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#hypothermia
epiclamer · 2 days
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Good god (tw: some light undertone themes of suicidal thoughts and self destruction/harm) but with lots of comfort to come so dont worryyyy
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The rain poured down the hero’s face, they had their chin tilted up high towards the light grey clouds as if the mist surrounding them was suffocating. Their eyes were closed, but that didn’t stop the pelting droplets from finding their way under the hero’s eyelids.
It felt somewhat like relief, the cool water soaking through every single layer of their clothes. It eased their mind and their wounds, washed the blood from their chin and nose.
It stilled such a busy world.
On the other hand, the hero was freezing. It must’ve been at least six hours since they had had their arms wrenched behind their back and duck taped together to keep them bound to a school yard post. A singular piece covering their lips to keep them from shouting for help.
It was so simple compared to the intricate traps they had been stuck within before. Nonetheless, for some reason it was also the hardest to escape.
Partially, Hero knew it was because they had no will to. They had gone through the darkened alley behind the school knowing they were going to get jumped. They had let themselves be beaten and hogtied, they had accepted a concussion and a busted nose.
Hero knew if they were ever to talk this out with the Agency’s therapist there would be words strung out around the concept of ‘goodness’ and ‘greatness’.
Hero didn’t feel all that good—let alone great.
Hero didn’t feel anything except exhausted. So they had slumped back against the post, legs sprawled out against the asphalt, haphazardly painted with basketball gym lines.
Their arms were burning from the awkward position and consistent strain and the hero ignored it all the same. It was the weekend, so there would be no concerned teachers to save them and definitely no kids out to play in this weather. And sure, if they wanted, they could break free—they were a hero after all—but for now they just sat.
Unwilling and unwanting of any form of further freedom as the hypothermic chill coating their skin slowly reached into their bones.
“To freeze or not to freeze…” Hero’s eyes snapped open at the sudden familiar voice coming from behind them. “That is the question~” Villain’s head poked out from around the post where the hero lay still bound.
They stepped around to face the hero straight on, crouching down to meet at their level. “Sucker for punishment? Or are you just really too weak to get yourself out of some lousy tape?”
The villain grinned, even through the heavy rain the hero could practically feel the other’s heat and see their sultry eyes. They squirmed, suddenly all too uncomfortable in their position as they tried to push themselves up into a standing position.
“What? Cat got your tongue?” The criminal laughed, watching their nemesis wriggle helplessly and increasingly more desperately against their bonds. They reached up, one hand delicately cupping the hero’s face as the other ripped the duct tape off their lips in one swift movement.
Hero gasped mostly in pain, slightly due to their racing heartbeat. “Fuck— Villain—”
Gently the villain’s thumb brushed over the hero’s bottom lip, wiping the blood away with the rain water that tainted everything it could touch. Hero took in another deep breath, collecting themselves from a moment ago before looking into the villain’s eyes again.
“Need some help?”
The crime-stopper wanted to shake their head no, they wanted to spit at the villain and break free on their own, instead they mumbled an incoherent form of yes and let themselves be brought to their feet in a single pull. The villain’s hands did not leave the hero’s sides even after they were steady on their feet and Hero couldn’t help but notice just how cold they truly were without the villain’s warmth.
The villain didn’t question them a second time, once they were sure the hero could stand on their own they reached one hand into their pocket for their smaller knife. Flipping it open while their other hand still rested against the hero’s hip, wrapping their armed hand around the hero’s body to cut away the remaining tape from their arms.
And for the few seconds their bodies stayed pressed together, Hero wondered if this was close enough to be considered a hug. Then, in a sickening moment where all of the blood rushed from the hero’s head to their now free arms, they swayed and collapsed against the villain.
The criminal had barely enough time to catch them before the hero relaxed their weight completely into Villain’s chest. Head pressed into the crook or the villain’s neck, Hero’s icy fingers clawed at the fabric of their nemesis’ suit with what little energy they had left.
Hero was searching for heat, they had forgotten just exactly how badly their body craved it when they had let themselves rot against the post. Now that the villain was here though, they needed to warm up and they only wanted to while trapped in the villain’s embrace.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, Hero. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” Villain reassured them, voice soft and inviting as they shifted their arms around to help walk their nemesis back to their car. “Do you know how long you’ve been out here?”
Hero took their first few shuffling steps with the villain’s support, making up for a lot of their weight. Their eyes flicked to the villain’s worried expression, “A few hours.” But they couldn’t hold their gaze.
They were ashamed now. They had been caught in their own self-destruction and saved by their mortal enemy. The person they fought tooth and nail almost every single day for the past two years.
Now that person was helping them into their car and out of the rain, where initially the hero had hoped to stay forever. How embarrassing.
The villain didn’t say much else, only answering with a curt nod before returning their focus to bearing the hero’s weight in their steps. It was safe to say the hero hadn’t expected to be as weak as they truly were and that maybe if the villain had never shown up, they wouldn’t have been able to get away.
