@pelterswelter - Tumblr Blog

DROWN/FILM

Story Content and Summary - 3,993 words. Kimberly and Logan are filming a drowning fetish video when things get out of hand. Explicit sex, both with a consenting adult and a victim who is unable to consent. Drowning, on-site resuscitation.

Kimberly took the dive belt from Logan and turned it over in her hands, her facial expression a mixture of trepidation and interest. Her face was framed by her blonde hair, long icy strands that ran down her back. “This will keep me from floating out of frame?”

“Yeah. And I got all of these waterproof cameras off Marketplace, so we’re all set to film in the water.” Logan grinned at her. “I’ve already placed and tested them. You got the script memorized?”

Kimberly rolled her eyes, handing the belt back to him. “Is it a script if there aren’t any lines? Yeah, yeah. I’m lounging around in the shallows, touching myself, not realizing a pervert—”

“Hey!”

“What else would you call it?! Not realizing a predator is watching me until you jump in naked, rip off my bikini, drown me, and have your way with my dead body.”

“Bingo!”

“Alright. What’s our safe… well, we can’t exactly have a safe word, can we?” She wrinkled her nose, thinking. “Three eye blinks?”

#resus writing

•18+ Adults Only

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#resus art #resus #cpr #cpr art

hthresus

The College Soccer Game

Part 1

The white-and-red Lone Star Response ambulance sat parked just behind the home team’s sideline bench, engine ticking quietly in the afternoon heat. Mike stood beside the open rear doors, methodically checking his gear one last time even though he already knew it was perfect. Gloves. BVM. Defibrillator. Monitor. IV kit. Everything exactly where he wanted it.

He adjusted the collar of his uniform shirt, feeling the familiar low thrum of anticipation in his chest. This was his first official game coverage since starting the private service. Not some random call for a drunk frat kid or an old lady who fell. A college soccer match. Young, fit athletes pushing their bodies to the limit under the sun. Sweat. Muscle. Vulnerability.

Mike’s eyes drifted across the field during warm-ups. Most of the players blurred together, but one stood out immediately. Number 17. Matt. Skinny but toned, the kind of lean, athletic build that came from endless sprints and core work. Dark hair, sharp jaw, that focused intensity in his eyes. Mike watched the way Matt’s jersey clung to his torso when he stretched, the subtle play of muscle under the fabric. A slow, private smile touched Mike’s lips.

This is why I started Lone Star Response, he thought, zipping the medical bag shut with a little more force than necessary.

Not just the money. Not just “helping.” The access. Being the one who gets to touch them when they break. When they need someone. When they’re mine for those critical minutes.

He liked the medical side more than he probably should. The control. The power of his hands on a body that had just been strong and fast and now wasn’t. The way a strong chest yielded under compressions. The sounds. The heat. The way everything narrowed down to him and the patient. It was intoxicating. And today… today he had a front-row seat.

The game kicked off hard and fast. Rivalry energy crackled through the stands. Matt was everywhere—tenacious, precise, that skinny frame moving with surprising power. Mike stayed on the sideline, bag at his feet, headset on, but his gaze rarely left Number 17.

Then it happened.

Matt received a pass near midfield. He took two steps and faltered. His normally sun-flushed skin suddenly looked wrong—pale, almost grayish under the stadium lights. He shook his head once, tried to keep going, then his knees gave out. He dropped hard onto the turf, body going limp. The ball rolled away. Whistle. Chaos.

Mike was already running.

He reached Matt in seconds, dropping to his knees beside the fallen player. “Medical! Back up—give me space!” His voice was calm, professional, but inside his pulse was racing for reasons that had nothing to do with standard protocol. Teammates and coaches hovered as Mike assessed fast: no response to voice or sternal rub. Pale. Clammy. He tilted Matt’s head, checked the airway. Nothing. No chest rise.

Mike pressed two fingers to the carotid. Weak pulse… then it vanished under his touch.

“Respiratory arrest. No pulse,” he announced, already yanking open his bag. He grabbed the BVM, sealed the mask over Matt’s face, and delivered two rescue breaths. Matt’s chest rose obediently, but there was still no spontaneous breathing.

Mike didn’t hesitate. He straddled the player’s hips, positioned his hands, and with a sharp, decisive motion ripped Matt’s navy jersey open from the collar downward. The fabric tore with a loud rrriip, exposing the smooth, toned chest and abdomen beneath. Pale skin. Lean muscle. The faint definition of abs rising and falling only because Mike was forcing air into him.

Perfect.

Mike laced his fingers, placed the heel of his hand dead center on Matt’s bare sternum, and started CPR. Hard.

He drove down with full body weight deep, fast, relentless compressions at the proper rate and depth. The first few made Matt’s entire torso jolt. Ribs flexed under Mike’s palms with every thrust. One, two, three, four… Mike counted out loud for the benefit of the crowd and arriving staff, but his focus was on the feel of it the give of the chest, the way Matt’s body rocked under the force, the heat of skin against his gloves. He liked it. Liked it too much. The power. The intimacy. The way this strong young athlete was completely at his mercy now.

After thirty hard compressions he paused just long enough to deliver two more breaths, watching the bare chest rise, then resumed. Harder this time. Sweat beaded on Mike’s forehead. His arms pumped steadily, shoulders working, driving deep into the center of Matt’s chest. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump was loud in the sudden quiet around them.

“Monitor’s on—still no pulse,” one of the arriving trainers said.

Mike didn’t slow. “We’re shocking. Pads.”

He grabbed the defibrillator, peeled the backing off the pads, and placed them firmly on Matt’s exposed chest one high on the right, one low on the left side of the bare torso. The contrast of the white pads against flushed-then-pale skin was stark. Mike charged the unit.

“Clear!”

The shock delivered with a sharp whump. Matt’s body arched violently off the ground, muscles contracting hard, back bowing, then dropped back limp. Mike immediately resumed compressions—harder now, almost punishing—feeling the aftermath of the shock in the way the chest moved under his hands.

“Two minutes,” he said, voice steady even as his own breathing had quickened. “Continue CPR. Someone get the backboard ready. We’re transporting.”

He kept going, relentless, powerful compressions, eyes flicking between Matt’s face and the monitor. The young player’s body jolted with every thrust, jersey hanging open and ruined, chest bare and marked by the pads and the force of Mike’s hands.

Mike’s mind was clear and focused… but underneath it ran a current of something darker and hotter. Stay with me, Matt. I’ve got you. I’m not letting go yet.

