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desperate comfort.

“oh god, oh god, stay with me!”

“keep your eyes open! you’re okay! damn it, you’re okay!”

“i’ve got you, i’ve got you, i’ve got you, i’ve got you— it’s alright, i’ve got you!”

“i know it hurts. i know, honey, it’s okay.”

“it’s all gonna be fine, just stay with me, just stay awake, please!”

“i love you. i love you so much, whatever happens, just remember that, okay?”

“stop, don’t talk like that, you’re gonna be fine! i wouldn’t lie to you!”

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Unexpected Part !

Of all the things I expected to happen today, this was the last thing I could have imagined encountering. And yet, as fate would have it, It seemed like I was in the right place at the right time.

The water parted easily as I pulled the stranger away from it's clutches. It was sheer luck that I had spotted you being dragged by the current, struggling and too weak to call for help. By the time I had gotten to you, you had slipped beneath the rushing water. it was only by chance that my hand had found your shoulder, my grip bruisingly tight as I pull you to the surface. I had gotten to you quick, it couldn't have been more than a few minutes since I had first seen you and yet, it seemed that I might be too late.

You were tense as I dragged you out, your chest convulsing violently as you choked on the river water. I could feel your heart fluttering wildly against my body, each beat like a desperate 'lub...lub...ub...lub...lub...lub...' beneath my tightening grip. I chose to stay silent, conserving my energy as I made my way toward the riverbank.

But then, you suddenly went limp, your weight becoming dead in my arms. The unexpected heaviness pulled me down for a moment, and with it came the first tendril of dread, tightening around my own heart.

I curse out loud as I drag us both to land, yanking you out of the water as far as I can before laying you down on the rocky riverbank. Your knees remain submerged as I roll you onto your side, shoving one hand into your stomach, desperately trying to massage the water from your lungs.

"Come on... get it out... you can do it," I urge, my voice trembling as I press deeper into your stomach. You fold forward, and small spurts of water bubble from your mouth and nose. I tap your cheek, pull your chin down to let the water drain, then quickly turn you onto your back. Small pebbles and dirt cling to your cheek and arm as you fall limply onto the ground.

"Hey. Hey, can you hear me?" I ask, my voice tight with fear as I rub your sternum with my knuckles, but there’s no response. I press my hand against your chest and lean down, my ear close to your mouth, straining to catch any sign of life.

"1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10," I count softly, my voice barely a whisper, desperately listening for something, anything. I swear I can . feel a faint flutter against my palm, but dread still tightens in my chest as I wait, hoping against hope for you to breathe.

"God damn it," I mutter, my voice cracking with panic as I tilt your head back, knowing that every second counts. I have only a small window of opportunity to make a difference. Pinching your nose shut, I seal my lips over yours, taking a deep breath and exhaling forcefully, my hand pressing hard on your chest to feel it rise. There’s a whoosh of air, and your cheeks puff out, but your chest barely moves, only rising a fraction.

I try again, desperation clawing at me as I exhale with all my might, but this time, the air comes with a wet, gurgling sound from deep within your lungs. I move quickly, my heart pounding in my ears as I swing one leg over your waist. My hands scramble to tear apart your already tattered shirt, fingers trembling with urgency as I locate the right spot.

The heel of my hand digs into your stomach, the pressure forcing the air out with a grim precision. My interlocked hands press down hard, squeezing and pushing upwards with all the force I can muster, then releasing. Each compression sends a shudder through your body, your chest rising slightly with each push, but the process is agonizingly slow. The air bubbles and gurgles, and your body is heavy and unresponsive beneath my hands.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I continue, my movements frantic. I press down, heaving with a relentless urgency, trying to force the water out of your lungs. Your body responds with involuntary convulsions, each compression accompanied by a faint, distressing gurgle. My own breath comes in ragged gasps as I fight against the encroaching sense of hopelessness, praying for any sign of life.

" Come on!" i yell out, my movements getting violent as every second passes until your whole body goes rigid, your chest jerking up and down as a flood of water escapes from your water logged body. i scramble off you, turning your head to the side and letting you cough up what seems like the whole river.

The convulsions are violent, making the sudden stillness that follows all the more horrifying. I tilt your head back and press my lips to yours, exhaling deeply into you. From the corner of my eye, I finally see your chest swell with air. You exhale weakly, and I push another slow breath into you, ensuring your chest rises and falls.

I check for a pulse again, my fingers trembling as I press against your neck, hoping for a sign of life. There’s no help around, no one else to take over. It’s just me and you, and I pray that you’ll keep breathing, that your heart will keep beating, and that you haven’t been pushed -too far.

But there’s no beat, not even a flutter—just a chilling stillness...