That was worrisome. Worrisome enough to dry the hero’s mouth up in a second and send shivers down their spine.
Villain reached out, hand grabbing onto the passenger side door handle and they slowly opened it to reveal the inside of their beloved car Hero had heard about so many times in battle. Yet, they had barely even registered the walk from the school yard to the parking lot, let alone the fact that their enemy was actually helping them.
Hero looked to Villain, who gave them an assuring smile. “I’ll take care of you, or bring you straight home—no questions asked. Just don’t make me leave you out here any longer.”
That earned them a small smile.
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snailspng · 2 months
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Cold/Hypothermia-themed PNGs.
(1. Icicle glass decorations, 2. Ice on statue, 3. "Panoptes" by Laurent Grasso, 4. 18th c. angel head, 5. Painting by Gustaf Fjaestad, 6. Ceramic rabbit, 7. Paw pendant from "Relics of Martyrs" by Jane Dodd, 8. Ice glasses by Vincent Olinet, 9. Sculpture by Yoshihiko Ueda)
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squintingcats · 8 months
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“I’m sorry. I have to do this, okay?”
Said by Caretaker before:
Lowering Whumpee into a cold bath for their dangerously high fever
Lowering Whumpee into a lukewarm bath for their dangerously severe hypothermia (it feels boiling to them)
Doing stitches, cleaning and dressing a wound, etc.
Cauterization
Forcing them to eat/drink something after an extended period of illness and/or starvation
Resetting a broken bone
Field surgery
Dragging their ass to an actual hospital
Dragging their ass to an actual therapist
Restraining them during a violent (as in, physically harmful) flashback or nightmare
Inducing vomiting when the Whumpee clearly needs to, but can’t
Uncomfortable medicine (bad-tasting, syringes, aerosolized medicine through a weird mask, etc.)
Moving a Whumpee who’s in a particularly bad state
Tell me more.
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weirdstrangeandawful · 4 months
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Severe hypothermia is great but as someone who has experienced mild hypothermia, I think it needs more credit.
You don't need medical attention but everything just feels wrong for the hours and days afterward. You can't regulate your body temperature right. You're cold and shivering but the blankets and sleeping bags you're swaddled in have you sweating because youre body hasn't decided you're safe enough to send blood back to your extremities. You want to warm your hands and feet but know that's going to send the cold blood right back deep, deep into your core like daggers.
Dress warmly when you're out on lobster fishing boats y'all...
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linecrosser · 2 months
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Febwhump 2024 - Day 12 - Semi-concious
Mobei jun forgot that humans don't cope well with prolonged exposure to very cold temperatures.
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kw3r1i · 6 months
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Kim Carlsson
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machinefetishist · 8 months
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briannabug · 9 months
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trist ❦
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whumblr · 2 months
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Bundled up
"Hey, Whumpee, how are you fee-- oh."
Whumpee practically heard Caretaker's soft smile through his surprise and they could imagine the look on his face. Sure, they were still in bed, right where he left them, not like they were going anywhere... But Whumpee had completely disappeared under the covers and Caretaker could only see a large, probably shivering lump covered by blankets.
The mattress shifted under them. A hand rested on the duvet, rubbing their shoulder.
"You okay?"
"So cold," Whumpee muttered from within their tent. They lay all curled up, knees up to their chest, arms crossed, head under the blankets. Even the extra heat from their breath wasn't enough; they kept shivering, they just couldn't get warm again.
A soft hum in reply. "Can I get you anything? Soup? Tea? Aspirin?"
"No... no, thank you. I don't think my stomach can hold anything down, pills or water."
"Then how about an extra blanket?"
Whumpee smiled under the covers. "That would be nice."
The mattress sprang back again. Footsteps, a creak of the closet door, and something heavy draped over them. Caretaker's hands carefully brushed the blanket down, tucking them further in, making sure no cold could creep into their blanket fort. His hands lingered over their shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze.
Sooner or later they'd have to resurface for fresh oxygen, though... But for now, they let the extra weight press them deeper into their mattress.
A content sigh escaped.
"How cold?" Caretaker asked.
A hand peeked out from under the covers, slipping out of the warm nest. Their hands were already freezing anyway, it didn't matter much.
Caretaker gripped them tight and his warm hands closed around their iced fingers.
"Jesus."
"Mhm."
"Your nails are getting blue..."
"Is it possible to get frostbite at room temperature?"
"You'd almost think so..."
Whumpee yanked their hands back and squished them in-between their tighs, hoping to get them warm again.
But instead of their hands taking their body warmth, quite the opposite happened; the cold spread through their legs, coursed up through to the rest of their body. Goosebumps tingled right along, little hairs stood on end like they were doing a stadium wave all the way up to their neck.
The lump of blankets shivered hard and Caretaker couldn't help a smile.