The ambulance doors were already open. Backup paramedics were arriving. But Mike stayed right there, hands on Matt’s chest, in complete control.

The backboard was slid under Matt quickly, straps secured over his bare torso. Mike barked orders with calm authority: “I’ve got this stabilized my rig, my call. You two follow in the chase vehicle if you need to. I’ll handle airway and monitor en route. Clear the doors.”

The on-site trainers hesitated for half a second, but Mike’s confidence and the fact that it was his private ambulance won out. They stepped back. Within moments, Matt was loaded into the back of the ambulance. Mike climbed in after him, slammed the doors shut, and locked them. The driver’s compartment was separated by a solid partition. Just the two of them now.

The sirens wailed as the rig pulled away from the field, lights flashing, carrying them away from the stadium and the staring crowd. Mike worked fast but deliberately, securing the backboard to the stretcher, hooking up the portable monitor, and starting an IV line in Matt’s arm. The young player’s ruined jersey hung open on either side of his lean chest, pads still in place, skin glistening under the harsh interior lights. His breathing was shallow and assisted by the BVM Mike had taped in place.

Mike sat on the bench beside the stretcher, one hand still resting on Matt’s chest, feeling the faint give with each ventilation. The ambulance rocked gently as it sped down the road. No eyes on them. No one to interrupt. Perfect.

He kept up the compressions for another full cycle hard, deliberate, feeling every ridge of rib and muscle under his palms then paused to check the monitor.

There.

A faint pulse. Weak, irregular, but there. Sinus rhythm trying to come back. Matt’s chest rose on its own for the first time in minutes, a small, ragged breath. His eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. Still mostly out, body limp and vulnerable on the stretcher.

Mike exhaled slowly, a dark satisfaction spreading through him. He peeled off one glove, then the other, letting them drop. His bare hand settled on Matt’s exposed chest, right over the sternum where the compressions had left faint red marks. The skin was warm now, slightly damp with sweat. He traced the line of muscle down toward the abs, feeling the subtle twitch of recovery under his fingers.

“Easy, Matt… I’ve got you all to myself now,” Mike murmured, voice low and rough in the confined space. His other hand moved to the side of Matt’s neck, checking the pulse again, but lingering, thumb stroking along the jawline. “You went down so perfectly out there. All that speed, that tight body… and then nothing. Just mine to work on.”

He leaned closer, the siren a distant drone. His hand slid lower, palm flat against the center of Matt’s bare chest, feeling the heartbeat strengthen faintly under his touch. The thrill surged deeper than any medical protocol. The power. The privacy. The way Matt’s toned frame was laid out helpless, jersey ripped open, every inch of lean muscle and pale skin exposed for him.

Mike’s breathing grew heavier. “I like this part too much… the way you respond when I touch you. When I bring you back.” His fingers pressed a little firmer, almost possessive, tracing the edges of the defibrillator pads still stuck to the smooth skin. One hand stayed on the chest, monitoring the faint pulse, while the other drifted slowly downward, exploring the unconscious athlete’s body with open, unrestrained hunger.

The ambulance raced on. For now, Matt was his alone.

#resus writing

severedfromthesource

Waiting 1/2

Yui succumbs to a paralytic spore on an alien planet, and it's up to Cohl to keep his heart pumping until it's out of his system. An unwelcome interruption might ruin everything. Features M resus, M rescuer, seizures (warning for brief description of urine), CPR, mouth to mouth, semi conscious intubation. The start of intubation and resus is marked in red.

#resus writing

fatalrhythms

to be continued~

get the rescue script here!

#resus animation #resus art

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lektoheart

Compression Update Part 2

I have re-done the side cpr mode using the new animation rig. This new animation has a few big changes from the last one.

Timing

The animation timings have been changed to better fit the motion. In the previous compression update post, I mentioned how I added gaps in between the compressions. These gaps are now baked into the animation instead. I also added a micro anticipation for the rescuer to slightly emphasize the motion. That change is very subtle, as any larger anticipation would interrupt the flow of the fast compressions.

Hand Position

Positioning the character's hands has always been a struggle for me. I tried out a bunch of hand poses here before settling on the current one. The decision to make the top hand have outstretched fingers helped a lot. The outstretched fingers reduce clipping issues with baggy clothing and larger breasts. I also added a slight flex to the fingers during the compression, which emphasizes the force and effort of the rescuer.

Head Motion

One of the bigger changes is the motion of the victim's head. This secondary motion helps to show the victim's lack of control and adds more physicality to the motion. This animation was easy to implement by using space switching, a very cool animation technique that people should check out if they're interested in animation. There is a space switching add-on for blender that made it easy to add and experiment with this motion.

Variation

There are actually 3 different animations that are randomized. These variations have subtle differences in timing and the head motion. And since unity can seamlessly crossfade between these animations, the result looks fairly smooth. I originally wanted to add bigger differences with varied compression depth, but large changes didn't feel very good in the game play. So the variations ended up being quite subtle.

Sound Effects

I tried making new sound effects. Sound design is something I always struggled with, but I think these new sound effects are better than the old one. There are actually five different sounds that are randomized compared to the single old effect. To make the new effects, I am learning how to use Reaper for sound design. Reaper is a DAW that has a better sound design workflow (at least for me), compared to Audacity, which is what I used to use.

#resus art #resus animation

hearttprince

I did something new! 🐇

I wanted to try something related to resus. It's a small thing, but I hope you like it~

I also found it interesting that, even though they are "immortal" (because Bellmont is too hehe), they need to die in order to heal. Ironic, but entertaining 🐇

#resus art

anesthesia-dream

Sedated Resuscitation - The Ketamine Infusion

This was a commissioned work - an example of what I could create for you, should you decide to commission me!

>>CONTENT NOTICE: male-on-male, D/s dynamic, consenting non-consent, dark cardiophilia, sexual cardiophilia, resuscitation kink<<

Sebastian was anxious.

The lean young man bounced his leg and let his eyes wander around the well-kept bedroom as he waited. He knew the doctor was doing this on purpose—letting him steep in desperate anticipation—but he tried his best to be patient.

It always paid off to be patient with Dr. James Moore.

Sebastian mused about how his long-time found himself in a near-perfect circumstance to be a dreamy medical Dom as he waited, what with having just graduated veterinary school a year ago—combined with the steady financial supplements he continued to receive from rich and generous parents that lived a few provinces over, he’d accumulated a robust collection of equipment for their scenes.

Sebastian jolted when James finally opened the door. He was taller than him—but only just—at six feet tall, and his muscular chest and arms bulged beneath his teal blue scrubs.

