Stranger Things
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art blog(derogatory)
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Noah Kahan
Discoholic 🪩
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
trying on a metaphor
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
Kiana Khansmith
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izzy's playlists!
EXPECTATIONS
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seen from Canada
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@flatlined-rose
DMs and asks are always open
💜Likes
-CPR
- Defibs
- Mouth to Mouth
- Hospitals
- Time called
- Crying
- Clothing removal (both stripping and medical context)
- Intubation
- Age play
- Steth play
- Drowning
❤️Dislike
- Blood
- Surgery
- Pregnancy
- Rape play
💙 Notes
- Victim Alpha, try and save me but I'm in control
- Sophomore at university changing out of pre med to business
- Manicdepressive basket tired of hiding this part of me
Goth Chick
Goth Chick didn’t wake up in the hospital, she came to. She remembered what it looked like from last time, it looked just like this time. Goth got her GHB dosage wrong again and was paying the price.
Goth felt something in her windpipe; it felt slightly less worse than the time she took a shot of vodka down the wrong way. She knew it was that damned breathing tube again, and that damned ventilator was pumping her chest full of air against her will to do it herself. Goth reached up to yank it out, finding her black nailed hands bound to the bed she tried to shake the tube out of her black lipped mouth but the residual effects of the GHB make her too weak right now. The rustling of her attempts to free herself brought the attention of the ward nurse. Goth heard her coming, and with a few seconds to think she decided to play dead. The nurse tried to rouse her, that failing she did the usual assessments with her stethoscope, pulling the cover off Goth’s chest to expose her black bra and electrodes. The nurse then paused the ventilator for several seconds to see if Goth was breathing for herself yet. Goth laid there quietly as the air flowed out of her lungs, making no attempt to inhale. It was uncomfortable, but no worse than the time she let someone hold her underwater until she passed out. The nurse resumed the ventilator, and walked off. Goth was a great actress, especially when the role was playing dead. Goth was sure she was alone, then worked to free herself from the wrist binders holding her to the table. Her left hand came loose, quietly, she loosened her right. Goth reached up to rip out the tube in her throat, feeling her way around the tape when she had a second thought. “Hey, I’m already in the hospital, hooked up to all this stuff, like they really saved me from something.” Goth’s mind grew blacker: “What if I let them kill me? They can get me back, yeah. I could really be undead. I could talk to god, satan, that senior who killed himself my junior year.” Goth thought about it, remembering last time she was here. If she pulled out her tube or unhooked the ventilator, they’d just hook her back up. No good. Cutting a EKG lead would be too easy to see, but wait! She remembered an old speaker wire that looked normal but was broken inside. That’s it! “They’ll think my heart stopped, then shock me dead!” Goth Chick had recovered enough strength to set about her task. She slowly slid the sheet down, exposing her torso. The staff had cut away her t-shirt, and cut the seat of her panties to insert a foley catheter into her bladder. “Shit, another awful tube in me!”, she thought to herself. But they left her leather skirt and belt on her, the belt that hid a buckle knife. Made in Taiwan, the blade didn’t have a great edge, but a good tip that could plunge into the thin insulation of her EKG wire. Goth pulled the wire onto the handrail, then began stabbing. Several stabs and a slight tug, the steady blips on the monitor stopped, followed a few seconds later with the familiar whine of an arresting patient. Goth quickly resheathed her knife, and plunged her hands back into the cuffs. She didn’t want to give her sabotage away, and she didn’t want to do anything stupid like stop the doctors from killing her! The nice thing about a teaching hospital is you never know who you’re going to get. Fortunately for Goth’s intentions, her staff immediately began coding her without so much as a cursory carotid pulse check. Some nurse jumped on her bed and began crushing her chest! The nurse stopped while someone cut away her bra, then began pumping again. The ventilator was disconnected, and a bag was used to fill her aching chest, then the air was squashed out again “C'mon, kill me!!”, Goth thought as she tried to remain expressionless. Goth felt the effects of cardiac medications start their way through her body; cold, hot, fainting. She deliriously heard the magick words, “Clear!” Bam!! Goth felt the pain of the shock, like when she bit the electric fence at a field trip to a dairy farm. But she wasn’t dead yet. Goth was paralytic, the shocks and the drugs pinned her down, she couldn’t save herself if she even wanted to. “Kill me…” The interns never noticed the disturbed sinus rhythm when the paddles were applied, just the squalling of the flatlined monitor above Goth’s head. Bam! Another shock. Bam! This time Goth couldn’t feel the sting, for her heart had stopped and the pain eclipsed anything the interns could do to her. “Kil…” The resident ER doctor moved to Goth Chick’s bed. He checked her pulse: nothing. He then asked the interns the usual questions. Then he grabbed the paddles and placed them on Goth’s chest. He glanced over his shoulder to check the charge and noticed the defib’s monitor. Perplexed, he then looked at the bedside EKG, then the defib again. “Oh, SHIT!”
