mess. Gaze travelling in confusion from one movement to the next, he croaked in protest as someone cleared a heavy weight from his legs.

Blaisdell reached out for his son's face comfortingly as Kermit grabbed Peter's shoulder with the same intention. "Have the paramedics got through to here yet?" Blaisdell asked no one in particular. Twisting around, he grabbed one of the officers helping to clear the debris from Peter, "Go phone down again to see what's happening with the rescue teams."

He turned back as Peter let out a guttural growl, pushing the sound down into his lungs in agony, his teeth grinding together.

"Blaisdell!" Kermit reached out for a jagged piece of wood, emerging slowly from the pile of rocks as they were cleared away. Tracing it down, Kermit holding Peter's hand firmly, they found the bloody hold it had carved in their friend's side.

"I should get back to work," Peter's voice was raw, his voice breaking and eyes closing tight as intense pain washed over him.

"Peter just lie still," Blaisdell instructed firmly, reaching behind him to grab some towels another officer had retrieved, leaning forward and hovering over the wound. He glanced at Kermit, who shifted around to get into Peter's eyeline and crouched down to grip both his hands.

"What's happening?" Peter whispered, his eyes locking with Kermit’s in half-recognition, his voice filled with misery. Kermit smiled bitterly, and nodded to Blaisdell.
"There was an explosion Peter," he answered as Blaisdell pressed down with the towels to stench the flow of blood, and Peter gasped.

Kermit grasped his hands tight as he continued, "Some activists made it up to the bullpen with bombs." He spoke louder as Peter yelped in pain, squeezing his eyes shut again and tears streaked clean lines through the dust on his cheeks.

Kermit clutched his friends hands close to his chest, unconsciously rubbing his thumb down the back of one of Peter's hands in comfort. "Their bombs went off before they planned, we figure. Blew themselves up. Nice of them to save us the trouble, really. Peter?"

The younger Detective opened red eyes, his gaze wandering for a second before he latched on to Kermit's face again. His breaths came in harsh puffs. "Dad?"
Blaisdell left another officer holding the towels in place, wiping blood smeared hands on his trousers and leaning down to sit in front of his son, "I'm here Peter, it's okay." Peter clenched his eyes shut tight again, tensing against a wave of wave, groaning and gritting his teeth hard. Blaisdell looked desperately at Kermit, stroking his son's hair, helpless. Kermit shuffled and patted Peter's cheek.

"Peter, listen to me. Picture the nerves in your body, picture the feelings being conveyed along them like electricity," he paused and patted Peter harder on the cheek. "This is important, listen."

Peter's eyes opened, making a pained growling noise deep in his throat but maintaining eye contact with his friend.

Kermit continued, "'picture your senses being conveyed through your nerves, up and down, from all your limbs to your brain. They are like currents, zipping from your side to your head, flowing up from there. Now picture a block - there's a blockage right at your shoulders, picture it, make it strong and thick - the nerves can't get the message through. You don't get senses from anywhere beneath your shoulders, the pain can't get through, it stops there."

As he talked, Peter stared at him in determination, his body gradually relaxing in tiny increments. Blaisdell let a relieved half-smile turn his mouth, grabbing Kermit's shoulder quickly in triumph. His attention caught by a noise at the other side of the bullpen, he rose, patting Kermit once on the back and heading for the caved-in doorway.

Kermit's instructions had slowed into sure, steady reminders, "Keep imagining that block Peter, strong and solid. Nothing can get through."

A shout distracted him and he lifted his head, looking over to his right. Grinning in relief, he lifted a hand to the paramedics in recognition and turned back to Peter where he lay much quieter than before, his breathing calmed and shaking subsided.

"Don't worry kid, cavalry's here."

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Requestor: beccadg
Fandom: Blood Ties
Character: Henry Fitzroy
Comforter: Mike Celluci
Comment: I tried to give this a bit of slash (because i know you like that) but i've never written slash before - which might explain why this is a bit rubbish (and jarring). Did my best though, and it was fun writing for these two! And sorry your second never got written, i was really looking forward to it but it wasn't to be. If it ever writes itself in my head i'll be sure to get it down on paper and chuck it your way!

"I had no idea there were seasonal demons," Mike commented, a hint of disdain and sarcasm betraying his discomfort with the world of the supernatural. He shifted his hold under Henry's armpit, trying to get a better grip on the drooping vampire at his side.

"Most myths and folklore have a foundation in truth," Henry gasped, desperate black eyes turning towards the Detective, lips parting to let out a ragged breath and the tips of sharp fangs. Weaving down the darkened alley, orange streetlights reflecting off slick brickwork to either side, they clung to each other. Mike sensed a shift in body weight and lifted a guarding hand to press against Henry's chest as he tipped forward. Steadying them and trying to ignore his charge's predatory gaze, Mike tipped his face up and away.

Regaining their footing, they pressed on. Henry's strained breaths slowly turned to quiet grating whines, Mike's hand now slipping on cold blood. He tightened his grip around Henry's slender waist, feeling firm muscle beneath fabric.

"But... getting your ass kicked by one of Santas elves? That's gotta hurt."

"It wasn't an elf," Henry snapped weakly, feeling fangs slide against his lips, hearing Mike's blood thrumming through his veins. He already had one hand ensnared in Mike's shirt - he could pull him in, tip his neck back, bare that tempting piece of flesh and sink his teeth into a vein...
His knees buckled and he let out a groan of agony as they hit the pavement, Mike grappling to stop them both sinking to the floor. Grasping around Henry's chest from behind, he settled for a controlled collapse and they kneeled for a second.