“Hmph,” the handsome green-eyed man stifled a giggle when Sebastian was palpably startled out of his thoughts. The patient stood up and eagerly made his way over to him before he could even get the magic words out of his mouth, “the doctor will see you now. Come on in.”

The walk-in closet beyond had been converted into a small but perfectly serviceable clinical space. It wasn’t Sebastian’s first time in James’ fun room, but it was his first time being led inside specifically to be drugged, and he was instantly enthralled with the sight of the setup awaiting him. On top of the inclined procedure table, there was a neatly folded patient gown, and on either side of it, there were monitoring implements for his vital signs as well as the recent addition of a fluid monitor for intravenous infusion.

“Please change into this.” James tapped the gown. “With nothing underneath.”

Sebastian quietly sucked air through his teeth at the dominant tone he’d suddenly taken with him. He cleared his throat nervously before speaking, “whatever you need, daddy…”

James turned and deliberately watched his patient undress from across the table. Sebastian was long and lean, and he was anxious to examine and caress the athletic body that awaited him. He grew more excited in his own quietly stoic way when Sebastian turned around fully nude, with his perfect cock prominently on display at the end of the thin-but-distinctive treasure trail on his toned abs.

“Should I put it on with the front open or the back?” he asked with a suggestive grin tugging at the corners of his full pink lips.

“Front,” James cracked a smile as he pulled it over his shoulders. “Now, be a good boy and lay down so I can take your vital signs.”

Sebastian did as he was told, and James pushed up one of his sleeves so he could wrap a blood pressure cuff around it. He set it to go off and clipped a pulse oximeter onto his index finger as it inflated.

“Nervous?” James asked knowingly when the display revealed his heart rate was hovering around 100 BPM.

Sebastian held his breath for a beat. “Well, yeah… but I’m also excited…”

James tapped the display over the fluctuating diastolic pressure number as it got its reading. “Your blood pressure better be normal when I get back, then. I want to proceed with the experiment immediately.”

His stomach did a flip when James demanded that his blood pressure be within normal range. He knew it wasn’t something he could really control—and something about those facts together had him intensely turned on.

Before he could ask where, exactly, he was going, James had already left the room. He turned his attention to the small monitor on wheels to his left and watched his own heart rate with fascination while he waited for the reading on his blood pressure.

The quiet hiss of the cuff releasing its accumulated air soon followed, and Sebastian blew out a sigh of relief when he saw it was 131/75—he knew James would find this acceptable. He watched with an idle, relaxed grin as the doctor entered the room again with an IV bag of clear fluid—he reasoned that must be it, and his pulse spiked with excitement.

“Good, your BP is normal,” James smiled at him with his eyes as he hung the IV bag on a hook somewhere above and to the right of the patient’s head. “I need you to be calm for this procedure.”

“I’ll—“ Sebastian inhaled sharply and shivered when James ran one of his hands down his neck and chest. He pressed into his left pectoral with enough pressure to feel his heartbeat beneath, and for a few fleeting seconds, he massaged his nipple between his fingertips. “I’ll try my best…”

“Heh,” James chuffed when his submissive immediately began to writhe and moan softly as his touch. “God, you’re such a little slut.”

“Hhh—ah,” Sebastian winced with pleasure when he pinched his nipple to punctuate his point. “You—you like it.”

“You’re right,” James said yieldingly when he turned around to find a previously-prepared sheet of electrodes. He continued to explain as he pressed them in place on the smooth, tan skin of Sebastian’s chest, “I’m going to put you on the heart monitor now—ketamine is a type of anesthetic, after all… and I need to know right away if your pretty little pump is going to take to it well.”

Sebastian felt a sharp pang of arousal grip him when James tapped his fingers on his sternum as he spoke about his heart. After a badly-stifled involuntary moan, he managed to say, “you know what’s best…”

He finished snapping the ends of the cables in place on the electrodes, and right away, the second display on the patient’s right side began to trace his heart’s rhythm, as well as his respirations and blood pressure. Everything came up normal for how visibly excited he was, and James swung the pewter-grey stethoscope over his head from around his neck so he could use it.

“Lay quietly and breathe normally while I listen to your chest,” James commanded coolly.

Sebastian nodded and watched with barely-contained arousal as he put the instrument in his ears and pressed the diaphragm over his aortic valve. He looked up at the monitor after placing the bell on his chest, and Sebastian could feel himself become hard at the intense wave of vulnerability that overcame him upon realizing just how much attention was being paid to his heart at the moment.

When James looked back down at his patient to reposition the stethoscope over his pulmonic valve, he noticed how tortured and turned on he looked, and he saw him reaching for his stiff member out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah ah ah,” the doctor tutted disapprovingly and pulled Sebastian’s hand away while he continued to listen to his heart. “I told you I need you to be calm for this procedure.”

“I think,” Sebastian spoke quietly, knowing his voice was very amplified to the doctor at the moment, “you’re just saying that so I’ll cooperate.”

James ripped the stethoscope out of his ears and let it fall on Sebastian’s torso before he grabbed his other wrist. He looked down at him pointedly while he held both his hands in an almost-painfully tight grip against his chest.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Sebastian.”

James’ eyes pierced his own like daggers as he warned him of his apparent options. He held his gaze; he knew James had to release his grip in order to continue the scene, but he wanted to let him know in no uncertain terms that this was one of those times where the hard way was the preferred way.

“When I let go, are you going to behave?”

Sebastian beamed at him so innocuously, it could only be interpreted as mischievous.

“You want the ketamine infusion, don’t you?”

“Yes daddy,” he replied airily. “Of course…”

James could sense the imminent power struggle about to take place—Sebastian’s heart rate had spiked, and he had a certain look in his eyes while he waited for him to let go of his hands. He waited a beat, then feigned releasing his grip—and he immediately felt his patient try to jerk his hands downward.

“Don’t lie,” James rumbled as he forced his hands above his head, where two soft hospital restraints awaited his wrists. Sebastian tried to struggle and wriggle free while he bound him, and the trace reflected his efforts, but they were in vain. “Now, be. Good.”

Sebastian pouted quietly in defeat while James replaced the stethoscope in his ears and continued his examination. “But I want to come, doctor…”

“Shh,” James firmly placed his hand over his mouth and nose while he inched the bell around his heart. When he was done, he repositioned it over his right pectoral. “You’ll come when I want you to and not a moment sooner. Be good, and take a deep breath for me.”

When James moved his palm away, the patient silently did as he was told.