"You gotta fight and come back!" I shout, my voice echoing with raw urgency as I press down on your chest, my hands interlocking firmly. Your pale blue nipple protrudes from the gap between my fingers, a stark reminder of your fragility. I don’t know you, know nothing about you, but I can’t let you slip away. I refuse to give up.

I press down, and your chest caves with surprising ease. Your shoulders rock forward with each compression, and the veins on your neck stand out more with every push. You had to come back. Just moments ago, I felt the faint flutter of your heartbeat. It couldn’t end like this.

"25...26...27...28...29...30," I count, pausing briefly to give you more air. Your chest expands sharply, forming a tight slope down to your stomach. Your lips, soft and plump against mine, are icy cold, an unsettling contrast to the warmth I’m trying to give you. I will my own heat into you as I breathe another breath into your lungs before resuming the compressions.

"Come on," I urge desperately. Your chest sinks deep with each compression, and your whole body sways slightly, each movement drawing me into the rhythm of life and death. The tension in your muscles is a stark contrast to the limpness of your form, and the coldness of your skin against mine sends a shiver down my spine. Every second feels like an eternity as I fight to revive you, hoping against hope that you'll respond, that you'll fight your way back to consciousness.

Your head rolls to the side, water churning at your feet as your legs sway harshly. Wet hiccups erupt from your throat as a fine spray of water gets pushed out. "come back. " the tremor in my voice is apparent as i lean down and press my ear to your chest.

"Please...Please.." i whimper

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Hi, do you use Skype?

Nope

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Hello. I checked out your blog, and I like your content. I am also passionate about resus, heartbeat defib, etc... Can I get to know you and your passion more?

Just realized I had asks! So sorry if you've been waiting long for a reply. My DMs are open.

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He rolled his eyes as he stood, she must have been trying to break her own record in the shower. She wasn’t one for taking a two minute shower, but she wasn’t singing like she usually did. Shrugging he called her name. When she failed to answer, he’d pulled the covers back and made his way to the bathroom.

Pulling the door open, he stuck his head round. He could just about see through the condensation that had built on the double shower door, but there was no mistaking her figure slumped under the shower head. She was almost twisted to one side, her head hanging limply in the corner of the cubicle.

“Christ” he breathed, moving fully in to the room. The shower door swung open, and he barely noticed the water still running freely as he knelt beside her. He grasped her chin between his fingers, rolling her pale face towards him. He swept the sodden hair away from her eyes. Her soft lips were tinged with blue but she was breathing, very shallow, rasping breaths. Her chest almost vacuuming as she struggled to take in much air. Supporting her neck, he sealed his lips over her own and gently breathed in to her mouth.

“Talk to me” he begged, as he moved her to the centre of the cubicle, “please.”

Without thinking, he tipped her head back and tugged at her chin. He pressed his lips to hers and exhaled, in the hope it may help steady her breathing. Pulling back, he couldn’t help but notice the way her green eyes seemed to sparkle under the warmth of the bathroom light. The way her skin was so pale, it seemed see through and her lips had lost their pink hue, and now seemed to be greying rapidly.

He ran the back of his hand over her cold, clammy cheek and trailed his fingers down to her sternum. Leaning forward, he pressed his ear to her damp chest, her pulse was weak and jittery at best. Curling his fingers in to his palm, he applied pressure to the base of her sternum, almost digging his knuckles in as he attempted to stir her heart a little.

Biting his lip, he placed his right hand down, between her breasts, flat against her sternum. With his left hand on top, he noticed how his large hands swallowed the negative space, as he rocked his weight in to her pale chest. His hands sunk in to her cleavage, forcing her quivering muscle to contract with each compression.

His mind was racing but he was sure he had seen a defibrillator on the wall, out in the hotel corridor. He quickly sealed her nose and breathed in to her waiting mouth, before pulling himself up from his knees and making a run for the defibrillator.

Pulling a fluffy white towel from the bale above him, he dropped it on the floor, before moving her out of the shower and gently rubbing her chest down with it. He placed the first large AED pad in the centre of her chest and rolling her against his knee, he managed to press the second pad to the centre of her back. Once again, her eyes caught his. Unmoving, yet sparkling under the light, he found himself pinned by her vacant emerald stare. Gently stroking her cheek, he turned to the machine and hit the analyse button.

Nothing. The machine bleated instructions at him… no shockable rhythm… continue CPR. The words seemed to hang in mid-air.

“Fuck” he hissed, eyeing the AED.

He shifted, straddling her waist. The span of his hands seemed to cover the AED pad, as he pushed down against her sternum, easily falling in to a rhythm as he forced her weak muscle to beat.

Leaning over, he brushed his hand over her forehead. Keeping her head tilted, he grasped her chin, her ashen lips parting, as he pinched her nose. He felt a slight shiver run through him as his lips touched the iciness of her own. He breathed out, feeling her chest swell against his own. His lips were back on hers the second her chest fell still. He exhaled quite harshly, once again the only movement, his oxygen forcing her chest up against his own.