"My car is right there, can you make it?"

Deep, painful breathing was his only reply. Frowning a little in concern, he got himself into a crouch, and heaved Henry bodily to his feet, dragging the smaller man towards the vehicle. His hand sank into the bloody hole in the vampires stomach, eliciting a gasp of pain.

"Sorry," Mike grunted, struggling to keep them both upright and fumbling for his keys. With the back door seat opened, he levered Henry delicately into the back seat. "Don't get blood on the upholstery," he requested half-heartedly, sparing a seconds glance for Henry's hollow stare. Dragging his attention back from those soulless black eyes, he sank into the drivers seat and gunned the engine.

Ten minutes later and Mike pulled the car into the sidewalk, quieting the engine, its sound replaced by that of Henry's harsh breathing. Climbing out and casting a look around the dark deserted street, he opened the back door of his car. The vampire lay still and pale along the seat, his breathing quickening as Mike reached out and got a firm grip on his waist to drag him out of the car. The sickly sweet smell of blood mixed with cold night air as Henry collapsed to his knees on the pavement, one hand twisted into the Detective's overcoat. Slamming the back door of the car, Mike took a deep breath and looked down at Henry's drooping form. Leaning down, he pushed his shoulder under the vampires bloody stomach, and lifted him over his shoulder, ignoring the pained moans.

"The doorman..." Henry whispered, his voice gritty, blood on his lips.

"Don't worry," Mike replied, "I'll tell him we're just married and I'm carrying you over the threshold." From behind him, he thought he heard choked laughter.

In the end, the doorman wasn't there to deceive. Mike felt a little odd standing in the lift with a rasping, bleeding vampire slung over his shoulder. The doors slid open and he strode towards Henry's apartment door, feeling the vampire's hands twist in the back of his coat. Steadying his gait and leaning forward he tipped Henry upright and slid a hand around his waist again, fighting to keep them both on their feet.

"Key, Henry?"

Henry moaned, "...feed..." and his head fell forward, his mouth turned downward in misery. Feeling almost sorry for him, Mike figured he had to find the key on his own, and searched through Henry's pockets. Eventually, they got the heavy door opened, and struggled across the main room towards Henry's bedroom.

"I'll phone Vicki," Mike said, all but dragging Henry across the floor.

"No, no," Henry gasped, his arms flopping lifelessly as Mike lowered him to the bed. Curling onto his side he moaned, pressing his face into the sheets.

"But... i don't know what to do," Mike grimaced helplessly, tugging at Henry's bloodsoaked shirt to get a better look at the wound.

"Need to feed, need to find some food..." Henry muttered, his eyes roving desperately as he struggled to get off the bed. He pushed at Mike's supporting hands, the sheets catching around his legs as he went to stand, and he crumpled to the floor with Mike falling to his knees beside him.
Henry lifted his head, finding Mike's neck mere inches away, blood coursing just beneath the skin. He shifted forwards slightly and felt Mike's hands where they rested on his waist. The Detective didn't move away, he simply threaded his hand further around Henry's back, supporting him. The vampire's mouth gaped open slightly, panting breaths brushing against Mike's skin, sweet-smelling from blood. Moving forward again, they were almost chest to chest now, and still Mike didn't move away. Henry tipped his head to the side, nudging up against the Detective's neck, his nostrils flaring at the scent of fresh warm blood.

"Just enough to get you walking..." Mike said quietly. He had intended it to make the situation all business, but his voice wavered, and he tugged on Henry's back to encourage him closer. He felt one of Henry's hands grip his thigh, strong fingers weakened by bloodloss. He felt lips brush the skin on his neck, and then the cold sharp point of a fang. Closing his eyes, he felt Henry press in and then a light prick of pain and a focused point of heat spread out from his neck. Feeling the vampire's chest heaving as he drank, Mike slid his other arm around Henry's back and pulled him in - the two of them kneeling locked together in a hug, blood sliding between them from Henry's wound, and their hearts hammering in time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Requestor: gumnut
Fandom: Knight Rider
Character: Michael
Comment: I found it so hard to think of what to write for this one, because although i feel like familiar-ish with the characters, i'm not familiar with the 'verse, or with Kitt's abilities. I knew if i tried to get clever i'd do something wrong. So i figured, fine, let's stick with plain and simple whump. In the end, i wrote half of it and then rewrote it, lol.

Hot desert dust spattered the side of Michael's face, flaying already raw and swollen skin. He wavered on his feet, firm hands yanking cruelly on his bound hands behind him, pulling his shoulders at an unnatural angle. He rose to his tiptoes briefly and hissed until the pressure on his shoulder joints relaxed slightly. Squinting through his one good eye, he peered out over the shimmering landscape, gaze fixed on his two friends and a jet black car. Waves of heat rose from its dark shell, making the distant horizon shake and waver before his eyes.

Someone shouted, the sound bouncing around Michael's head but never solidifying into words. He staggered as something shoved him in the back. Standing confused for a second, he got another shove in the back, harder this time. Sticking his foot out in front to prevent himself hitting the ground, he started to walk. His head pounded with every impact of boot on dust, the jarring connection travelling up through his throbbing knee, encircling screaming ribs, wrapping around his neck and shooting up in painful branches through his skull.