He promptly moved the stethoscope to the other side of his chest when he was done listening to the expired breath. “Again…”

Sebastian submitted for the rest of the auscultation of his lungs, but only because he didn’t want to prolong the inevitable any longer. He knew what awaited him at the other end of this examination, and he wanted that and all that would follow more than a power struggle at the moment.

“Alright,” James acceded without taking the stethoscope out of his ears. He pressed it in position over Sebastian’s mitral valve, and with his other hand, he began to slowly stroke his now-painfully hard dick. “Now that you’ve calmed down a little bit, I’ll allow you a bit of a reward.”

“Hm,” Sebastian let out a soft contented grunt in response.

“But don’t get the wrong idea,” James quickly continued to put him in his place, “your bratty ass is going to pay the price later.”

The patient’s heart let out a premature ventricular contraction when James took that threatening tone with him, but he was otherwise unable to speak as the handjob grew more vigorous. He writhed and squirmed and struggled against the restraints, and he couldn’t help his growing arousal at the fact that James could hear every hard, snappy contraction that his actions were inducing.

“The faster you come, the faster you get what you want,” James said melodically. He was smiling, but there was something a little sinister behind his eyes.

“Yes,” Sebastian managed to say between pleasured sighs. He thrusted his hips upward and looked at him with a hazy expression that became more intense and lucid as he took in the sight of his doctor Dom leaning over him—stethoscope in his ears, hand around his dick, bell positioned just so on the edge of his left nipple—

“Ohhh…” Sebastian closed his eyes as a smothering wave of stimulus overwhelmed him when James repositioned the stethoscope slightly to allow him to massage his nipple with a fingertip. “Fuck yes, daddy…!”

“Shut up,” James instructed coolly without breaking stride, “and show me what your heart sounds like when you come.”

Sebastian did his best to limit how loud he was being and instead focused on the rapid climb of an orgasm he could feel fast approaching. He held his body slightly taut in a pleasurable shiver as James easily brought him to climax, and he moaned as he covered the doctor’s hand in his cum.

“Good boy,” James praised him enthusiastically as he trailed his gaze up and down his pretty naked body as he recovered. “Your heartbeat is so hot when you come.”

“Hmm…” Sebastian let out a happy sigh. “Just for you…”

James turned away to wash his hands in a shallow sink he’d built into one of the corners of the small room. He pulled on a pair of blue nitrile gloves as he spoke, “alright. It’s time for your infusion now.”

Sebastian nodded, still pleasantly sleepy in post-orgasm. He knew that James was giving him a chance to use the safeword by mentioning it like that, but he had no desire to use it—at least, not right now. He zoned back into reality when he felt him tie a tourniquet on his bicep, and he located a blood vessel to insert the cannula.

“You’re just gonna feel a little poke now—“ James quickly inserted the sharp on the inside of his forearm just as he got the words out of his mouth, and his lips twitched to a frown when Sebastian flinched and cried out softly. “I’m sorry. But it’s over now, and you’ll be feeling good right away…”

Sebastian moaned affirmatively and watched with intense interest as he removed the tourniquet and prepared the ketamine drip. He mounted the bag above the wheeled fluid monitor, made the appropriate connections so he could manage the infusion digitally, then inserted the sharp on the end of the cannula into the stopper of the port on his arm.

“I’m giving you more to start,” James explained as he carefully fiddled with the rate of the drip, “and then I’ll level it out when you’re in a good place.”

“Okay, daddy…” Sebastian replied distantly. It didn’t take long for the dissociative anesthesia to kick in—it hit him hard as soon as the substance was in his bloodstream. “Oh—there it isss…”

James chuffed with an amused look about him. He began to run his gloves hands up and down his torso as the ketamine fully set in, and Sebastian opened his eyes and looked up at him with a dopey, euphoric grin. “Tell me how you feel, baby. Tell me all about how good the doctor has made you feel.”

The patient let out a jubilant stoned giggle. “Whoa… I feel—I feel so floaty and—wait, what was I just thinking about…?”

James quietly readjusted the rate of the infusion with one hand, then resumed massaging his chest and playing with his nipples. “How good you feel right now.”

“Oh—right…” he sighed and settled into the vertigo he could feel coming on. “Uh… I’m kinda dizzy, but… itsa’… issa good dizzy…”

James inhaled deeply through his nose and moved one of his hands down to Sebastian’s cock, which was already semi-hard again.

“Good,” the doctor said pointedly as he rushed down to Sebastian’s chest with his mouth. A sharp pang of arousal shot through his own dick when Sebastian cried out at him abruptly sucking and biting at his nipple, and he reared back up to shoot his very flustered patient a sweet but evil grin. “Now, let’s see how your heart’s responding…”

Sebastian blushed when the doctor swung his stethoscope over his head again and put it in his ears. He was overcome with vulnerability in his defenseless state and had to look away when he began to inch the diaphragm around his chest, and he found himself staring at the monitor which traced his heart rhythm, respiratory rate and blood pressure. His heart rate had slowed down and leveled out around 85 BPM, and his blood pressure, oxygen level and respiratory rate all read as normal too.

“Mmm…” James feigned a concerned expression. “You’re a bit tachy for how sedated you are. I’m going to give you some oxygen, okay?”

Sebastian’s heart rate spiked as he said the words, and that’s all it took to get him standing tall again. “Mmkayyyy…”

The doctor suddenly became aware of his own erection as Sebastian slurred and settled into the intensely dissociative and analgesic properties of the drug. He found his oxygen tank on a counter nearby and twisted the valve to release the gas therein, then took the nasal cannula attached to it and carefully positioned it in his nostrils and around his ears.

Sebastian took a deep breath through his nose as soon as it was in place. “Ooh… this feels—so nice right now…”

James watched out of the corner of his eye how his cock twitched with his increasing level of arousal.

“You need to relax,” James said sternly as he moved to be in a position to better pleasure him again. “Relax, Sebastian. I don’t want to have to stabilize you so soon.”

Sebastian recognized from his tone of voice that the next part of the scene was about to start, so he tried his best to focus on the sensations that were exciting him the most. The sheer sedating euphoria was enough to make his heart rate climb into the mid-to-high nineties, and he began to breathe deliberately fast and deep to give the illusion that he was destabilizing.

“Huh—oh!” Sebastian flinched with surprise when James abruptly started to jerk him off again. “Ohhh… my god…!”

“Does it feel that good?” James teased as he kept it up.

“Yes…! Oh my god, yes…!” the patient shrieked as he squirmed.