A wave of cold but fresh air made them gasp and scramble to pull at their blankets.
"Scoot over." Caretaker pulled the covers up and huddled up close next to them, letting the blankets fall over him. He grabbed Whumpee's hands tight into his, softly rubbing.
Whumpee squeaked their protests at first - "You'll get sick, too!" - but the extra warmth was hard to resist. They huddled up closer to Caretaker, resting their head against his chest, tangling legs with his, accepting his embrace.
"Better?"
"Better."
-
General whump tag list: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna
(as always, want off? Or on? No prob, just shoot me a message)
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warmblanketwhump · 3 months
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cold dialogue starters
dialogue for your cold-ridden whumpee:
"I’ve got chills all over."
“I think the cold got in my bones."
"I’m never gonna be warm again."
"Will you hold me? Please? I’m freezing.”
"I can't stop shivering."
"I just can’t get warm enough."
"I’m fine, really - just chilled and achy.”
"Can you get me another blanket?"
"Is it cold in here or is it just me?"
"Just...just lay next to me. You're warm and I'm cold."
“I think I’m coming down with something. I’ve felt shivery all morning.”
“Can I just…sit next to the fire a little longer? Please? I’m frozen.”
“I’ll feel better once I can wrap up.”
aaaand dialogue for your caretaker;
“Love, I think you’ve got the chills.”
“Still shivering?”
“Oh honey, you look frozen through.”
“C’mere. Of course I’ll warm you up.”
“Are you warm enough.”
“Poor thing—you must be chilled to the bone.”
“You’ve been shivering since we got home - are you feeling okay?”
“Let’s get you a blanket.”
“You’ve got to stay wrapped up, sweetheart, or you’ll get chilled.”
“C’mon, you, get under the covers. We’ll get you warm.”
“I see you shivering.”
“Get closer to the fire, love. There you go, that's better.”
please feel free to add more!!!
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Caretaker putting their own jacket around Whumpee and gently pulling them into their arms saying, “shh, I’ve got you now, its okay,” after finding them in the freezing cold.
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python333 · 6 months
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I love your writings sm. And I love the way you write platonic stuff with task force 141 😋
You can ignore this if ya want but I just can't get over reader angst. Honestly atp I starve for angst. Could you feed us another angst fic? Like platonic 141 with a reader where she maybe got pretty badly injured while being on a mission? :3
AND. don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well!! Take any breaks you need 😌.
(sorry if this doesn't make sense English is not my native language 🥲)
below zero — python333
— — — —
synopsis u get thrown into a freezer after refusing to give up intel to enemy soldiers, and u get thrown into a freezer, and ghost comes and saves u :3
relationships platonic!ghost & gn!reader.
characters ghost.
word count 5.2k
warnings hypothermia, disorientation, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].
note hi anon thank u so much for all the compliments!!! before i say anything else, i wanna point out that i 1) only really wrote ghost into this and 2) literally read the request completely wrong and i think im actually just illiterate because how did i mess up this bad. ALSO hi its been a month since i posted on here i swear i'm still alive i'm just super busy with school!! updates are going to be extremely slow, so i apologize in advance. still, i hope u enjoy it anyways tho!! its all hurt/comfort + angst/fluff + protective/soft ghost :3
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When you were thrown into the freezer, the first thing you noticed were the bodies. 
There’s ten that you can immediately see, and twelve once you look a little bit closer. All of them are suspended from the ceiling, each hanging from their ankle—with said ankle being held up by a meat hook. 
When the door had been closed shut with a loud, booming thump you hadn’t felt any immediate fear. But now, as you’re sitting in the corner of the freezer you’d been trapped in—the corner farthest away from any bodies—that fear is starting to set in.
Before this, only a few minutes ago, you were being interrogated. Your captors were asking for information on the details of any upcoming missions, objectives, target locations, anything that you had about the 141 that you could share with them, they wanted. 
Of course, you didn’t say anything. You remained silent throughout the entire thing, not talking once, even when at the end of the whole thing your interrogator slammed his hand down onto the table you were sat down in front of and yelled at you to say anything. 
When he and his team figured out that you wouldn’t give them any information, you remember he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and swiftly walked over to your end of the table. He had uncuffed your ankles from the legs of the chair you were sitting down on and uncuffed your wrists from the table, and before you could fight back, he grabbed both of your wrists with one hand and dragged you behind him. 
Then, he led you to the freezer you were trapped in now, and threw you in roughly before shutting the door behind you. You had hit and scratched at the door for a good minute after being thrown in, and after you figured that it was a waste of time trying to do so, you sighed and retired to the corner.
Now, as you’re huddled in the corner, you kind of regret not giving them the intel they needed. 
The freezer wasn’t too bad at first—you thought you’d last pretty long in there, and mentally called all the dead bodies hung from meat hooks in there pussies and simply walked around for a bit. The walking helped warm you up a bit, but soon it got tiring, and you retired to the corner farthest away from any dead bodies. 