He flinched as someone passed him close by, but nothing came of it, and his attention was back at his friends, waving him on - their expressions fearful. He saw Kitt edge forward a few inches and watched Devon place a placatory hand on the cars scorched bonnet. Just as he was beginning to wish the car was allowed to zoom forward and scoop him up, the calm desert shattered into action.

Bonnie made a very clear, unmistakable indication for him to get down. He fell. Cheek hit dirt and he relaxed, incapable of caring what was going on. Wheels screeched in the dust and he felt sand spatter against him from nearby, guns fired and pinged off bodywork, missiles shot through the air. An explosion sounded and he was buffeted by a blast of hot air.

Silence washed over the desert again and Michael grunted to himself, staring in interest at a small bug crawling past his face.

"Michael?" A familiar, comforting voice called out, and he tried to look. Something electronic beeped along at the speed of a heartbeat. Footfalls converged on him hastily and Bonnie's delicate hands gripped his shoulder.

She said something, voice filled with concern, Devon joining her. He didn't catch the words.

"Michael, can you understand us?" That familiar voice cut through his head again, safe, strong.

"Kitt?" he croaked in reply, flailing a hand out and regretting it as he pulled on his bonds and something in his shoulder snapped. Moaning and pressing his face back to the desert floor, he hissed as hands untied him and lifted him up, pulling him gently to his knees. He felt hot metal at his back and smiled, dried blood crackling on his skin as it stretched. Slowly, his friends maneuvered him into Kitt's drivers seat, and he relaxed into the soft seats. Things muffled even further inside that protective black shell, he heard a door shut, another open and slam again, someone shifting in the seat beside him.

"Don't worry Michael, I've got you now." The car shifted around him, a dull sound of an engine droning into his exhaustion and lulling him into a relieved sleep.

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Requestor: moonbeamsfanfic
Fandom: Heroes
Character: Nathan
Comforter: Matt and/or Niki
Comment: Well! Goodness, you set me a challenge. I've only watched season one so far, although i know where Nathan stands in season two (namely: alive). So i have no understanding of where these characters stand with each other, nor what kind of situation i could put them in. So, abstract and short was the way i went with this. And that's just an artistic way of saying it's probably vague and unsatisfying. :P
And i went with Matt Parkman. Because i think he's lovely.

Parkman's boots pounded the dust as he ran, face skyward and eyes fixed on the lone figure ploughing downwards through a spattering of clouds. Not looking where he was going, he stumbled on a desert plant and flailed his arms momentarily to catch his balance, sprinting on. All he could get from Nathan's mind was confusion, and he knew he was going to hit the ground. Breathing hard and arms pistoning, he hollered at the sky, "Nathan you're flying towards the ground!"
His voice was too quiet, he knew, and he shouted in exasperation. Turning his attention back to running, he gasped for breath and watched the figure plummet towards the dusty ground. Abruptly Parkman staggered, sensing Nathan's fearful realisation of the ground rushing up to meet him and unconsciously tensing his whole body in anticipation of the vicarious crash. Holding his breath, he saw the flying man pull up at the last second - his speed decreasing significantly. His connection with the ground came milliseconds after, dust rising as he ploughed into the dirt chest-first and slid a few feet before crumpling to a halt.

Parkman broke into a sprint again, covering the metres with no thought to his oxygen-starved lungs, skidding to a halt at Nathan's side. He was lying on his front with his body twisted slightly, arms flung out haphazardly and forehead pressed to the ground, unconscious. Matt fell to his knees and placed an uncertain hand on Nathan's shoulder. Placing a hand behind his head, he gently pulled him over onto his back, the prone man's arms slapping limply to the ground.

"Nathan?" Matt called, pressing fingers to the Nathan's and feeling a steady heartbeat. Still panting from his run, he blew out in relief and watched Nathan's chest rise and fall in shallow breaths. Fumbling for a handkerchief he knew he had buried somewhere in his pockets, he pulled Nathan's hair back and peered at the bloody graze on his head. Eventually finding the handkerchief, he pressed it to the wound.

Nathan grunted in response to the pain, one of his hands moving upwards to his head. Apparently noticing the rest of his body at that moment, he let out a strangled yelp and tensed, curling slightly onto his side.

Parkman frowned, "Your chest..."

Nathan struggled to get up, pain lancing through his chest but his lungs incapable of drawing in enough air, "Can't breathe..."

Parkman leapt up and stepped round behind him, pushing at the side of his back he now knew was undamaged, and easing him into a sitting position. His breathing seemed to flow easier then, and he sat hunched, favoring his left side as he recovered. The bloody handkerchief fell to the dust below Nathan, and he stared down at his ravaged shirt. Nearly orange with desert sand, it was ripped from the impact, unruly from the flight.

Confident Nathan was now sitting relatively unaided, Parkman moved around to sit kneel beside him, one hand still holding his shoulder. "So perhaps you need a flight suit?" he suggested.

Nathan narrowed his eyes at him, quirking his lip in distaste. Matt just smiled back, patting his shoulder, "Can you stand? We should get out of here before the UFO fanatics show up."

Nathan nodded, "Yeah, I think so."

Matt put a gentle hand around the other man's waist, helping him to his feet and carefully avoiding all the sore areas that flashed through his mind as he stood. Nathan slowly lifted an arm around Matt's shoulder, his joints protesting wildly at the moment. The stretch was the final straw for his top shirt-button and it pinged off, falling to the desert floor and bouncing.