James continued, but placed his free hand in the middle of his sternum and thrusted into his heart—just once—but it was enough to make Sebastian squirt, and his lips twitched with satisfaction.

“Patient isn’t responding to supplementary oh-two,” James pretended to report for the patient’s pleasure. “He’s destabilizing…”

He was right, of course. It drove Sebastian wild when he pretended to have another rescuer with him, and it didn’t take him long to come again with that thought in his head paired with his level of intoxication.

“Shit, he’s coding…!” James spat intensely as his heart rate steadily rose with the orgasm he was inducing. It peaked at 137 BPM and dropped off again in the moments following, and just as it was about to level out, James reached over and adjusted the settings on the monitor so it showed a flatline. “Come on baby, stay with me… daddy’s got you.”

Sebastian couldn’t help his slight grin and involuntary moans during the chest compressions that followed. His arousal was only potentiated by the euphoric effects of the infusion, and the mere fantasy of having been drugged into cardiac arrest had his heart thudding hard and fast against his ribs. He tried his best to remain still and limp, and fought the urge to kiss him when James pressed his lips against his own to fill his lungs with his hot breath.

“Come on…!” James grunted between tempered compressions. “Breathe!”

The patient shivered helplessly at his demand, but continued to lie still. His member twitched when he heard James pick up the hard rectangular paddles of the defibrillator nearby, and his anticipation almost became too much to bear when he realized the doctor was going to shock him for real. He watched through barely-open eyes as he gelled the capacitors over his naked body, and he couldn’t help a gasp when the cold, slick metal undersides were placed firmly around his heart.

“Shocking at 100 joules,” James exaggerated. He was really only charging a single joule, and would deliver it as a synchronized cardioversion. “Stand clear…!”

“Huu—ugh…” Sebastian grunted loudly as the current gripped his heart and stopped it for a moment. He felt James palpate his carotid pulse briefly afterward, and he looked down at his patient with concern that he wasn’t sure was genuine or part of the scene.

“Your heart rhythm is still irregular,” James explained, in a tone that was both a little detached and sweet at once, “I’m going to need to shock you again.”

“Please, daddy…” Sebastian arched his back as he begged, but the ketamine had him slamming his body back down into the table—there was an inexplicable heaviness in his limbs that made this all the more satisfying for him. “Shock me…”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” James whispered while he adjusted the joules dial to read 2J. He pressed the capacitors into his right pectoral and around the apex of his heart, rubbing their edges over his nipples as he did, and Sebastian begged for the defibrillation with his squirming body language. “Synced at two-hundred—clear!”

Sebastian twitched and gasped with the cardioversion, and the adrenaline of it all went straight to his dick. He writhed—both in pleasure and in pain—as James set the paddles aside and set the monitor to trace his heart again. He then used his stethoscope in a very quick examination, just to confirm his heart had taken the defibrillation well.

“We’ve got sinus,” James said while staring right at him. “We’d better keep him for further observation… among other things.”

“Other things…?” Sebastian slurred meekly over the steady beep of his monitor.

“Yes,” he replied coolly. He wordlessly increased the rate of the infusion and climbed onto the table afterward, with his knees on either side of Sebastian’s torso. “I’m going to resuscitate you unconscious now, Sebastian… and you’re going to let me, okay?”

Sebastian shivered at his voice, which managed to sound both dominant and pleading at once. He didn’t really register the meaning of what he’d said—the extremely sedating and hallucinatory effects of the higher dose overwhelmed him immediately, and he barely managed to reply before his mouth and lips seemed to go numb. “Of… of courssse, daaaddyyy…”

“That’s it…” James positioned his interlocked hands over his heart and locked his elbows. “Just give in… let yourself drift away… I’ll take good care of you while you’re gone…”

“Hhh—hhh—while—I’m—gone…?” Sebastian tripped over his tongue to get the words out between compressions. He wanted to know what that meant, before…

“Mhm,” the large man hummed matter-of-factly. He paused to inch the dosage he was getting upward a few more digits, but resumed before the patient could respond. “I bet you’re just immeasurably sexy when you’re coding for real…”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, and his previously sedate heart rate spiked dramatically in a panic. “Ugh—dah—no—!”

“What was that?” James teased through a sinister smile while he continued to compress his chest. “You have to speak up, Sebastian…”

He knew that he was giving him yet another chance to use the safeword, and Sebastian might have used it—if he hadn’t blinked and become stuck in the drug-induced visuals behind his eyelids. He opened his mouth, in an attempt to utter it anyway—but nothing came out. He had forgotten it.

James had already ceased CPR when Sebastian fell unconscious, and he rapidly undressed while his vital signs continued to tank with the overdose he’d just administered. When he was fully nude, he stopped the drip and removed the cannula from the port on his arm.

“Oh,” James moaned involuntarily as he watched the patient gradually slip into full arrest on his table. He furiously jerked himself off over his limp, sexy body—he was so aroused by this point that it had become painful, and he knew he needed release now.

He took the stethoscope sitting nearby and lazily opened it with one hand and placed it in his ears. Sebastian had stopped breathing, and his heart wasn’t far behind. He listened with delight as the little pump beneath his sternum struggled against the ketamine and the lack of oxygen, and just before it started to fibrillate, James brought himself to orgasm.

“Oh—my god,” he exclaimed shakily when he came all over Sebastian’s abs. “You really are so fucking hot when you’re coding.”

James immediately turned around and grabbed the still-gelled paddles from the top of the Lifepak unit and slammed them against Sebastian’s glistening chest while adjusting the joules dial with his thumb.

“Shocking at two-hundred joules,” he said over the blaring ventricular fibrillation alarm, “clear.”

He pushed into Sebastian’s heart as he delivered the shock. His chest twitched and his arms tried to spring up, but they were held in place by the restraints.

James watched as the line for his heart went flat for a few moments, but it continued to trace the life-threatening arrhythmia afterward. Seemingly unconcerned, James coolly steadied his grip on the paddles and increased the output to 300J.

“Defibbing again at 300,” he announced to his imaginary resuscitation team, just in case the patient could hear him. “Clear!”

The current surged between the paddles and rocked Sebastian’s body, but it was in vain. As his body settled on the table again, the traces for his vital signs went flat, and the steady monotone asystole alarm filled the small space.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” James assured both himself and his patient as he propped his knee up on the side of the table. He launched into textbook-perfect compressions the moment his hands were in place, and he watched how Sebastian’s body moved with his resuscitation efforts with obvious and acute arousal.