You think the freezer is below zero degrees—no, has to be below zero, because now, just about five minutes after being thrown in, violent shivers have started to wrack your body and you swear you can’t feel your lips anymore. You haven’t been able to feel any sort of warmth in the past four minutes, all of it disappearing within the first. 
And God, the smell. The smell of frozen, rotting flesh really isn’t something you ever want to smell again. Thankfully, there’s no live flies in the freezer—all of them had died of the severe cold, creating small black circles under each hanging body where they died. 
You currently have your knees up to your chest with your hands trapped in between your thighs to try and keep them warm at least, with your forehead resting on the top of one of your knees. It’s working, kind of. The palms and backs of your hands feel just warm enough to not be considered cold, but the tips of your fingers are so cold they’re beginning to burn. 
You pull them back a bit to trap your fingertips in between your thighs, exposing the area where your wrist and hand meet to the cold, sighing as your fingertips warm up just a bit. Your thighs, thankfully, still have some heat trapped in between them, and you think your stomach is still somewhat warm. 
Around ten minutes later, you feel the heat trapped in your thighs start to dissipate. Fucking fantastic. You sigh and let your head tilt back, the back of it hitting the wall behind you, making you wince at the cold metal directly on your head. The cold seems to crawl through your hair and make it to your scalp, small pinpricks of the cold spreading throughout your scalp and the back of your neck. 
You’re reminded of just how cold it is then, of how this is quite literally a freezer, and of how said freezer has already claimed twelve lives. Or, at least, has housed twelve dead bodies and several unfortunate flies.
Just then, the fear finally starts to set in. 
At first, you weren’t all too worried about being saved—you figured you’d be found soon enough, since your team has a general idea of where you are. But the more you think about it, the more your brain emphasizes the general part of general idea. You start to think about how they don’t know any specifics. 
Sure, they know that you were captured, and that you were being held in some small part of Italy, and the people who captured you—but what did they know beyond that? Did they know your exact location? How long would it take them to figure it out? And how long would it take them to get here? 
Would you even be alive by the time they got here, if they ever did?
You notice your teeth starting to make an annoying chattering noise and you bite down to stop them. The violent shivers that wrack your body don’t help, the intense trembling only succeeding in making you more anxious. You start to become hyper aware of the cold that crawls onto your back from the freezing metal you’re leaning back on, and you quickly push yourself just a foot away from it so that it no longer bothers you. 
Your feet are starting to feel numb, you don’t think you’d be able to stand on them anymore if you tried, for you fear you’d just stumble and fall down. You look around the small freezer. There’s nothing that could help you get out—there’s only the bodies suspended from the ceiling and the dead flies that surround them. 
You’re glad none of the bodies are facing you—you don’t know what you would do if you had to sit in the corner with a bunch of dead bodies staring at you with their vacant, frozen-over eyes. Thinking about the eyes makes your own water, and you blink away the small tears that’ve gathered on your waterline. 
You can’t feel them, but you see the tears that were once in your eyes now clumping together on your eyelashes, making your brows furrow. With them starting to cling to your eyelashes comes blurriness for the top half of whatever you can see. You sigh, a white puff of condensation hanging in the air as evidence of your exhale, and move your hand out from in between your thighs to wipe away the tears from your lashes haphazardly. 
You don’t bother to put your hand back in between your thighs, instead just resting it on top of your knee. Despite it only having been around fifteen minutes since you were thrown into the freezer, you’re starting to feel more fatigued and your breath slows down significantly, as does your heartbeat. 
Another ten minutes of doing nothing but staring at the wall opposite of your own pass by, and disorientation is starting to set in. You feel oddly forgetful—like at times, you forget how you even got into the freezer, and have to wrack your brain to remember that you literally got thrown into it and are now trapped in here until someone rescues you. Assuming they do. Who was it that would even rescue you? 
You think long and hard for a few seconds, and can scrounge up nothing from your confused mind. You let out a frustrated huff and let your head tilt and fall forward so that your forehead is resting atop your knee, another shiver ripping through your frame. It almost feels like it’s getting colder in the fridge. 
Suddenly, you hear a loud banging noise—albeit, it sounded more muffled to your ears, but you could tell it was loud—and guns being fired. 
You can’t really tell when the gunfire dies down, but you can tell when the thumping of someone’s boots grows louder and closer to the door of the freezer. You try to stand up, not really knowing why since you’re in no condition to fight, having been in a freezer for about forty minutes, but you still attempt to. 
You find that standing is extremely difficult after practically being frozen alive for the past forty minutes, because as soon as you try to even push yourself off of the ground with your shaky hands, you discover that you aren’t even strong enough to push yourself up a single inch before having to stop. As well as that, you find that the ground is just as freezing as the walls and air of the freezer, because your hands now ached with frostbite. 