His breathing finally calming, Matt held firmly around Nathan's back and hooked his arm under his furthest armpit, taking as much weight as he could without hurting the man. Placing a steadying hand on the other man's chest, he took a look behind them. "Come on, my car isn't far."
Nathan nodded, forcing his battered limbs into movement. He clutched his free arm around his ribs as they walked slowly away from his crash site, their boots hitting the same beat on the baked desert ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Requestor: vespurrs
Fandom: Supernatural
Character: Sam
Comment: This one didn't flow too well when i was writing it, it was kind of hard to get onto the page. Hopefully it reads better than it wrote. I normally whump Dean, so not sure how well i did this, but i hope you enjoy!

"God, it burns," Sam gasped, the same words he had been repeating over and over during the speedy car ride back to their motel.

"I know Sammy, I know..." Dean struggled for the door lock with one hand, his other arm wrapped around Sam's waist to keep him steady. He darted a quick glance at Sam's grazed face and tightly shut eyes. Stubborn traces of thick glowing goo clung to his neck, too sticky for the hasty wash with a bottle of water that they tried back when the stuff first got into his eyes.

Finally the door gave way and they staggered inside, Dean guiding his blinded brother towards the bathroom. Sam whispered curses under his breath as Dean moved him towards the sink, turning on the tap and putting a firm hand on Sam's side.

"Put your head under, left eye down first," he instructed, helping his brother lean over the sink and guiding his head so that the stream of water hit his eye. Sam jerked at the cold water running over grazed and bloody skin, one hand gripping the porcelain and the other twisted into a fierce grip with Dean's arm.

"Open your eyes, you gotta let the water rinse this stuff out."

"I can't, I can't, god..." Sam gasped, his eyelids flickering and then finally opening, water rinsing away traces of neon gunk. Dean watches waterlogged eyelashes bend under the weight of the water, peering at Sam's eye and hoping the lack of visible damage was a good thing. After a few seconds he helped Sam switch sides, rinsing the other eye.

"Okay lift your head a second, I'm gonna fill this so you can dunk your eyes for a bit," Dean tugged on his brothers chest, putting the plug in and turning the tap on full. Sam clenched his eyes tight shut again, he teeth gritted in pain as he leant forward on the surface.

"Did that help at all?" Dean asked, one hand pressed to Sam's chest to keep him from falling forward.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam hissed, his voice taught with pain. "But they just start stinging again the second they're out of the water... hurts like a bitch Dean."

"I know, it's okay, here, the sink's full, lower your head." He pushed on Sam's back and moved one hand on his forehead to guide him down to the water, helping his brother get his eyes submersed. He heard a sigh as hot eyes met cool water, and felt his brothers shoulders relax.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks." Sam's arms shook slightly as he held his face in the sink, blinking his eyes underneath the water.

"Okay, can you stand there a bit, while I get some stuff for your face?" Dean stepped back slightly, his hands hovering close to his brother cautiously.

"I think so."

Dean patted him gently on the shoulder and headed out of the bathroom, grabbing two towels as he went and throwing them onto the nearest bed. Setting up two pillows at the head, he grabbed a bag and fished around for their first aid kit. Pulling out cotton wool and tape, he stared for a couple of seconds at the ingredients on a tube of salve, and threw that onto the bed too.

"Dean?" His brothers uncertain call came from the bathroom, and Dean started up from the bed.

"I'm here, I'm coming..." He entered the bathroom just in time to see Sam tilt to the side, his hands still gripping the basin as he swayed.

"Whoa!" Dean darted forward and wrapped his arms firmly around his brothers chest from behind, feeling Sam's knees buckle.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Sam muttered, struggling to gain his footing, water droplets flicking from his sopping hair.

"Come on, let's get you lying down, I have some cotton I'll soak to put against your eyes." Dean shifted his grip and supported his brother out of the small room. Eyes still shut, Sam held onto Dean and reached out his hands when he felt the bed hit his shins. Shakily he pulled himself onto the bed and lay back, Dean's hand resting on his chest. He watched Sam's eyelids quiver and then open, tears leaking onto his cheeks and aggravating raw skin. Slowly, Sam's gaze tracked over to Dean, and he smiled tightly.

"Never been so glad to see your ugly mug."

Dean grinned, a knot somewhere deep in his stomach loosening. "Never been so glad to hear you insult my good looks on account of your burning jealousy."

Sam laughed, breathing out evenly through his mouth and reaching up to press the sides of his head.

"Still stinging?" Dean asked, as he grabbed two of the cotton wool pads and headed for the bathroom.

"Yeah. It's really potent whatever it is, it feels like my skin's been taken off." He touched his face with a cautious finger and winced.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed again, soaked cotton pads in his hands. "It's not too bad, you're grazed, and there's still some stuff I have to get off your neck. Close your eyes."

He placed the cool pads over Sam's eyes, watching his brother relax with relief. Taking a third cotton pad and leaning forward, he delicately started wiping at Sam's face, cleaning all remnants of the stick goo away from his skin. Revealing raw and tender skin, he pressed a comforting palm to Sam's chest as he worked, patting every time his brother flinched. Moving to clean less damaged areas of Sam's neck, he snorted quietly in amusement.

"What?" Sam asked, blindly batting out a hand and gripping Dean's arm.