“C’mon, breathe for me,” he commanded when the cycle came to an end. He pinched his nose and tipped his chin back in the same motion, then crushed his mouth with his own to deliver three deep rescue breaths. He admired out of the corner of his eye how his chest expanded and fell along with it, then tirelessly continued CPR.

“Fuck,” James cursed under his breath when the second cycle passed without response. He found the ambu bag among his reams of equipment and connected it to the oxygen tank so he could ventilate him properly, and once the mask was in place over his mouth and nose, he squeezed it five times consecutively.

“C’mon, Sebastian… come back for me,” the doctor pleaded between increasingly vigorous compressions. He wasn’t allowing himself to be worried yet, but as the third cycle threatened to come to an end without response, he thought the patient might benefit from a hit of epinephrine.

He was mentally locating the vial in his head when the flatline was interrupted by an agonal rhythm. James whipped his head over and saw another shockable rhythm after that—it was ventricular fibrillation so fine that the trace barely registered it, but it was there nonetheless.

He urgently leaned back and picked up the defibrillator again, but in his quiet, creeping desperation, he forgot to re-gel the capacitors. James silently paddled Sebastian’s heart again, and he winced when he saw the dark outline of the capacitors burned onto his pretty chest.

“Damn it,” the usually composed doctor spat the words when his patient flatlined again. “Don’t give up on me now, baby. Not when we’re having so much fun…”

James gave him another two deep squeezes of oxygenated air before he resumed beating into his sternum. His stomach ballooned dramatically with each sharp push into his heart, and while the sensation of his chest bending beneath his grip was almost too enjoyable, he knew he had to get him back sooner rather than later and stopped so he could administer a shot of epinephrine.

“Alright, Sebastian…” James said as he tapped the prepared syringe with his gloved fingers. “Show daddy what you’re made of.”

He stroked the inside of his thigh with a deliberately gentle touch while he pushed the epinephrine through the port on his arm. He then held his hand and lifted it to hurry the drug along his bloodstream, and, after a few long seconds—Sebastian gasped.

“There you go,” the doctor gave him an affirming tap after palpating his femoral pulse. It wasn’t normal, as was reflected by the erratic waveforms on the patient monitor, but he was confident that another jolt to his heart would correct it. “Keep breathing—you’re going to be okay.”

After dabbing one of the capacitors with gel and giving them a quick rub, he gently placed the paddles around Sebastian’s helplessly quivering pump and dialled in 150J. The hum of the charging tone broke to signal the shock was ready, and James diligently defibrillated him once more.

Sebastian gasped again as his heart was shocked back into sinus rhythm, but he didn’t appear to be conscious as of yet. James continued to coo at him as he undid the restraints on his arms and replaced the nasal cannula with an oxygen mask, and when he was confident that Sebastian wouldn’t need it, he removed the port and covered the puncture wound accordingly.

When James was done getting his patient and submissive comfortable, he fetched a folding stool from his bedroom beyond and set it down at Sebastian’s side. There was nothing to do now but wait for him to wake up—and shower him with all the aftercare he’d surely need after such a racy scene.

#resus writing

littleheartbeat

I feel like when it comes to my favorite scenario, I’m much more interested in a more half-conscious state rather than being unconscious during a full cardiac arrest. I’m MUCH more into the victim being aware but in a twilight of consciousness, struggling to stay awake and breathe. They can feel their heart struggling and they can hear their broken gasps for air.

I’m crazy about lungs struggling to inflate, and the victim feels as their nose gets pinched and as lips seal over theirs to give them a rescue breath. They can feel their chest expand with every breath and feel as it deflates. When the rescuer stops to see their condition, the victim has a clearer mind, but they’re still struggling. The breath offered a brief moment of respite, but not enough to strengthen weakened lungs. So, rescue breaths continue with the rescuer timing their rescue breaths every time the victim attempts to breathe on their own.

I’m obsessed with the victim being aware of how much their heart is struggling. They can feel how close their body is to giving out. However, the rescuer prevents that. They apologize as they position their hands on top of the rescuer’s sternum, their sputtering chest meeting the rescuer’s hands, and the victim can feel the heat of their hands against their cold skin. They can feel as their chest begins to bend under the pressure of chest compressions, their body jerking to each one as the rescuer helps their sick heart finally beat properly. They can feel as every bit of air still in their lungs gets shoved out of their body. Their body’s in pain and their head becomes light as it’s even more difficult to get air in. The rescuer notices, provides more rescue breaths, and then continues with compressions to keep someone alive who is nearly gone already.

The victim can hear the rescuer the entire time. They can hear soft curses, words of encouragement, gentle praises, desperate pleas for them to hang in there. Their vision swims in and out, but they can still make out the form of their rescuer. Is it someone they know? Someone they don’t? Who are they, and why are they fighting so hard to keep them alive?

The shocks come in soon to try and restart their heart into a proper rhythm. It hurts much worse than anything else they’ve come to experience. Their body jerks as it feels like they’ve been struck in the chest, their back arching as the shock runs through their body, a strangled breath of air being forcefully squeezed from their body. They go limp, and as their vitals are taken, rescue breaths continue.

I have so many thoughts and I’ll be sure to add more when it’s not 4am

#resus writing

resuswhore

Re: what that last doctor was doing by himself, maybe he was putting a hand on the stomach as it jerked under the LUCAS, letting it ripple into his palm as he watched the piston jam into his sternum again and again. Maybe he was checking the pulse in his wrist and slid his fingers into between the webbing of the patient's own, tracing his lips against his cold knuckles. Maybe he stopped the machine a time or two to make use of those paddles. Sure, no sense shocking a flatline, but what's the harm when he's so far gone? Getting to watch his arms jerk off the gurney and his legs twitch up, shifting the blanket so more of him is exposed. Maybe he kept a hand on his femoral as the LUCAS forced a pulse through his limp body, occasionally shifting to cradle his pale cock and work it with his fingers and palm, even though it remains soft and unresponsive, just like the rest of him. Maybe once time is called, he's the one who insists on taking him to the morgue so as to not let a pretty body go to waste

mmmmmm, yes. hot hot hot.