He leaned back, still astride her waist, rubbing his face with both hands. Why was this not working? She should be breathing on her own!

“Come on, beautiful” his eyes were stinging, tears threatening.

He placed his hands in the valley between her breasts again. Rapidly, he pounded her sternum with compressions. The motion was so forceful, wisps of air seemed to escape her lips between compressions.

Moving quickly from on top of her, he jabbed the analyse button, as the machine whirred to life, he pressed his lips to hers, one hand resting on her chest, feeling it move as he breathed for her.

The machine signalled that she was shockable. He gently kissed her forehead as he pressed the shock button. Her shoulders twitched slightly and she fell still. He sighed heavily, frustrated. The AED analysed her lifeless form once more, this time discharging 360J in to her quivering heart. The electricity squeezed her heart, gripping her body. Every one of her limbs seemed to tense, her shoulders magnetised, rising momentarily. A small grunt left her parted lips as her back hit the floor… still again.

Looking from her bruised chest to her expressionless face, he roughly pinched her nose and pressed his lips to hers, breathing sharp breaths in to her lungs, filling her chest repeatedly. His free hand pulled at the AED pad, removing it and replacing it with his fist, once again digging his knuckles in to her sternum, vigorously rubbing.

A choking noise rose from her throat as he breathed for her. He pulled her up against him, his hand still between her breasts, encouraging her heart back in to rhythm.

He laid a gently kiss in her still damp hair, “Never do that again.” He breathed, “Never.”

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can i get a "hell yeah!" for vocal rescuers? 🙌 just some of my faves;

"come on, stay with me!"

"breathe, goddammit!"

"just hold on a little longer..."

"you're not dying on me today!"

"give me somethin' here, come on..."

"fuck, i can't feel a pulse!"

ugh, my little heart can barely handle it! <3

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A “Choose Your Own Adventure” resus story. Highly recommended.

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Attention Whump Community!

Clogging disability tags is a massive problem that we need to address. Many tags, especially those surrounding permanent injuries, paralysis, vision loss and certain illnesses have become unusable due to being flooded with unrelated things. Yes, that includes your writing. Those tags are not for you. It's isolating, frustrating and depressing to try finding a community and other people who share your issues but all that comes up is whump, fandom shit, gifs, headcanons, etc.

I'm newly paralyzed. I have looked at many tags surrounding paralysis, trying to find support, a community, anything of people struggling with the same thing. Nothing. There's barely anything for us in the general disabilty tags. I am BEGGING you to understand and recognize how AWFUL it is.

So, I have a proposition. A tag you can and should use exclusively for disability content in whump writing. Not any other tag surrounding disability, lest you'll clog it up.

#disabled whumpee

It's tempting to use more specific tags, I get it. Due to being in the whump community myself I know #medical whump is already a tag. You have those tags. Use them. Don't use the disability tags. Don't clog up the few spaces us disabled people have.

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From TV series Modry Kod

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The only way I like to be rode

This is how she prefers to be rode....

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I’ve always enjoyed demonstration videos but this one amps up the drama. Very nice!

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All of my Resus fantasies have universal healthcare

Nothing kills the mood faster than crippling medical debt

(Yes I am American)

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Those compressions 🔥🔥

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What am I Doing?

"The fuck am I doing?" He asks himself as he pulls her from the water. He repeats the question like a mantra as he bends to put his mouth to hers, giving breath after breath until she coughs up half the lake into the dirt.

"What the fuck am I doing?" He's asking again as he once more fights to save her life. This time he is covered in her blood, one hand digging into her side to apply pressure to a wound he, shockingly, did not create while the other hand pumped her chest as hard as he could.

"What. Am. I. Doing?" This must be his favorite phrase because he is mumbling to himself like it's the only sentence he knows as he presses the paddles into her skin and discharges the shock. He winces as she jerks, twitches, and makes the worst noise as her body attempts to take in a breath. The line goes flat and he starts over.

He is supposed to hate her. He's supposed to want her dead, so why did he get sick every time her pulse couldn't be found? Why did he fight so hard to get her breathing again? It didn't make sense. He must be insane.

"What am I doing?" He whispers as he kisses a trail down her chest, where that heart is beating a rapid dance against his lips just like he knew it would be. She sighs, shifts under him and runs her fingers through his hair. Doesn't matter what he's doing, he decides, as long as he is doing it to her.

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I want to be in control, complete control, of my sickly lover whose heart is to weak and lungs to tired, their body over all being just far to fragile. I don't want to control them in your stock standard idea of control and domination that typically leans into darker elements like deprivation/punishment/etc. (cause while its not terrible, it just doesn't float my boat). no, I want to control them in a soft and caring manner; I want to control them because I want to keep them safe, to protect them from the world, to keep anyone from hurting them or tainting their already sick body.