"Dude," Dean grinned, "you got slimed."

"Great," Sam replied with mock indignation, "where are the Ghostbusters when you need them?"

"We *are* the Ghostbusters!" Dean answered gleefully. He paused for a second, and then added, "but with a way cooler car."

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Requestor: evil_little_dog
Fandom: Simon & Simon
Character: AJ
Comment: I watched the pilot ep in prep for this and once i'd decided how i wanted to whump it was great fun to write! Can't resist a bit of hypothermia and mouth-to-mouth, me. :P The only difficulty i had with this one was finding a decent place to stop! Eventually, i painted what i hope was a sweet scene at the end, and left it there. Oh, and some might see hints of slash... but it wasn't my intention, just brotherly affection. :)

Rick stood panting at the end of the dockyard pontoon, hands on thighs, as the speedboat he had been chasing sent up rucks of water and sped out to sea. Standing right on the edge and peering through the darkness of the night, he could see AJ's figure highlighted against the orange cabin light. Biting his lip he watched helplessly as his brother struggled with a figure on the boat. Abruptly the ship stopped, rocking hard, and another figure moved from the front of the boat to the back.

"AJ!" Rick hollered, throwing his jacket aside, rolling back on his heels and then throwing himself forward into a dive into the ocean. The cold took the remainder of his breath away, and he broke the surface gasping. Striking out for the boat, he gulped mouthfuls of air when he could and stole glances at the speedboat ahead. He was still over 10 metres away when, through the half-light, he saw a figure heaved over the side of the boat into the ocean.

Spitting water, Rick hollered his brother's name again. The speedboat jerked in the water and took off, spraying ocean back at him and kicking up rolling waves that made their way towards him. He swam onwards, stopping every time a wave approached to ride it out. The drone of the speedboat faded gradually, leaving only the thick deadly sound of the ocean in Rick's ears. Just at the moment he feared he was no longer swimming in the right direction, his hand struck something soft and he grabbed onto a fistful of shirt.

Murmuring his brothers name desperately, he rolled AJ face-up in the water and shook him. Treading water and holding one hard up against his brother's back to support him, he pressed a finger against his neck. Nothing.

"Oh jesus, oh god..." Rick twisted to look back at the pontoon, and then looped an arm around AJ's chest and starting kicking hard for the docks. Despite glancing back several times, Rick still banged his head against the pontoon when they finally made it back. Taking one look at the height that the walkway was floating out of the water, he changed direction and dragged AJ around the nearest boat, searching for the ladder. Patting AJ's chest absent mindedly, he swung him round and got a grip on his arm. Hastily climbing the ship's ladder, he sat at the top and hauled on AJ's arm, grabbing under his armpits when he could and heaving his limp form over the side.

Paying little attention to delicacy, he dumped AJ on the floor of the boat and fell to his knees beside him, tipping his brothers head back. One hand on AJ's neck and the other pinching his nose closed, he bent down and breathed firmly into his brothers mouth. Staring down at AJ's chest, he saw it rise. Breaking off and taking a deep breath, he bent down and breathed for his brother again. Leaning back and staring at the sky momentarily, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, "please AJ..."

Leaning down for the third time he breathed again, firmly pushing air into his little brothers lungs and then jerking back as he felt a resisting force. AJ spluttered, his eyes popping open and throat emitting a harsh whining noise. Rick let out a broken laugh of relief, quickly pulling his brother over onto his side and giving him a whack on the back.

AJ coughed and choked, spraying sea-water from his lungs all over the deck, struggling to take in air through waterlogged airways. Sopping hair covering his face, his chest constricted as he tried to pull in air in between coughs, his each breath making a desperate whining noise. Rick rubbed AJ's back gently, feeling his cold skin trembling under his thin shirt, "You're okay little brother, you're okay, just breath slowly."

AJ's hands found Rick's knees and gripped hard, slowing his breathing. Rick peered down in the darkness, "Hey."

"Hey," AJ croaked.

"That was some leap you took there, on to that boat," Rick said softly, putting a protective hand on his brothers head.

"Yeah," AJ agreed, coughing.

"Your planning however," Rick continued, "leaves something to be desired."

He heard what might have been a miserable laugh from somewhere down where AJ was lying. He smiled and patted his brother on the back, "You think you can get up? The boat's not far from here."

AJ didn't answer, but he struggled unsteadily to his hands and knees, and Rick wrapped an arm around his waist to help him to his feet. Against Rick's adrenaline-heated skin, AJ was stone cold and shivering hard. They slowly made their way from the boat back onto the pontoon, AJ's gaze dazed and his limbs uncoordinated. Once onto the flat wood, Rick guided AJ as fast as he could back to his own boat, worried at his brothers pale skin.

Finally pushing in the little wooden door of the boats cabin, Rick flicked on the lights and all but carried his brother over to the sofa. Grabbing all the blankets from his bed and throwing them around AJ's shaking shoulders, he grabbed for his brothers shirt and broke all the buttons in his haste to take get the cold fabric off. Looking sickly, AJ let out a shaky laugh, "Easy tiger."

Rick snorted in response, pulling the wet shirt from AJ's shoulders and hauling his legs up onto the sofa. Pushing AJ's ineffective hands aside, he popped his trousers button and then grabbed the ankles of his jeans, pulling them off with one yank. "Underwear off and wrap up in the blankets," he instructed, turning away to give his brother a little privacy as he reached for the kettle and the phone at the same time.