I love when a practitioner gets a little handsy.

hands wrapping around either side of the patients lithe waist, feeling how muscles have stopped fighting, stopped giving resistance against the LUCAS's efforts, stomach soft and unguarded. bulging. maybe he imagines his cock adding to the assault, imagines feeling his cock adding to that rhythmic pulsing of his stomachs. or maybe just the work of the LUCAS is enough.

little kisses pressed around. maybe the doctor is being particularly gentle after all the work he has forced on this beautiful body. fingers stroke back curls from half lidded eyes, and he shuts them with a kiss to the kids that refuse to stay fully shut. kisses to the pulse point that are still outside of mechanical effort. even his femoral, kissing along the cut of his illiac furrows, until his nose is all but buried in dark curls, before pulling back. kisses to the corner of the lips, beside the tube filling the boy's lungs with breath. going oh so gentle. giving this boy all the kisses he will otherwise miss out on.

he might run the ECHO again, if the machine is still in the room. just to see that pretty heart get pumped. it's such a beautiful oddity to him. it's such a beautiful heart. outside of the fact it refuses to pump, it looks pristine. the theory is that the arrest had to due with something electrical. no Joel's of reversal. so seeing that pretty heart is a joy.

when he stops the LUCAS, or more so, when he lets it run to death and then removes it. carefully letting down purpled and bruised wrists from the straps, kissing them oh so softly, before laying them on the bed. then he rubs that destroyed chest. it feels far too soft. it's been pulverized. he doesn't doubt that nearly every rib has been broken. the sternum shattered. it's bruised a myriad of swirling colors. not to mention how the greying of his skin has taken effect. his chest pulses with breaths still being given by the ventilator, the imitation of life still vaguely present. his belly is soft and still, slightly distended from all the efforts force onto his body, aid and fluid collected there over the course of hours.

his thumbs rub over soft nipples and his knuckles rub into that sternum one last time, as if to try and will the beauty from his eternal slumber, paired with some... extra stimulation... as his hand finds the soft cock between his legs. a Hail Mary... of sorts. that's what he calls it anyways.

he technically hasn't called time yet, so maybe he gives a few compressions of his own. just to know that he did. that he tried. that he felt that body breaking under him. that chest submit to him. the sternum sinks in far too deep. he's working on a corpse, but he doesn't stop he pumps away. he compresses over the breaths still entering his chest. the effort gets his hard, cock aching in his pants.

it's not helped when he slathers the boy's lurching chest with conductive gel— the glistening substance has always been more satisfying than those frankly ugly pads. and he's all alone with time to spare to fetch the bottle —using more the necessary. he watches the still monitor for a moment as he presses the paddle into the boy's chest. asystole still. that hadn't changed. he cranks the defib up to it's max settings. pressing the paddles even deeper, ensuring contact is never broken.

he shocks him once. the body spasms hard. his back arches. his hands squeeze shut and his arms pull up to his chest. his face flutters with a false expression of pain, throat spasming to buck the tube. he's so reactive. it's gorgeous. the doctor is even more disappointed they never managed to truly shock him. he would have reacted beautifully when there was still a whisp of life in him.

he shocks again and again, never lifting the paddles. they press into broken ribs relentlessly, sending shock after shock after shock into the dead little heart inside. frying it beyond saving. it never had been. but now he knows for a fact it is done. and watching the body beneath him pulse again and again, spasming violently, is worth it. he goes again and again until the defibrillator is spent and can't independently recharge. soaking up every second of this that he can.

he calls times when he himself is too exhausted and worked up to continue.

and then maybe add a little groping while they get all the gear off too. pulling IVs first, and gently kissing and bandaging each site. soft words cooed as a comfort to the still body. chest wiped of all that gel, a rough towel rubbed over that shattered, bruised chest, but left still glistening. the monitor shut off and leads removed, along with the BP cuff and clip.

finally the ET tube. first he disconnects the ventilator, shutting it off, and then he assesses the tube. it's full of fluid. edema. the gauze ties are cut and the cuff is deflated and it slides out without resistance, dripping, the patients throat gurgling slightly. a little pressure the chest has pink-tinged fluid spilling from his mouth and nose. his kindeys have beyond failed. all that fluid pooling in the lungs. maybe the doctor will spend some time on that, if he had the energy, working the patients chest and abdomen with his head to the side, to pump fluid out, before suctioning him dry. just to have an excuse to spend some extra time with him. groping and assaulting his soft chest and softer belly, working it all out of his patients chest, thrusting hands into him. he can imagine how nice it would feel to have his way with the still body.

with the tube out, maybe he gives some mouth to mouth, kissing the boy firmly, taking in the feeling of his cold, wet lips. of his warm breath entering cold lungs. his hands gently cradling that pretty face and head of curls.

and once he's done have most of his fun, he can formally assess him for death. he knows he is, but it is procedure after all. he looks at the patients chart, his name is Noah. beautiful name for a beautiful boy. he calls his name, rubbing his chest, first with the soft heel of his palm, then again, more firmly, calling them name louder, then a third time, pressing knuckles into the broken sternum, name all but shouted. nothing. no reaction to stimuli. the body remains still and limp. it's unnecessary, and is even frowned upon in other cases, but he does a final stimuli test, squeezing the soft brown, now grey-tinged, nipple of the boy, feeling them between his fingers. he squeezes hard with a twist. no reaction.

then he takes out his stethoscope and listens for a heartbeat. pressing the head of the stethoscope deep into the flesh at each auscultation point. there's nothing. he feels for a pulse in the femoral and carotid, fingers pressing to the latter and his whole hands groping his illiac for the former. he waits longer then he has to, enjoying the sensation as the skin rewarms beneath his hand. still nothing.

there's no effort of respiration, but he waits for that too, passing the moment he is supposed to watch by groping the still chest. listening with his stethoscope, hearing his the chest reacts to a compression, hearing fluid filled lungs gurgle. how the pressure changed causes a miniscule little breath in. and as with everything else. there's nothing. nothing of Noah's own accord anyways.

then it's pupils. he pulls open those grey kids to expose lifeless blue eyes. there's no reaction to the penlight. not a flicker. they don't even roll back. they just stare up at him.

he makes the necessary notes.

"all done beautiful"

he covers him in a sheet. not before giving him one last feel over. one last gentle caress to the face. fixing his curls one last time. covering up that gorgeous nude body. and wheeling him out. his hard cock is hidden where he presses against the bed. he just needs a moment in the morgue to handle himself, to send this beautiful boy off.

he can't risk cumming in him, he's sure to be autopsied due to the sudden and unexplained death. but the doctor will stand next to his bed, uncovering him the second they're alone and the door is "locked for maintenance", taking in that beautiful body, before jerking off over the boys sunken belly with hand hand and feeling his cock with the other. it takes only s few strokes to cum, getting it all over the boy's bruised chest and soft belly. he wishes he could get Noah off one last time, it would she only been fair, but no amount of tugging at his now-warm cock will achieve anything. but maybe he'll go at it just long enough with some cooed words to feel like he could have achieved something had the boy been alive. only then will he say farewell. laying his cock down. wiping his abdomen off. giving the final kisses. covering him up. and leaving.

what a way to end his shift. such a shame such a young man had to die. but by god was he the perfect little toy. he'll live in that doctor's mind for a while.