The action causes an unexpected wave of exhaustion to roll over you, and you pant to try and catch your breath, breathing white puffs of condensation out into the air. 
You hear a loud bang against the door, and jump at the sound, your head whipping towards the door. You hear another loud noise, and the confused fog that’s taken over your mind only grows thicker, your disorientation only growing stronger with it. The room feels like it’s spinning, and the feeling reminds you of a word, and you know what the word is, but fuck, why don’t you know it at the same time? Why can’t I remember anything? 
There’s another bang, and you hear muffled cursing before suddenly the door bursts open, a man wearing a skull mask stumbling in after it does so—he probably ran into it to open it, you think, watching the man get his balance back. He looks around for a moment before his eyes land on you, and the moment they do, you finally remember something. 
That’s Ghost. 
Somewhere in your confusion-clouded mind, you’re happy that you’ve finally remembered something. But right now, you can’t really think about anything—your mind is blank, and you can barely even process what you’re seeing. 
You’re so caught up in thinking about the fact that you aren’t really thinking, you’re just focusing a little more on whatever’s going on in your mind and not actually retaining any of it, that you don’t even notice Ghost rushing towards you and kneeling down right next to you. 
He pauses for a moment, but after a second he makes the decision to put one hand behind your back and snake one under your legs, the warm physical touch making you wince. Not that you didn’t like the warmth—you just didn’t like the sudden temperature change beneath your knees and across your back.
“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Ghost grunts as he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, lifting you up into a sort of bridal carry. He nearly drops you because of how cold your skin is—for a moment he thinks your back and legs are wet, then he realizes that no, they aren’t wet, you’re just really fucking cold. 
He takes a moment to make sure you’re secure in his arms before tilting his head to the side, all the way down to his shoulder, and muttering something into his earpiece. Despite being so close to him, his voice only sounds muffled to you—in all honesty, just about everything is starting to sound more muffled to you. You can only tell he’s done talking because he lifts his head back up and readjusts his arms around you, before walking out the busted-open door. 
The walking quickly turns into running, which then turns into sprinting, making your surroundings go blurry and makes your vertigo worse—it almost feels like you’re falling. You’re grateful you haven’t eaten anything in the past few hours, because you fear that if you had, you would’ve thrown it all up by now. All you can see are blurred colors—the hallways, you vaguely remember, because I’m in a building. How’d I even get here? Why am I here? You’re pulled out of your confused thoughts when you’re set down on the ground somewhere, and forced into a lying position with your limbs all outstretched. When you slowly blink up at what you thought was the ceiling, you’re both surprised and not surprised when you see the blue-black night sky. 
Not sure of what’s going on, you try to get up, but Ghost quickly pushes you back down, muttering something under his breath. He pauses for a moment, his blurred figure stopping any and all movements, before he suddenly picks you back up, making you wince at the way your head spins at the sudden movement. You hear a quiet, muffled—but clearer than before—’sorry’ from Ghost before he’s running again. 
It’s a much shorter distance this time, and instead of immediately setting you down, you hear something click and suddenly you hear another muffled voice. They sound concerned, you mentally note, Or maybe confused. Maybe both, actually. No yeah, definitely both. Well, now just concerned. Or maybe that’s confused. 
Caught up in your confused thoughts, you don’t realize that you’re being set down on a few comfy seats. You aren’t pulled away from your own thoughts until you feel two warm hands cupping either side of your jaw, and hear Ghost’s oddly distressed voice becoming more clear by the second. You now acknowledge the weird ringing in your ears that almost drown out the sound of Ghost, and struggle to figure out what he’s saying through the annoying noise. 
“—something,” You catch the end of Ghost’s sentence, and blink up at him slowly. 
“Huh?” You elegantly ask, coughing and wincing at your hoarse voice, not knowing how it got so hoarse—or why it hurt so much to talk. Your throat almost felt like it was burning, but it also felt oddly numb, a sensation you couldn’t quite put a name on. 
“Oh my god,” Ghost sighs, his forehead falling onto your chest momentarily as he takes a few deep breaths. He brings his head back up from your chest and says, “I almost thought you were dead when I got in there. Jesus, you look dead. I need to— I need to get something, a blanket or— why the fuck don’t we carry any heat packs or anything in here? Swear to God, I’m gonna—” You don’t pay too much attention to Ghost’s panicked ranting and shift your head to the side to try and look at where you are, and you discover that you’re in a car. Oh. Cool. You spot the door on the passenger seat’s side still open and swinging a bit, as if it’d been opened quickly just a few moments earlier for someone to quickly get out. 
Ghost suddenly backs up and gets out of the car, though staying within a foot of it, looking around for a moment before heading to the back of the car. Your head clears up the tiniest bit, just enough for you to be able to assume that he’s heading to the back of the car to get to the trunk for whatever reason, and you simply lie there on the seat cushions. 