By the time Dr McGill reached the little boat, everything was quiet. Peering in one of the tiny windows and wiping away a thin layer of salt, he stared down at the sofa. Soft orange lights flickered across the inside of the cabin, reflecting off AJ's wet hair. He was bundled up in layers of blankets, his chest rising and falling in sleep. He was wrapped safely in the warm arms of his brother, Rick's eyes closed with one hand still curled around the phone.

The Doctor smiled, almost sorry to wake them, and lifted a hand to knock on the door.

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Requestor: spockish_girl
Fandom: St:tos
Character: Jim
Comforter: Spock or Bones or both
Comment: Gah, this wasn't nearly as evil as i had planned it, lol. I have satisfied myself by imagining the kind of complications that might arise later, hehe. >:P

Taking a final gulp of air and clenching his eyes shut tight, Kirk was dragging beneath the surface, putrid swamp flowing thickly over his head. With his hand still outstretched for help he wasn't sure would come, he kicked upwards - an exercise already proven futile. Sinking fast, his hand went under and he panicked, thrashing wildly, feeling pieces of debris amongst the slime scraping his skin. The thick stuff surrounding him went up his nose, plugged his ears, pushed at his mouth as his chest constricted from lack of air. He felt something brush past his head and stopped moving, lifting his face skyward. It was gone, and the gloop around him shifted upwards slightly as if pulled away. With his chest heaving, Jim tried to push away the sound of his own pulse booming in his ears, tried to resist the temptation to open his mouth and take into a lungful of dirt.
Long seconds passed, the pain in his chest swarmed up round his neck and over his head, feeling as if it would explode through his eyes if he didn't breathe. His body shaking, he opened his mouth.

Bones hauled hard on the rope in his hands, another officer behind him grunting with the same exertion, both of them feeling the swamp's pull on the other end. With a final heave Spock's feet emerged and the swamp gave a disgusting sucking pop as the rest of him followed. Bones leapt forward and grabbed for his friends arms, pulling on his shoulders and twisting him to get his face up to the air. Spitting gunk from his mouth, Spock brought a drenched and spluttering Captain Kirk to the edge of the patch of rippling ground. Together he and Bones dragged their Captain onto solid ground, the swamp fighting valiantly to reclaim him and eventually retreating with only a single Starfleet issue boot.

"Breathe evenly now Jim," Bones instructed, placing a hand on his friends shoulder and grabbing for his water-bottle. Waiting until Kirk's coughs had subsided, he poured the water over his head, wiping down his face gently and clearing his eyes.

"You okay Spock?" he asked, looking over to the Vulcan.

"I am fine," Spock was drinking from a water bottle offered by the other officer, washing off his own face in the process. "The Captain?"

Bones look down at Jim's considerably cleaner face, watching his friend's chest heaving from a need to reclaim lost oxygen. "Jim?"

His eyes flickering open and a hand pressed to his pounding head, Jim looking up at the Doctor and tried to nod, "I'll be fine." He punctuated the statement with another raft of coughs, rolling to his side in exhaustion. "Nothing a good hose-down wouldn't cure," he added, staring at hands coated in dirt and muck from the swamp.

"Yes, you're certainly not getting into my sickbay like that," Bones pursed his lips, staring at Spock.

Spock frowned slightly, "Doctor, is it entirely prudent to be concerned with the appearance of your medical area in light of the personal safety and wellbeing of the Captain of your ship?"

"Certainly it is!" Bones exclaimed angrily. "Have you seen what this stuff does to fabric?" he rubbed his uniform where the swamp gunk had turned it an ugly brown colour. "I'd be scrubbing the floors for weeks!"

Jim laughed, his throat raw and the sound grating slightly as he rolled onto his back again. "Don't worry Doctor, I promise not to get dirt on your sickbay floors. In fact," and he struggled to sit up, "all I need is a cleanup and a new set of clothes and I'll be fine."

"Oh no you don't," Bones pressed a palm to Jim's chest and effortlessly pushed him back to the ground. "You swallowed a whole load of that stuff, and there's no telling what's in it. You may need a cleanup, but you need a checkup too."

With that he spoke into his communicator. "Four to beam up..." he looked over at Spock and Jim, casting a distasteful eye over their mud-covered form, "...to the cargo bay."

Jim glanced over at Spock just before they dematerialised, and let out a laugh at the Vulcan's expression of hurt dignity.

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Requestor: myhappyface
Fandom: Xfiles
Character: Doggett
Comment: So technically she didn't request it, but i requested it for her. Merry Christmas you, hope you like. :* (also, completely aware that Doggett may have only had a desk and not an office. Wrote it that way anyway. :P)

Pushing open Doggett's office door and finding him drooped forlornly at his desk, Scully pulled a sympathetic face and made her way across to him. He looked up, one hand pressed to a gash on his forehead, the other holding blood-soaked tissues under his nose. Rounding his desk, Dana sighed in half-hearted exasperation and tipped his chin up with her hand to get a better look at the damage.

"Well," she said, gently prising a piece of errant tissue out of his hair, "you look suitably miserable."

"Are you kidding?" Doggett rasped, his voice catching as his lip curled in pain, "this is my happy face."