I want to keep them tucked away somewhere, where the outside world can't hurt them, where I can be the only one their floaty eyes lay themselves on, where I am I the only one who sees their soft smiles and hears their gentle voice.

I want to keep him in a hospital-esque room, to keep him laid up in a hospital bed and in those pretty, baby blue hospital gowns, dwarfed by layers of thin blankets and soft white sheets. I want him entangled in lines and wires, constantly hooked up to a monitor, the soft beeping of the EKG filling the room. I want to be able to monitor every part of his being, I want to know about every beat of his heart, every breath his takes, everything.

I want to practically pounce on him every time his heart gets a little to so slow for my liking, straddling his bony hips (gonna make a post about how horny straddling makes me too), forcing a fraction of my weight into his brittle chest, locking my eyes on his as he gives into my care, head resting limply back on the pillow, his tired gaze cast through his lashes, as I control his most vital organ. I want to beg him to stay with me as I force his heart to beat faster and faster. I want to pump him full of morphine I dig more and more weight into his chest. I want him to offer me his lungs, letting me shove an airway down my throat, because as I much as I love to control and pleasure, he likes to give up and receive, letting me fill his lungs with my air, kissing his plump, pretty lips between each one.

I want to put him into long periods of bed rest where I have to do everything for him. I want to spend long days cuddling, listening to his heart, letting my hands rest over the small dip in his waist, feeling his ribs shift with each breath. I want to have to carry him around anywhere and everywhere he goes, even within his own room.

I want to use drugs to keep him at different degrees of haziness when his hearts too weak to support his consciousness, I want to use pacers when it refuses to pick up the pace, I want to keep him on oxygen so I know his lungs are getting all the air they can get. I want to hold his hands and promise him that I love him. I want to promise him that he's ok, because I'm here and I'm never gonna let him go.

I want to make him feel good on his good days, making his lashes flutter, alongside his heart, and pull sweet moans from his pretty chest. I want to repay him for how good he makes me feel. I want to fuck him until he can't think straight, till his heart can't take it, just so I can take care of him again.

all the while I want to be able to offer him time to have visitors, to leave the tranquil space I've created for him, and for him to not take up those offers, to want to stay with me and me only, to want to show me off, to show off how protective and loving I am on those rare occasions we do break from the norm. I want him to always have this gentle look in his eyes, to be in a constant state of submission, because he knows he doesn't have to fight for himself, that I'll do it for him, that I'll do all the hard work, his just has to lay there and look pretty, a knowing smile on his soft, kiss swollen lips.

I want that my life goal, my livelihood, my purpose; to take care of him, to keep him alive and happy and safe, to be his protector, to keep his heart beating no matter how badly it wants to stop. that would be the absolute dream.

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something I'm currently really hooked on fantasy wise is fluid on the lungs;

any fluid is great, for example a near drowning experience, but what I'm really hooked on is naturally occurring fluids that just seem to be endlessly supplied by a broken body, collecting in dying lungs, keeping my resusee from getting the air they need.

I want to feel them struggle, coughing and choking weakly, having to work their chest harder than they have the energy for, to get any substantial amount of air in, their lips turning blue and their saturation dropping anyway despite their efforts, all the while, getting to hear their helpless wheezing and the sick crackle of their lungs all the while.

then you get to have to shove fingers in their mouth to clear spit and fluid from their throat as they grow weaker and weaker, unable to fight their body any longer, maybe you cause them to gag, or in an attempt to help them, you block off their air long enough for them to flutter out of consciousness. maybe you get to suction them, shoving a tube down their throat to clear the fluid away, or press a stethoscope to their chest and hear their soppy, wet, lungs struggle to pull in air.

as they grow weaker, or maybe as they begin to code you have to support their airway, they're too weak to do it regardless, but the excess fluid makes it even harder. maybe you have to intubate or use an OPA, maybe you don't have access to those, so you have to do your damn best with your hands, holding their limp head in your hands, trying to lessen the obstruction between their mouth and lungs. you'll have to breathe for them past the fluid, hearing that gurgle all the while.

or they stay mostly conscious, but you have to press and oxygen mask to their face, assisting every now and then with your own breaths, maybe because they struggle to recover from a coughing fit, or because they simply can't pull enough in on their own. maybe they flutter in between conscious and unconscious, so you have to run their sternum harshly to keep them awake, causing them to whine and whimper against you.

it's just fucking hot, oml, there's just so many possibilities.

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Okay, but buttoned pj tops are such a cardiophile mood. It gives “laying in bed sick, so a doctor has to gently unbutton the top of your shirt to take a listen to your heartbeat, because you’re too weak to do it yourself” kinda vibes 🥺