wlw resus

sometimes I’m reminded that there are still people who don’t know ao3 was literally created by incest shippers — and the site’s sole purpose is to 1. be completely against censorship and 2. host all kinds of dark, taboo fics that are banned on other platforms — and the first ever fic that was posted on ao3 was a fic about an incest ship from supernatural.

you are in the house that was created by freaks. for freaks (affectionate). every disgusting thing you can think of is rightfully allowed and welcomed on ao3, because they are exactly the reasons why ao3 was created in the first place.

ao3 was created because its creators got tired of censorship, they got tired of dark and taboo fics getting banned on pro-censorship platforms, and they wanted a place that was safe for ALL FICS THAT WERE DARK AND TABOO.

ao3’s main principle is being against censorship and being proship / profic.

there are some things in fiction that make me uncomfortable, but instead of shaming people who are just minding their own business and not harming anyone in real life, I choose to curate my own internet experience by blocking/muting what I don’t want to see. ao3 has excellent tagging system, so instead of being a bitch, use their tagging system properly and you won’t see the things you don’t want to see.

it’s your job to curate what you see. it’s not other people’s jobs or responsibilities to censor themselves for your personal comfort. the world does not revolve around you.

also you cannot censor “only the things you personally hate” without expecting everything else, that isn’t of conservative beliefs, to be censored too. because censorship is a slippery slope and a fascist tool. I promise you there are people who think “why do tags for queer love even exist on ao3? they’re grooming children”.

if you allow the things that you hate to be censored — because someone with enough power gets to control what other people can and cannot create/consume, it will not stop at the things that you hate.

NSFW, if you reblog please do not tag the fandom this is resus fetish content that probably wouldn't be taken well by that side of tumblr.

This is set for after the end of the movie. Rumi is out meeting with Celine, trying to salvage a relationship with her, and Mira and Zoey are at home spending time just the two of them for the first time in a while (there's been a lot of emotional processing to do after learning Rumi was a demon).

There will be choking, back blows, heimlich, solo rescuer CPR and double rescuer CPR.

Enjoy!

💜💙🩷

The two of them stood in their pajamas in their kitchen that smelled of warm cookies. Mira held the tray with a teasing smile, watching as little pink hearts seemed to fill Zoey’s eyes and she reached two-handed for them. “Careful, these are dangerously good.” Mira warned with a chuckle.

Zoey grinned, shoving both cookies in her mouth at once, crumbs clinging to her lips. She laughed softly at Mira, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, but almost immediately the laughter hitched. She gagged, hands shooting to her throat, her eyes widening.

“Hey, slow down there. Chew first, you weirdo.” Mira tilted her head, laughing at her shocked face at first. When Zoey’s expression got more serious she paused, “Whoa… okay, maybe that bite was a little big, huh?” she said lightly, stepping closer, watching to see if she’d just cough it up.

But the squeaks grew more frantic, higher and weaker, and Zoey’s eyes widened in fear. Her small hands clawed at her throat ineffectively. She stumbled slightly, wobbling on her feet, panic flickering across her features. Her chest heaved as she tried desperately to force a cough, her shoulders jerking with each ineffective attempt. Mira’s smile faltered, dread climbing her chest. “Zoey… can you… breathe?” she asked, voice trembling now.

The squeaks were barely audible, and Zoey’s frantic movements made Mira’s heart hammer. Mira tried to guide her gently first, hoping it might work. “Okay… okay… just try to cough, alright? Come on, I know it’s scary… you can do this…” She moved behind her and shoved her palm between her shoulder blades a couple times, hoping it would help.

Zoey tried jerking her chin upward, as if somehow how she held her neck would let it loose, but only tiny squeaks escaped her throat. She batted weakly at Mira’s hands, a mixture of fear and instinct to dislodge the cookie herself. Mira pressed tighter, murmuring reassurance through gritted teeth, guiding her in rhythm with the back blows. “I know you can do this! One big cough, just one! I’m right here!”

But as Zoey’s tiny squeaks faltered, weakening with every attempt, Mira’s heart sank. The fear in Zoey’s eyes, the shaking of her small body, and the color draining from her cheeks made it impossible to wait any longer. No. I can’t wait. She can’t cough it out herself.

“It’s okay… I’ve got you. I know what to do,” Mira whispered firmly, wrapping her arms around Zoey tightly, pressing close. She made a fist and placed it just above her exposed navel, grasping it with her other hand and making a quick upward thrust, feeling Zoey’s smaller body jerk against her, her feet leaving the floor with each pull up. She still only heard tiny little gurgling squeaks, so she continued thrusting, counting out loud: “One… two… three… keep trying to cough in time with me! We can do this don’t give up Zo!”

Zoey bucked weakly with each thrust, squeaks dwindling, her tiny body trembling violently. Her arms flailed instinctively, pressing against Mira’s forearms, the panic and desperation in her movements raw and exposed. Mira pressed harder, more insistently, guiding her in rhythm with her voice, each motion urgent and unrelenting.