#resus writing

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dr-jesusresus

Bikini Blues

this story was written for @torment-steth-repeat @torture-steth-repeat newest post hope you enjoy

The apartment complex pool was empty except for the body floating face down in the deep end.

Torment.

She was wearing that loud, colourful bikini again. Her dark hair fanned out around her head like spilled ink. One arm drifted lazily, as if she were just taking the world’s most committed nap.

He saw her from the gate, dropped his board bag, and sprinted.

By the time he hit the water, he was already screaming her name. The splash barely registered. He hooked an arm under her chin, kicked hard, and hauled her to the surface.

He got her to the edge, rolled her out onto the burning concrete like a beached siren. No one else around. Just the cicadas and the smell of chlorine and the sun cooking the water off her skin.

As he leaned his ear to her chest, she wasn’t breathing.

He straddled her right there on the pool deck, knees scraping rough aggregate, palms finding the center of her chest. The bikini top had ridden up; he didn’t bother fixing it. No time for modesty.

He locked his arms and started.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Each compression drove her shoulder blades against the concrete with a dull, wet thud. Water streamed from her mouth and nose in rhythmic pulses. He counted aloud, voice cracking, the numbers echoing off the empty lounge chairs.

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen.

Her tattoo flexed under his hands like it was taunting him.

Thirty. He pinched her nose, sealed his mouth over hers, and blew hard. Her chest rose. Fell. Stayed still.

Again.

He shifted his weight forward, using every ounce of his weight. Her body jerked with each hard compression. Her breasts glisten in the sun, a bruise starting to form with each push as he tries desperately to save her life.

“Come on, Torment,” he snarled, sweat pouring off him, mixing with the pool water already drying on her skin. “You do not get to die like this.”

Another set. Another. His palms were raw, shoulders on fire.

Then it happened.

A choking, furious gasp. Her back arched off the concrete as she coughed up water. He rolled her onto her side instantly, hand between her shoulder blades, thumping hard while she coughed and retched and clawed at the air.

When her eyes snapped open ( furious, alive), they found his face hovering six inches above hers.

“You… broke my fucking ribs,” she croaked, in a joking way

He laughed, breathless and shaking, and collapsed beside her on the hot deck, staring up at the merciless blue sky.

“Yeah, well,” he panted, “you stopped breathing. I got creative.”

.........to be continued if liked, tell me what to add as well

#resus writing

sick-candy-hearts

Most humans wouldn't bother with a drowned fairy, so Cypress should probably count his blessings when he finally comes back around.

He's not going to. like at all. But he should!

#resus art

oneandonlypump

Cursed, Part 2

<< Part One

CW: Religious trauma, internalized homophobia (moreso later), cpr, mouth to mouth, resuscitation, demons?, exorcism?, magical elements, explicit sex, mLm, male rescuer, male victim

William

The exorcist asks him a few times what he saw when it happened, what he felt. William grinds his teeth and shakes his head. He saw...something strange and horrible. Something that made his heart rate increase, his traitorous pump misbehave in his chest. He saw John beating on a man. Beady golden eyes watching from the shadows. And then, as he blew his own air into John's dying body, those eyes looked up and met his, locking onto him. At that moment, he had felt...evaluated. Judged. Like the measure of his soul had been weighed. Then, in the next instant, as the demon separated itself from John and entered him, he'd felt the same way he always felt when he stood at the pulpit—terribly, horribly inadequate.

He didn't tell the exorcist about any of that, though. The man had already proven himself to be useless.

They wait for the ambulance in silence. William wonders if Tyler will run. He's so tense and fidgety. But for some reason, the man stays. John is quickly pronounced dead, that's no surprise, and a sheet covers his body as it's carted away. Police arrive and take their statements, William isn't sure why, but he describes Tyler as a fellow parishioner and their little gathering as a bible study. Tyler's eyes round for an instant, and then he's nodding along with the story, but William feels bloody rotten for having lied. He just doesn't like the idea of being tried in the courts for negligent homicide, having found a dying man an exorcist instead of a doctor.

#resus writing

beatingheart-writingwoes

Tight Space

Summary: Having a cardiac arrest in an escape pod that's too small is a bad idea. Batu was great at bad ideas. Semi-sequel to To Boldly Go Where We Shouldn't Go

Warnings: Destiny/Sci-fi setting, tight spaces, cpr, intubation, extubation, Defibrillation

This was stupid. This was so fucking stupid. Let's try to rip off some arms traders, totally a good idea. If Batu wasn't currently limp in his arms, Phantom-7 would have punched him. All it took to down the man was a particularly hard blow to the chest, and now the Exo was shoving his body into an exceptionally tiny escape pod and hoping it could fit him as well.

#resus writing

severedfromthesource

Conscious/ semi conscious CPR my beloved

Patient moaning, groaning, whimpering during chest compressions as each thrust forces what precious little oxygen they have left out of their body. They’re sort of slipping in and out but they can see their rescuer trying so hard to keep them alive, pumping their heart above them

Them grabbing the rescuer’s wrists or reaching for their hands, not quite in their right minds. They don’t know their rescuer is keeping them alive, just that it hurts like hell and they just want it to stop.

Practically choking on the air being forced into their mouths via mouth to mouth or an ambu bag, their own oxygen intake is incredibly poor but the rhythm of breaths is going against the natural one their body is trying to take up. Or alternatively they desperately suck up any air they can get, grabbing at their rescuer and silently begging them to keep giving them air.

And defibs! Crying out as they’re shocked, clutching their chest. Rescuer feels like they’re hurting more than helping but their heart is just uselessly quivering and they have to do this to get it to beat. It’s just hard to justify when the person they’re working so hard to save is looking up at them with pained eyes and begging them to stop.

For my money there’s no better video example of this than What Do I Like About It- Ivy from 911biomed, highly recommend buying that video if you enjoy this trope

#resus writing

•18+ Adults Only

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borrowed-rhythm

@makeitbeat always knows exactly what his resus dolly needs 💙

littleskrib

In his keep

"My heart is completely in his keeping.

The world would be empty for me without him,

and I could no longer survive."

|211025

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