A few seconds later, Ghost comes back with a somewhat-fluffy jacket, and carefully gets into the car—half kneeling down so that he doesn’t need to lean on the seats to get to you. He tosses the coat over your chest, and it does absolutely nothing at first, at least not until Ghost gets a bit closer and tucks the coat tighter around you, treating it like a blanket. Then, it starts to warm you up just the tiniest bit. Beyond that, it does absolutely nothing. But props to Ghost for at least trying. 
He quickly backs out of the car and once he’s out he closes the door behind him, and you want to get up for a moment, just to go see what he’s doing, but you don’t have to. He gets into the car again, this time in the driver’s seat, and he turns on the ignition. Once the car rumbles to life, he immediately turns up the heat and leans over to the passenger seat’s side in order to close the door, and with a grunt he manages to do so. 
The newfound heat makes you shiver, and it almost feels like you’re in a microwave defrosting. Distracted by the sudden temperature change, you don’t pay attention to what Ghost is saying into his earpiece as he glances out the front window of the car and back at you. You simply tug the jacket tighter around your torso and relish in the warmth. 
“—ay. So we’ll just leave then, and you’ll be fine?” You pick up from Ghost’s conversation, perking up at the mention of leaving, “Copy that, Captain. I’ll get them back to base.”
‘Captain’—Oh, he’s talking to Price—says something that makes Ghost sigh exasperatedly and take his index finger off of his earpiece, instead settling both of his hands on the steering wheel of the car and stealing one last glance at you before setting his eyes on the gravel ahead of him and pushing down on the gas pedal.
— 
When you wake up, you’re significantly warmer than you were… however-long-it’s-been-ago. 
You look to your left and see nothing but a white wall and a heart rate monitor—which displays that your heart rate is 115—then to your right, where you see Ghost sitting in a plastic chair close to the bed you’re laying in, eyes closed with his head tilted to the side and resting on his own shoulder.
You don’t bother trying to wake him up, not knowing how long he’s been asleep or how much sleep he’s gotten, and instead simply turn your head back to stare up at the ceiling. 
After maybe five minutes of zoning out and staring up at the ceiling, you hear clothes rustling and look back over to your right, seeing Ghost start to stir in his sleep. Just a few seconds later, he stirs awake, slowly blinking his eyes open. 
You watch silently as he blinks the sleep out of his eyes, and he breathes in sharply through his nose before looking over at you and seeing you staring at him wordlessly. You both blink at each other for a long, awkward moment before he speaks. 
“… Did you, uh… how was your… rest?” Ghost asks, not sure what to say. What exactly do you say, after saving one of your teammates from potential death?
“Good,” You respond, your throat having an odd, small burning sensation when you talk. 
Ghost looks like he’s holding back a few words for a moment after you speak, and after one expectant look from you, he mumbles, “You should really say ‘well’ or ‘fine’ instead. It’d be more grammatically accurate and is more grammatically aligned with the verb ‘rest’.” 
“… Okay?” You blink, thrown off by the unexpected information, “I’ll, uh… keep that in mind, next time someone asks me how my rest was.” 
“You get asked that often?” 
“I only get asked that by you.” 
“Ah.” Ghost nods, looking off to the side for a moment. You’d think he was your dad and you’d just asked him how babies were made with how awkward he was, and you honestly expected the next words out of his mouth to be ‘when a man and a woman love each other very much’ before he hesitantly asks, “D’you feel better? After the whole being-trapped-in-a-freezer… experience?” 
“Experience?” You question, a light laugh evident in your voice, “Yeah, I feel better. I like being warm more than, y’know, being frozen alive. Laying down in a warm bed is nice.”
“I didn’t know how else to phrase it,” Ghost huffs out, leaning back in his seat. 
“So you’re gonna correct me on my grammar but you can’t think of a better word than ‘experience’?” 
“Don’t get smart with me, [c/n].” 
“I’m just saying,” You shrug lightly, wincing a little when your shoulders ache as you do. Ghost notices this and his eyes narrow, but he doesn’t mention it. 
“Then stop trying to sass me.” 
“Sass you? Jesus, fuck, don’t talk to me like I’m some preteen who just found out that they can talk back to their parents.” 
“Isn’t that what you are, though?” 
“No, I’m— you know what? Fuck you. Get out. I hate you. You suck.” 
“That’s a colorful choice of words to say to the man who saved your life,” Ghost raises an eyebrow at you, “I’m still waiting for my ‘thank you’, by the way.” 
“Don’t care, you’re never getting it,” You say stubbornly, making Ghost sigh and stand up. You look up at him as he stands up and try to sit up in your bed, but wince again when you try to move your arms. Still, you attempt to push yourself up, and only relax your weak joints and lay back down when Ghost presses a gentle hand to your shoulder to get you to stop trying to sit up. 