Still, the obstruction didn’t budge. Mira’s chest ached, her lungs burned, but she refused to stop. Zoey’s strength faltered. Her arms fell limply to her sides, her head lulled, and the squeaks faded completely, leaving only agonal, failed gasps that barely made her lips twitch. Mira’s stomach dropped. “No… no, stay with me!” she shouted, catching Zoey and trying one last time to pull her fists into her belly hard enough to push the cookie out of her airway. In that instant, as if the body finally surrendered the obstruction, the cookie shot free from her throat, landing on the floor with a dull wet thump. Mira’s relief was immediate but shadowed by terror—Zoey was unconscious, and she had no time to celebrate. She laid her lover flat on the floor, shaking her gently, pressing palms to her cheeks. “Zoey! Come on! Please! It’s out now just breathe babe!” Her eyes had rolled back in her head, and her face was frighteningly blue. 

Desperation clawed at Mira’s chest as she checked for a pulse. Neck… nothing. Wrist… nothing. Without hesitation, she ripped at Zoey’s shirt in one swift, desperate motion, exposing her chest. Mira’s hands shook as she leaned over her, positioning her palms over the center of Zoey’s chest, right between those cute tits. If she stopped to call for help that amount of time could be what made the difference. She needed help now and Mira was the only person there.

She straightened her long arm out into pistons and began chest compressions. One… two… three… each push firm, relentless, pressing down enough to feel the ribs shift beneath her fingers. She allowed them to rise fully, counting each lift, feeling the tiny flickers of her lover’s body. It was scary to be putting so much force into her bones but she knew it was what was necessary to get her heart beating. She pinched Zoey’s nose shut and blew into her mouth, carefully watching for the air to fill her starved lungs. She repeated: compressions, breaths, compressions, breaths.

Minutes stretched agonizingly. Mira’s arms burned, shoulders ached, but she refused to pause. She felt every tremor in Zoey’s tiny body, every faint shiver, each one a sign to push harder, to keep going.

A sudden crash of the door made Mira flinch mid-compression. Rumi stood frozen in the doorway, her eyes wide, a bag slipping almost comedically slow from her shoulder. She had just come back from a stressful meeting with her mother, expecting to find a quiet kitchen and maybe Mira and Zoey sharing a laugh on the couch. Instead, she saw Mira pressed over an unconscious Zoey, hands moving urgently, and Zoey’s shirt torn and crumpled, her bare chest exposed.

Rumi froze, her stomach twisting. Oh gods… is she… is she okay? I—why didn’t I get here sooner? Panic and guilt collided, sharp and immediate. Her mind raced, but her body moved forward before her thoughts finished. “Mira! FUCK. I can help!” she shouted, kneeling beside Zoey.

Without missing a beat, Rumi slid her hands over the center of Zoey’s chest and took over compressions, strong, precise, and rhythmic. Mira moved to kneel beside Zoey’s head, holding her face in her hands while she waited for each opportunity to give her another breath. Rumi’s body was taut with focus, muscles coiled to deliver each push with precision, while her heart thumped with both fear and admiration for Mira’s courage.

She’s still here. She’s still here she has to be because Mira never stopped. Because Mira…would never stop

 Rumi swallowed hard, guilt and awe swirling. She could feel Mira’s desperation in every inhale, every press of her lips to Zoey’s, and she realized, with a pang, that if she had been even a second later, it could have been worse.

“Come on, Zoey… just a little more,” Mira whispered, her voice a hollow sob now. She went on pressing air into her lungs, while Rumi’s steady hands drove each compression. The room filled with the harsh rhythm of survival, their focus absolute, the intimacy of trust between them magnified by urgency and fear.

Seconds stretched. Each compression pushed, each breath coaxed. Mira felt Zoey’s lips quiver faintly under her lips, and hope flickered. 

Then, a tiny inhale. Mira gasped, eyes wide, and continued encouraging breaths until Zoey came to a bit more and managed to make her lungs inflate on their own. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open, unfocused, shivering between Mira and Rumi. 

Mira sobbed, tears pouring onto Zoey’s cheeks as she caressed her face. “You’re alive… you’re okay… I’ve got you,” she whispered. Rumi’s hands hovered briefly, a steady presence, before she eased them back, letting Mira fully cradle Zoey in her lap, still coughing and gasping, but alive.

Rumi exhaled shakily, guilt and relief warring in her chest. Mira met her eyes, and for a heartbeat, they shared the unspoken weight of the moment—the fear, the trust, the relief. Mira offered a small, exhausted smile. Rumi returned it, her own trembling lips quirking. No words were needed; the glance said it all: We did this. Together. She’s alive.

“Babe! Don’t give up on me! The ambulance is almost here!”

“Come on stay with me!”

“I can’t lose you !”

“Pulse check, hold compressions”

“Just breathe for me!”

“No, you can’t stop!”

“Bag her”

“Get her on the monitor”

“24 year old woman, down ten minutes”

“Last shock, come back to us girl”

“You have to save her!”

“Fuck, I’m not getting a pulse!”

“Clear!”

“Tox screen positive for opiates”

“We did everything we could, but we lost her”

“Nothing is working…should we call it?”

“No pulse on the monitor! Start compressions!”

“Her heart want strong enough this time”

“She didn’t make it”

“Baby, please breathe!”

“Shocking again at 360!”

“Damn it…Nothing”

“Doctor it’s been 40 minutes of resuscitation with no response”

“She’s got a pulse”

“Pushing epi!”

“Sweetie, don’t ever do that again”

“She’s gone”