A dark cardiophile's rp blog

18+ only, dark cardiophilia writings, musings, and rp blog. Medfet, whump, torture, and so much blood.

[ththump]

Anime heart ♡ (Different speeds ↓)

Faster...

and slower ♡

[pounding-pulses]

are you still doing askbox roleplays? love reading your stuff, def some of the best dark cardio content on here.

Aww, thank you!

Yes, I am still doing ask content. However, I am on a forced hiatus, stress with midterms and work, and unfortunately, I've got some health issues that are interfering with my libido and drive.

I have a bit of a backlog now, but please feel free to drop anything in my ask box whenever, and whenever the 'cycle' let's me get to it I'll definitely make an attempt to respond.

Also, your praise is well appreciated :3

Again. I'm not dead. Just the meds I'm taking temporarily have put me in unhorny jail.

[take-myhheart]

Imagine listening or being listened to this way...

[heartbeatsnice]

I strap you to a chair, and insert a needle between your pericardium and myocardium. I attach the needle to a slow drip IV slowly filling your heart cavity with water. Increasing the pressure against it's pulses. How much water can you take? How long do you last?

My heart would definitely fight back, the beats becoming more muffled as the volume of water increases. My chest would be aching as it desperately thuds, skipping harder and more often. And just as the pericardium is about to burst, that’s when my heart gives out.

So now you may start compressions but that of course has the risk of bursting the pericardium and damaging my heart. Unless you cut me open and try to save my heart with your own hands.

[kinkbeats]

Realising I really have a thing for unhealthy hearts.

Aggressively pounding just to keep going at rest. A few steps up the stairs are enough to send it into a frenzy, thrashing about, nestled between 2 lungs rapidly filling and emptying. The heart can’t take it anymore; just taking those same steps back down would exert it to the point of losing its steady fast rhythm. It would start skipping beats entirely.

An unhealthy heart would make every beat feel laboured for and special.

[angelhearthb]

💓💓💓💓💓💓

[pounding-pulses]

The woman’s nearly exposed heart, already racing from fear, wouldn’t react kindly to being poked with the hammer’s handle. The first bought of pressure on her apex would immediately result in a massive skip followed by an increase in speed as the organ pushes back against the hammer.

The woman, Cait, would gasp loudly in pain as her pounding heart was crushed beneath the hammer. “Y-you don’t have to do this… Please, just let me go…” she begs, her breathing ragged.

"Well, of course I don't have to." I roll my eyes uncaringly. "You don't have to beg either. I'm going to compress to the point of failure. And if you'd like me to revive you, be quiet so I can enjoy my listen."

I continue to press against her throbbing heart with the hammer handle, watching the succulent pink organ squirm and thrash for its life. I push against it more. And more. Noting how frantically it reacts.

[pounding-pulses]

Nero gasps.

"you... You're sadistic" he utters. His heart slows down, with blood nowhere to go. It starts fluttering again... Almost to the point of explosion... Or at least rupturing. U see it start to slow and then again, stop. Blood seeps thru as a way to ease pressure. Nero was out. What would this sadistic man do next??

"I am." I laugh, with a dehemming stitch I cut through the threads holding your chambers shut. To aid his revival processes, I gently massage the organ. I squeeze on a rhythm until the heart begins to take one of its own.

"Back to life again. How unwise of you." I smile. "... I wonder what I should do next. How do you feel about needles... dear Nero?"

I draw a syringe and line it up against your left ventricle. I pierce the chamber and dump the whole contents of the syringe full of Potassium K, a chemical that will cause his heart to slowly lose rhythm into an A-fib and eventually failure.

[pounding-pulses]

"O-okay." To a fault, Riley is more obedient than anything else. He keeps running. Even as his lungs burn and his heart thrashes around inside his chest. Every so often, he stumbles as his legs threaten to give out from underneath him, but he recovers. The oxygen from the mask is letting him go longer than he ever could just on his own. 

After several more minutes, his breathing becomes audibly labored. He’s gasping and wheezing from his lungs not being able to supply his blood with oxygen fast enough. His heart is going crazy, struggling beneath the stethoscope, practically throwing itself into your hand. BABUMP-BABUMPA-BABUMP-bupbupbupbup-BABUMP-BABUMBABUMPBABUM-BABUMP. 