“Don’t,” He warns softly—you didn’t know his voice could get that soft—as he pushes you back down, “Medics said you’re to keep laying down for a bit while you warm up. We’ve gotta wait until your BPM is below a hundred before letting you up.” 
“That’s stupid,” You huff out, though not fighting Ghost pushing you back down. 
“It’s not stupid,” Ghost lightly chastises you, “It’s doctor’s orders. Once your BPM is below a hundred, we’ll know you’re warmed up enough to start gettin’ up and walking around.” 
“… Still stupid,” You grumble, not commenting on the way Ghost’s hand lingers on your shoulder even after you’ve already laid back down. Ghost sighs and kneels down so that his shoulders are level with the railing of your bed. 
“You’re too stubborn.” 
“I’m not.” 
“Yes you are.” 
“No I’m not!” Your light arguing only proves Ghost’s point further, and he knows this, the knowledge of it making him snicker quietly. 
“Uh huh. Sure, kid,” He begins to retract his hand from your shoulder, but upon seeing the disappointment that immediately seeps into your expression once he even barely begins to lift his hand from your shoulder, he immediately lets it rest right back onto your shoulder. 
You both sit in silence for another few moments before Ghost speaks up again, this time a bit quieter and in that same soft tone he’d used earlier, “I tried to get to you quicker. But we needed some time to get your exact location, and when we found it we were a hundred and sixty klicks away, and it was just—it took us… some time to find you.” 
“It’s fine. I understand,” You respond, about to shrug but stopping yourself, not wanting to feel that aching in your shoulders again, “I don’t even know how I let myself get captured, that— that’s probably on me.” 
“You didn’t let yourself get captured, you just did.” 
“Well…”
“Well, what?” 
“I don’t know, I just—” You take a deep breath before continuing slowly, “I didn’t let myself get captured, but I also didn’t do enough to fight against it, so I feel like technically—” 
“Fuck the technicalities about how you got captured, you got captured either way, and you got thrown into a freezer,” Ghost cuts you off, talking quickly, before sighing and continuing in a softer voice once again, “Please, just let me try to be somewhat comforting for once. You know I’m bad at this, and that I never do this. So just… don’t talk about what happened like that, if not for your own mental health’s sake, at least for my attempts at making you feel better.” 
You open your mouth to say something else but ultimately close your mouth and let out a deep sigh through your nose, not saying anything, letting Ghost continue to talk. 
“I, for whatever reason, feel… very oddly bad for you,” Ghost poorly explains, before pausing to think for a moment then rephrasing, “Not… not as in I pity you, but as in I feel bad for you in a way that I feel like I’m at fault for what you went through even though I know I’m not at fault. It’s like empathy but… worse. Not saying empathy is bad to begin with, but this is like if empathy was bad and it became worse and—” 
Ghost cuts himself off with silence and lets out a frustrated huff at his inability to put his feelings into words, and tries again, “I feel bad for you in a way that I don’t know what exactly you felt or how you felt in the moment that you were in that freezer but just the idea of you being in there without me for… I’m assuming an entire hour, if not longer, makes me feel like I failed. I don’t know what I failed at—”
Ghost quickly pauses before sighing and continuing, “Actually, no, I do. I feel like I failed at protecting you. Which is strange, because that’s technically not my job, but I felt—and still feel—obligated to protect you especially and that bothers me. Not bothers me in a sense that I don’t like you or the thought of… protecting you, but bothers me in the sense that I’m not supposed to feel like that. No amount of teasing, or borderline bullying, or anything should’ve ever made me feel obligated to think of you like— like— like…” Ghost trails off, leaving you wondering what he meant to say. He stays silent for a few moments, before you try to fill in for him. 
“Like… what, a kid?” You offer, watching him shake his head negatively. You think for another moment, before trying again, “… Like your kid?” 
Ghost nods affirmatively, hesitantly, and you want to scoff at the hesitation. 
“And what, that’s bad to you?” You ask, your words more venomous than you intended. Ghost sighs and nonverbally shakes his head negatively before responding to you.
“Not bad in the way you’re thinking,” He answers, before elaborating upon seeing your confused expression, “It’s bad not because you’re bad, it’s bad because I’m bad.” 
“… No you’re not?” 
“Yes, I am.” 
“No, you’re really not,” You insist stubbornly. 
“Please don’t be stubborn with me on this,” His tone makes it sound like he’s almost begging you, which is… somehow beyond terrifying to think about.  
“I’m not being stubborn, I’m being honest, you’re really not.” 
“But I am,” He sounds like he’s trying to make his tone sound like there’s no room for any further arguments, but he fails, and you continue to argue with him. 
“No you’re not!” The whole conversation feels like a parallel to the one you’d both been having just a few minutes earlier, except this time you’re not giving up as easily, “How are you bad?” 
“I’m—” Ghost pauses for a moment, not having expected that argument, and he weakly argues, “I just am!” 
“You’re not, and you fucking know it!” 