I can’t get enough of this story. I could read it a hundred times. Such a creative individual, hehe. Love it
I was looking through my notes app and I found a bunch of resus stories I'll never finish, so I'll start posting them anyway and I hope you enjoy them even though they're short and the endings are abrupt
The fall from Olympus (written during the 2024 Paris Olympics)
It was like watching a trainwreck.
When someone jumps several feet up, it's only natural to wonder what happens if they fall. But like in a roller coaster, you know it's all illusion of danger. These are trained professionals. They train for years falling onto soft surfaces. There are protective mats and safety measures.
And yet she fell. Her hand slipped and she spun out of control and fell, chest first, against the lowest of the parallel bars, before flopping to the ground.
The audience was silent. The judges were silent. The athletes, the coaches. The cheery music kept playing because no one could move to even turn it off. The first to react was the rescue team.
They raced across the arena. That job was meant to be a respite from the usual bustle of EMTing. A cut here, a scrape there, a concussion at best.
But as Gabrielle reached the gymnast, she had the impression that today would be different. She had not moved from where she had fallen. As Gabrielle touched her shoulder, calling her name "Tatiana? Can you hear me?", she heard the cameras clicking, capturing this awful moment. She was all too aware of the hundreds of eyes following her every movement.
Tatiana did not move. Her eyes didn't even flutter. She was out cold. Gabrielle rubbed her sternum hard, trying to garner any reaction. Nothing. Jean-Paul, her colleague, pressed two fingers to her neck, then put his hand to her nose.
"No consciousness. No pulse. No breathing. Start CPR."
The last thing she wanted was to conduct such a delicate procedure in front of all those people.
"Get backup. Warn the higher ups. We need to get her out of here as soon as we can."
As she joined her hands on the center of Tatiana's chest and got started on chest compressions, Jean-Paul started speaking on his walkie talkie. The audience took attention to it first, at first with hushed whispers that grew into an roar. From the corners of her eyes, Gabrielle could see people pulling out their phones and recording. Security started moving, asking people to stay calm and stay on their seats.
A voice from the speakers came, telling people to stand by as the team dealt with a medical emergency and that the competition would resume shortly.
Gabrielle finished the first cycle. Jean-Paul was already back, tilting the gymnast's head back and pressing the ambu-bag to Tatiana's face. She was still flushed from the exertion. Her chest rose and fell and there was no sign of her coming back.
Gabrielle started another cycle. There were people speaking above her. Tatiana's coach, in tears. She had been a gymnast too, with a jump named after her. She wasn't even all that much older than Tatiana.
"Is she going to be okay?" She asked in a heavily accented English.
"We'll do all we can," Jean-Paul told her, pressing his fingers to Tatiana's neck. He shook his head.
More of their team arrived, setting up a screen around them so they could work more privately. Out there, people were screaming Tatiana's name, as if that would help.
Amelie knelt next to Gabrielle and got to work on cutting the beautiful collant, revealing the hard earned muscles beneath, all kinesiology tape, the small breasts. She'd gone paler now. As Gabrielle started on the third round of compressions, Amelie started pressing Tatiana's belly and legs, looking for lesions, signs of internal bleeding. If something that ruptured inside of her, depending on what it was, she had minutes to get to surgery.
When Gabrielle stopped, Jean-Paul was ready to place the AED pads on Tatiana's chest. The machine whirred to life, analyzing.
"Shock advised. Clear the patient. Press the orange button," it said. Jean-Paul pressed it and Tatiana's body seized, her arms and legs moving in unison. The AED hummed again. "Analyzing heart rhythm. Do not touch the patient... Shock advised. Clear the patient. Press the orange button."
By the second shock, the coach let out a wounded sound and walked out of the surrounded area. From the other side of the blinds, Gabrielle could hear her cry. The sound of whispers from the audience only got louder.
"We have sinus!" Jean-Paul said, bringing Gabrielle back to the task at hand. "Still no breathing. Let's get her out of here."
As he hyperventilated her, Gabrielle and Amelie made quick work of placing a sheet under Tatiana - she was small but heavy with all that muscle. Lucas and Henri came bringing the gurney once Amelie requested it on the radio. With a count of three, they transferred her to it and strapped her in. Jean-Paul checked for a pulse again. "Very sluggish. Quick, let's go."
They all moved at once, Jean-Paul breathing for her, the others helping carry the gurney and the curtains. Cameras clicked, trying to catch a glimpse of if the gymnast was alive or dead. Even if they did, they wouldn't know. Her destiny was still up in the air.
Heartbeat and CPR on my girlfriend ❤️
What do you think she sounds like?
(Also this is the closest you all getting to an video of me)
I know this isn't anything special, but it's safe to say my heart has missed it.
I'm not active on OnlyFans yet, this is just a little teaser for you all ❤️
If you'd be interested in seeing me come back and start posting videos regularly again, let me know in the comments. Thank you all ❤️
Little wip of some resus play I've been hanging on to, let's see if this stays up
"Breathe, Silvia" Part 4
The ambulance skidded to a stop beneath the hospital’s emergency bay lights, tires squealing softly as the rear doors flung open. The paramedics leaped into action, unloading the stretcher with practiced speed. Silvia, still pale and trembling beneath the oxygen mask, was alive but just barely.