He might collapse if he’s not allowed to stop soon. You can see him fighting to remain conscious. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are rolling, but still he keeps running. Just like you asked.

"Step down."

I finally ask, pushing the gurney towards you.

"Lay down."

I order.

He's weakened. Deeply. Vulnerable. I can feel that bit of Riley.

"I'll need to an electrophysiology study." I tell him. "Just lay back, and I'll get right started."

But first I steth him, taking his oxygen mask and providing him with hydration. I hope he doesn't notice the leather straps on the gurney that I might have to resort to. But I'm sure I've worn the most of his strength out of him at this point. His heart still crashing about in his chest. Thumping away. I make sure to give it a good listen while I prepare the scalpel to make an incision.

"I'm going to cut into your inner thigh here." I explain so calmly, "and I'll send a catheter up through your body and to your heart to get a better look at everything. It must be some electrical fault."

I take a syringe to push into your wrist, a bit of painkillers, with just a bit of stimulants to make sure that even after you're done running and catching your breath your heart doesn't get to stop.

"Just rest your head. You're being such a good boy." I smile so brightly and pat your head. You're likely delirious now anyway.

[pounding-pulses]

I find the crash cart and hook John Doe up to a 12-lead EKG. The moment it turns on the alarms start whining. The monitor displays a pathetic, wobbly line. That’s not good, is it? I’m trying to start an IV, but all his veins are blown. This "scientist" really did a number on him. Intraosseous infusion will have to do. How much epi should we give him? Should we get a LUCAS to do compressions or should one of us get on top of him and do it the old fashioned way?

Push all the Epi you can anon. He's going to need it if he's going to make it. Push epi at maximum amount and then just a bit more. His poor little heart probably developed a tolerance. Help me strap the LUCAS onto his chest, and get that little pumper going again under crushing mechanical force. How long has our patient been down like this? What's his oxygen saturation?

[benditaentropia]

[pounding-pulses]

How about a victim with ectopia cordis? Under her clothes is a hard plastic shield in between her breasts, covering the spot on her chest where her breastbone should be. The only thing separating her heart from the open air is a thin layer of skin underneath which the outline of her beating heart can be seen.

What a wonderful and rare condition.

It's easy to access her heart this way, I'll tie her up from the ceiling by her wrists, and then I'll study different ways to apply pressure. First, I'll use an instrument, say, the handle of a small work hammer to squash that little convulsing organ, feel it beat against the pressure I put against it. I'd try squishing different parts of the heart from the apex up.

[pounding-pulses]

“I try to exercise regularly,” Riley answers, but there’s a worried expression on his face, being told everything sounds normal. The oxygen helps, but now that he’s running, he has to answer between heavier breaths. His heart is slamming against the inside of his ribcage. “Sometimes, I,” he pants. “I’ll smoke at parties.” He gasps as his heart throws another PVC. “If someone offers…like a…cigarette or a joint…” Another sudden and ragged breath as his heart skips again. “I know it’s-…it’s not good…I’ve just-…never handled peer-….peer pressure well…” Lubdup lubduplubdup lubdup lubdup lubdup lubdup lubdup lubdup. His heart races like a jackrabbit in your ears. “Hah…how…how long do I…” He can't finish his sentence, his heart keeps skipping and he has to focus on breathing.

"Until I tell you to stop."

I smile politely. It's no big suprise to me at all you were falling for peer pressure. I've already got you under my thumb. After all, I'm the woman with the badges and labcoat and fancy title. You genuinely trust me, you poor thing, and even if that trust wavers, or if you think I'm wrong, I still have the authority over you to get what I want. Of course, I am trying to figure out what is actually wrong with you. But only for my own sick desires. If I can diagnose and provide just barely enough treatment, you'll keep coming back to me. And I can just ever so subtly mismanage your poor pump to death.

But first, I need to diagnose you. I check back at my equipment to see if I can triangulate a cause to Riley's unruly heart woes, looking up from my monitor occasionally to make sure you're still running, your heart squelching in your chest makes the perfect background noise for all this hard work and research.

[pounding-pulses]

So… I have a question. I’ve sent you some requests involving female characters in the past, that as far as I know never got answered, and I’ve noticed that a lot of the ones you do interact with are about male characters, so I’m wondering do you only do scenarios involving male characters?