“Okay, well—” Ghost sighs and looks away from you, “You might not think so. That’s fine. But I know I am. If not for anything else, for you. I’d be… terrible as any sort of… I don’t know, role model to you.” 
“Jokes on you, you’re already a role model to me.” 
“I’m being serious.” 
“So am I,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “You aren’t a terrible role model. A little emo, sure, but not terrible.” 
“I’m emotionally and mentally unstable, and am terrible with empathy. I’m blunt, abrasive more than half the time, and I tell the shittiest jokes known to man. I can’t— I don’t show my face to anyone. I expect everyone to act the way I want them to. I’m almost always busy.” 
“At least you’re self-aware,” You brush off, “And, for the record, I don’t know what abrasive means and I can’t tell empathy from sympathy without using Google.” 
Ghost looks back at you in disbelief and stares for a moment before saying quietly, “Abrasive means harsh. And empathy is showing understanding for others while sympathy is pity.” 
“I also like your shitty jokes,” You add on, “I think they’re great. They make everyone else mad so I like them. And some of them are funny.” 
“You find them funny?” 
“Yeah?” 
“That’s…” Ghost blinks at you, eyes a little watery, before huffing out a small laugh, “That’s ridiculous, none of them are funny. I call them shitty for a reason.” 
“Some of them are pretty funny.” 
“Oh yeah? Like what?” 
“The Mayflower one.” 
“… That one?” Ghost asks, tone humorous but still disbelieving, “Out of all the ones I’ve told, that one?” 
“Yes, that one,” You insist, before pausing and holding back a smile while tacking on, “Unless you wanna tell it again to try and change my mind?” 
Ghost thinks for a moment before telling the joke, “If April showers bring May flowers, what do Mayflowers bring?” 
You feign cluelessness for a moment, “What do they bring?” 
“Pilgrims.” The bluntness of the delivery makes you quietly snicker, much to Ghost’s surprise, the laugh not forced or anything. 
“It’s still good,” You sigh, small giggles still escaping your lips. 
“It’s really not,” Ghost sighs, finally retracting his hand from your shoulder to settle it on the railing of your bed and use it to help himself stand up. Once he fully stands up, he looks down at you, and one look at your face makes him want to whisk you out of bed and at least hug you, but he knows he can’t with your sore muscles and still-somewhat frozen skin. 
Instead, he opts for grabbing one of your hands gently and giving it a very emotionally charged squeeze, and holding it for another few moments before letting go. 
“I’m not forgetting that, by the way,” At Ghost’s confused eyes, you tack on, “You confirming earlier that you think of me as your kid.” 
“That—” Ghost stammers for a moment before saying, “That was barely a confirmation, that was just— that was nothing.” 
“Oh really?” 
“Yes. Yeah. Yep.” 
“So if I told you that you saying that that was nothing is making me a little bit upset…” 
“… Then I would say, out of pity, that I did mean it and that it was a confirmation.” 
“Good to know,” You nod. 
“But that’s only a hypothetical.” 
“Right, yeah, of course.” 
You both stay silent for another moment, the silence now a little less awkward, before Ghost says, “I’m gonna, uh… head out, now.” 
“Alright,” You hum simply, watching as Ghost nods to you as a sort of ‘bye’ before heading towards the curtains in front of your bed. 
Before he can exit, you quickly and quietly say, “Thank you, for saving me.” 
He pauses, a little confused on why you chose now to thank him—and why you thanked him at all—until he quickly recalls earlier in the conversation when he’d mentioned expecting some words of gratitude. 
He smiles behind his mask, the smile evident in his voice as he replies to you, “No problem.”
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squintingcats · 8 months
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Spoon-feeding:
Cold water to a whumpee with a severe fever who’s too dehydrated and weak to stay awake
Hot water to a whumpee after they’ve lost a lot of blood who’s too dehydrated and weak to stay awake and are also very cold
Hot tea to a whumpee with hypothermia who’s too numb or shaky to drink it themselves
Cold water to a whumpee who just woke up after fainting from heatstroke
Hot broth to a whumpee who hasn’t eaten anything substantial in a long time and has trouble keeping most food down
Hot broth, plain oatmeal, or okayu to a whumpee who is extremely nauseous
Medicine to a whumpee who needs it
Tell me more.
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upierzyca · 4 months
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wow my beautiful princess
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linecrosser · 1 month
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Febwhump 2024 - Day 13 - "You weren't supposed to get hurt"
Mobei jun is tying to right a wrong (forgetting humans are prone to hypothermia) by wrapping him in his own cloak.
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whump-about-it · 10 months
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Currently obsessing with the idea of a Whumpee who is recovering from hypothermia waking up cuddled between two of their friends.
They don’t really remember what happened and they feel like death barely warmed over. But the bed is so warm and they feel so safe in their friends’ arms that even half conscious with a budding fever, they know that even after everything they just went through, they are going to be okay.
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