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Requestor: knights_13
Fandom: Kf:tlc
Character: Peter
Whump: "Something mind altering but leaves him conscious - even if he's not coherent. You can play with that however you wish - drugs, concussion, intense pain, blood loss..."
Comforter: "Kermit would be an option, or Jordan - Caine would be an option IF he does NOT have a instant, magical, OMG I'm overdramatic and stealing the spotlight back off of Peter because this is supposed to be my show fix."
Comment: Way shorter and less evil than i had hoped... i hope it's okay for a little enjoyment at least! And because i think i was too tired and lacking inspiration when i got to writing this one, i ended up unconsciously working a few of your whump-requests into Snowy's kf:tlc fic, so hopefully you can enjoy that one too. :D

"Peter? What the hell are you doing out here?" A blast of warm air and the rowdy chatter of an evening pub crowd followed Kermit through the door into the dark back alley, and he slipped off his sunglasses. Resting a cautious hand on his gun holster, he stepped forward, towards the faint figure flattened up against the wall a few metres away. "Peter?"

"I just couldn't get the numbers in the right places so i had to get out..."

Kermit frowned, picking up the faintly manic words spoken by his friend, and striding up to where he stood. Peter jerked violently in surprise, sliding along the brick wall away from Kermit, his eyes wide, "No no no it's too messy already you'll get tangled up!"

"Peter!" Kermit reached out for his friend's shoulder, grasping them hard and peering at his face. Peter grappled with Kermit's arms, pushing against his chest and making a harsh grating sound in the back of his throat, "You can't, you can't get out of that because it's too complicated, there's stuff everywhere you can't push it away..."

"Jesus you've been spiked, Peter listen to me, we've got to get you home," He shook his friend hard, listening to a guttural laugh building up in Peters throat. It burst out in little manic spatterings, tears clinging to eyelashes as the younger Detective slid slowly to the ground.

Going down with him, Kermit placed a hand on his friends burning forehead, "Peter we need to get you home, stand up."

"Mmm," Peter murmured, pedaling his legs slightly in recognition. "I feel a bit sick."

Wondering where the hysteria of a couple of seconds ago had gone, Kermit wound a fist into Peter's shirt, "Just don't puke on me kid, you'll be alright." Heaving the younger man to his feet, he struggled for a decent grip around his waist.

"You okay?" Kermit asked, as Peter whimpered quietly at his side.

"I just don't want to get tangled..." the reply was muttered to no-one in particular, as Peter held his hand out in front of him for a second, then dropped it.

"I won't let you get tangled," Kermit replied firmly, shifting them both forward towards the main street, clutching Peter close.

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Requestor: dknightshade
Fandom: Firefly
Character: Mal
Comforter: Zoe
Comment: This was the last one to get started, and i thought i'd fluff it because it was so late at night. But it turned out better than i was expecting! For some reason i had to fight hard for it not to turn into an all-out comedy, but won the battle in the end i think. Kinda nervous writing it for you, your Firefly fic has been awesome. Hope you enjoy! :D

"Wouldn't do for you to deny us our right percentage, what with us having your Captain by the throat an' all, now would it?"

Mal made a sound like a strangled bird and coughed, his head bent back at an unnatural angle by the heftiest of the party - a blade pressed to his throat and his arm wrenched up behind his back. Zoe and the rest of the crew stood poised opposite their Captain and his attackers, their guns drawn.

"And how much percent would you ask," Zoe asked, her jaw clenched but her voice calm.

"A hundred," the dirt-smothered man standing slightly ahead of the rest replied, baring yellow teeth.

"Well you ain't gettin' it, that ain't no right percent," Jayne said, raising his gun. Furrowing his brow, he turned to Zoe and whispered, "how much is a hundred percent?"

"All of it," Zoe muttered through gritted teeth. She motioned her head towards Mal, "Kill him."

"What?" the yellow-toothed man said, suspicion stealing his expression.

"Garck?" Mal croaked, his eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

Zoe shrugged. "Always quite fancied the look of his boots. And my right percentage sure looks a lot rosier with him out of the way. Kill him, then I'll kill you, and take all of the haul and the payment too." She thumbed the trigger on her gun and took a step closer.

The bluff and the move was enough. The yellow-toothed man went for his gun, Mal elbowed his captor in the gut and his crew dived for cover.
The firefight didn't last long, with their opposition inexperienced and Zoe driven to speed by the sight of Mal's legs sticking out from behind an overturned table. Still crouched low and holding her gun ready, she sprinted for him, pulling the table aside and falling by his side. He lay on his back, hands gripping his throat tight, slick blood sliding between his fingers.

"Sir!" With a quick glance around her to assure her Jayne was covering her back, Zoe dropped her gun and made a grab for a fallen figure nearby, unsheathing her knife and ripping some of his shirt. Turning back to her Captain and folding the fabric into a long even strip, she hastily threaded it under his neck and then held each end out.

"Let go Sir," she instructed. His face pale, he whipped his hands away and Zoe was relieved to see that the cut wasn't as bad as she had feared. Nonetheless, it oozed blood, and she quickly wrapped the strip of shirt tight around his neck, folding a piece double over the wound and winding it around his neck again. Watching his face and ensuring she didn't tie it too tight, she folded the ends over securely and placed a hand over the bandage, "Hell of a time to leave the Doc behind Sir."

Mal coughed slightly, his throat compressed and throbbing, "Ain't that the truth. How bad is it?"

"Think we're alright Sir, just need to get it stitched fast. Best go right now, we can make it to the ship in a few minutes."

Painfully swallowing down nausea, Mal grunted in agreement. "The haul?"