“She’s got a pulse, but she’s circling the drain,” the female medic shouted to the ER team rushing toward them. “Oxygen at 15 liters. We need a crash room ready—she coded twice en route!”
Jesus jumped out of the rig behind them, stumbling slightly, his legs like jelly. “I—I’m going with her.” The older medic placed a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “This is gonna get rough in there. You sure?”
Jesus didn’t hesitate. “I’m not leaving her again.”
The paramedic nodded and waved him forward. “Then stay out of the way and don’t touch anything.”
They rolled Silvia down the hallway at a sprint, the stretcher wheels rattling against the floor, the fluorescent lights overhead flashing across her face like stuttering lightning. The air was heavy with urgency, monitors beeping, nurses barking out vitals, and doctors rushing to clear the path to the trauma bay.
As soon as they entered the resuscitation room, a team of ER staff surrounded Silvia like a pit crew. Her gurney was locked in place as her vitals were rattled off.
“BP’s dropping—she’s hypotensive again!”
“Pulse thready—getting weaker!”
“Push fluids, wide open. Get a second line in. Call respiratory and prep for intubation.”
“Remove everything,” one of the nurses ordered, snapping on fresh gloves.
Jesus stood just inside the doorway, pressed against the wall, his heart in his throat as he watched the team descend around Silvia. They began cutting away the last of her clothes with surgical shears swift, and efficient, The fabric fell in tatters to the floor, leaving her bare beneath the fluorescent lights.
Someone draped a thin sheet over her lower half, but everything else remained exposed. Electrodes were quickly reapplied to her chest, an IV was jammed into her other arm. Her skin was pale, a bluish tinge just beginning to creep around her lips.
Then her body gave a sudden shudder.
The monitor wailed.
“She's coding again!” a nurse shouted.
Jesus’s breath caught. “No—no, not again.”
“Flatline. Full arrest!”
The sheet was removed fully exposing her.
“Start compressions!” The lead Doctor said.
A nurse climbed onto a step stool beside the bed and began chest compressions immediately, her elbows locked, hands positioned firmly over Silvia’s sternum. Silvia’s body jolted under each thrust forceful. Her chest caved rhythmically beneath the medic’s weight, her head bobbing slightly from the movement, arms limp at her sides. Her breasts jiggled from the force.
Another nurse was already prepping the defibrillator. Gel pads were slapped onto her bare chest, the machine charging with a rising, electric whine. "shes in VFIB stand clear"
“Charging to 200 joules. Clear!”
Everyone stepped back.
Jesus froze as Silvia’s back arched violently, her body lifted off the stretcher as the shock surged through her. The sound of the jolt cracked through the room like a whip, and then silence.
"Flatline."
“Go again!” the lead doctor barked. “Start compressions. Epi, now!”
Silvia’s chest was once again crushed beneath the weight of compressions, She was surrounded by people doing everything they could to force her heart back to life—but her body remained unresponsive, pale, fragile.
Jesus couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
But he watched. He had to watch. If she was going to leave this world, he refused to let her do it alone.
A nurse glanced over at him, her eyes softening for a brief moment before she refocused on her task.
The female paramedic who had ridden with them entered the room quietly and stepped beside Jesus.
“They’re doing everything,” she said softly, her voice low. “Don’t lose hope yet.”
Another shock. Another violent jolt. Silvia’s body jumped, then slumped again. Her Breasts glisten with gel and her nipples hard.
The monitor beeped—then flatlined again.
Jesus felt something in his chest crack.
“Come on,” one of the doctors whispered under his breath as he continued compressions pushing down hard on her exposed chest, sweat now dripping down his brow. “Come back, Silvia.”
A nurse leaned over and gently ventilated her lungs with the bag valve mask, the whoosh of air keeping rhythm with the compressions. Her chest rose and fell mechanically, like a puppet pulled by invisible strings.
Then—
A beep.
Faint.
Another.
Then a rhythm.
“She’s got something!” someone cried.
The room froze.
The lead doctor leaned in, eyes on the monitor. “That’s a pulse! Sinus rhythm, weak but regular!”
“She’s back!” the nurse at her side confirmed.
Jesus let out a choked sob, his knees buckling. He grabbed the nearest chair and collapsed into it, his hands shaking, heart pounding.
Silvia lay motionless on the stretcher, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead, her chest now rising on its own, slowly, unevenly. Nurses covered her gently, rechecking lines, and stabilizing her vitals.
A voice called out: “Get ICU on standby. She’s not out of danger yet, but she’s back.”
Jesus could barely hear them. All he could do was watch her—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the slow blink of her eyelids as she stirred, weakly.
He reached out, gently touching her fingers, whispering, “You came back… You came back to me.”
Silvia didn’t speak, but her hand curled—just slightly—around his.
And that was enough.
should she live or die ?
via
Bedroom Girlfriend CPR Final Part HD
My pulse is my business
Unless it's 0 then it's yours