Zoe glanced back at the crew, "We can leave Jayne to round it up and retrieve our payment. Can you stand?"

Mal placed a palm on the ground and another protectively around his throat, pushing to get into a sitting position. Zoe moved around behind him and grabbed under his arms, helping him to unsteady feet and threading his arm over her shoulder. Mal closed his eyes for a second, his weight increasing on Zoe. "Alright Sir?"

"Think so," he replied, his voice raw and strained. "Jayne," he croaked over at the man, " round up the haul and find our pay. We'll come back for you."

Book joined them at Mal's side, shadowing them as Zoe guided her Captain out into the blazing sun. Clutching onto her as the desert shimmered in front of him and his balance threatened to throw him to the ground, Mal threw a glance in her direction, "Always fancied the look of his boots?"

The rest of the crew clambered into the back of their transport as Zoe pressed a supportive hand to Mal's back, and patted his leg as he settled amongst his friends, "They're nice boots Sir."
Leaning back against Book, Mal laughed.

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Requestor: selmak
Fandom: House
Character: Dr Cox from Scrubs
Comment: Gordon Bennet woman, i have *no* idea what i was doing with this. I just hope that i've not completely destroyed any picture you had in your head of these two fandoms colliding. :P This is season one House, as i've only seen two eps, and they're from that season. (also, apologies it's not terribly whumpy, but i was having difficulty working that into a short snippet that also included House in any way that i thought i could script)

"Listen, when the two of you have finished going back and forth with your incredibly adorable but oh so boring banter," Dr Cox's hands twitched as if he wanted to gesticulate wildly, "perhaps you could figure out what's wrong with me?"

House and Chase stared down at their patient, somewhat fearfully in Chase's case. He glared back at them with an expression of furious distaste entirely unfitting for a man attached to a canula and IV, pale and exhausted after several days of an illness that was confounding the medical staff.

"Well, symptoms indicate you're... menopausal?" Chase pulled a slightly worried expression, glancing to his right at Dr House.

Dr Cox narrowed his eyes at the young doctor, "Oh, well done Cynthia." Chase blinked, failing to wipe the look of puzzlement from his face.

House rolled his eyes and pointed to the door. "Go," he instructed at Chase and then added before the younger man could put down the chart, "and take his chart with you."

Turning to his patient as Chase left, House moved forward a few steps and settled his weight on his cane. "At least menopausal mood swings would go some way to explaining your attitude. You altered your chart."

"Well unless a daily visit from the nurse with the bedpan is your idea of fun," Cox began, "it's the only way to squeeze a bit of entertainment..."

"No," House interrupted loudly, lifting his cane and whacking it with a jarring clang on the rails of his patients bed. "You are so busy weaving this facade of control, you are missing the point, and you are interfering with the practice of the Doctors you now depend on - whether you like or not you depend on them, and you depend on me."

Cox snarled, his face pale and lips thin, "Lord save me. Are you going to beat away the germs with your little stick?"

House leaned in close, "you'd better hope so, because with you sending your Doctors off chasing phantom symptoms, it's the only hope we have of keeping you alive. You're my patient now, and whether you like it or not I'm going to find out what's wrong with you and cure it, so don't get in my way."
He about-turned and limped out of the room, waiting for a snide response that never came.

Cox watched him go, trying to ignore the heavy pain in his chest as he fiddled with the bed sheets in shaking fingers. Taking as deep a breath as he could, he looked around the room for a second and then remembered where the chart had gone. Irritated, he closed his eyes. He had been planning on coming down with the black plague next.

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Ooh, and for christmas on Lj, vespurrs got me a delicious cookie, and evil_little_dog wrote me an adorable Simon & Simon whumpfic!

Well, i hope you're all having a fantastic Christmas day. Xmas Eve was lovely for me, i helped my mum make her trifle and then the stuffing, we decorated the table ready for todays meal, and i took regular breaks from writing fic to go and squeeze christmas presents under the tree! That has all been interspersed with the odd episode of various shows to help with inspiring the whumpfics, and eps of Space Precinct and Dr Quinn Medicine Woman as those seasons gradully download on my computer. Oh Sully, your hair makes my world a better place.
And yesterday me and dad went to Waitrose - a chain of supermarket with a store near Sidmouth, which is about 40mins from us. We don't go often because it's expensive, but it's a wonderful store. They have friendly staff, a clean and bright shop, some great fair-trade standards, excellent food... it's just a really great chain store compared to most others, so we bought all our specific Christmas-meal stuff there. The queues went right around the store and it took us 25mins to get to the tills! But the staff were handing out chocolates along the way, and we had fun.

This morning we're just back from Exeter Cathedral's morning church thing (we're not religious, but my parents enjoy the choir and the tradition) and this was the first time i tried it. And my god, i am never going again. :s We're back now for a cup of tea and BLT lunch, maybe some present opening, and then Xmas Dinner later on (i have three types of amazing deserts from Waitrose). To finish off this post, here's two bits of festiveness in photos. Our tree on Christmas Eve, my computer at night with seasonal blue-star LEDs that i bought for my comp at work, and The Saint scratched into the frost on our car on a cold morning. :P

I'd love to see all your trees (or however you decorate for the season), if you find time to post photographs into your Lj (i'll be checking all your journals tonight or tomorrow to catch on festivities and fics), or in comments here. Merry Christmas everyone. :D