To be completely transparent, anon. Of the 36 asks in my inbox, only 4 of them involve female patients. I like female patients as much as male ones. But when I select asks, I just choose whatever appeals to me the most at the moment or select randomly. There's no way I'm going to be able to answer them all, so please don't take it personally if I don't get around to your ask.

[pounding-pulses]

The scared prisoner really struggles to speak without letting you know he’s out of breath. He feels dizzy and lightheaded. Sweat is dripping down his face and chest even though he just wiped it with the towel a few minutes ago.

“Archer. That’s my name… And my body is not fucked up, I work out everyday without exception as you can see. I used to be a soldier”

You notice his heart rhythm went up as he said that. He shutting his mouth and trying to breathe through his nose makes him look even more uncomfortable and makes his agitated breathing even louder. He audibly swallows spit. He’s incredibly angry. Such a tough guy like him, such a huge, strong, manly guy like him being so vulnerable. He is as terrified as he is furious for being so helpless. He knows he couldn’t fight in this state. He feels his own heart betraying him.

I smile slyly as I feel his muscles and molest over that frantically beating heart.

"Haven't been working out much now I imagine." I hum. "Though. Maybe you'd like to change that."

I have to rub his body down with a towel to remove all of that glistening sweat once more so I can start sticking my EKGs stickers all over his chest to monitor that heart, to get a real proper look at how the hole is effecting his heart and his whole body.

"And a soldier. My my. How you must've fallen to end up in a place like this. My little paradise. I have just so many questions for you Archer, but let's start with the simplest."

My eyes are like that of a snake's, as I look down upon him.

"How are you feeling, Archer? Well enough to do some chores and earn some... credit for time served? Surely a big burly man like you can handle just a bit of laundry for all of your fellow inmates?"

I entice him with an offer he can't refuse and a weakness I know he's not willing to show me. A weakness he is so deeply uncomfortable with, something he wouldn't dare show to the rest of the prisoners.

He's sweating so much, I wonder if he'll get dehydrated and if that will affect his heart. Oh, the possibilities.

"All that strength you've built up. How proudly you must serve. Surely you believe you're up for it? And if you succeed, I'll take a year off your sentence."

[pounding-pulses]

I've got a John Doe on the verge of cardiac arrest. He was found in the basement of some mad scientist doing experiments on him. Seems like a lot of damage was done to his heart. His body temp is dropping rapidly, he's not breathing, and he's barely got a pulse. I managed to intubate him, but he needs a real doctor, stat.

How horrible! Who could've done this to him?

Step aside my bold and compassionate anon, I assure you he's in the best of hands.

I start by feeling up that barely present pulse. Truly wobbling on the razor's edge. I grab an ambu-bag and start pumping the air into him with my own hands. Filling his lungs and getting oxygen into that ailing heart. The body temperature drop is bad, but circulation is more important. I need someone to get a bag quickly. I need stimulants and an EKG. Once we stablize him, we'll boot up an ultrasound and see what's wrong with his chest. But for now, we must stabilize him. And I promise I won't... sabotage any of his recovery.

[pounding-pulses]

Remarkably muscular 32 yo bearded prisoner. His whole body is covered in scars. Had heart surgery some months ago and was left with a ventricular septal defect. Since then he can’t work out nor do simple tasks without ending up wheezing. He knows something’s wrong with his heart muscle, but he wants to hide it from you.

He’s covering his left pec with both his hands as if he was protecting his heart from your hands. He’s terrified of you and being terrified is definitely not good for his condition. He’s got a huge scar right in the center of his hairy chest, over his sternum.

You feel him up. Arms and pecs are hard as rock. His jugular vein is visibly pulsating as he looks at you full with fear. Your hand firmly on his chest, palm over heart, fingers touching neck veins. The poor holey muscle is certainly racing, but you notice it has not much strength. He lets out some scared mumbling and anxiously tries to get your hands off him. He’s strong, so he manages to stop you from feeling his ribcage. But the effort leaves him totally breathless, his face all red.

His watery eyes are absolutely fixed on yours and he tries to breathe as normally as possible. His mouth is slightly open, you can only see his lower teeth and you can hear his repressed breathing. If he wasn’t trying to look calm, he would like to open his mouth as wide as possible and take huge breaths panting like an animal. But he really wants to make you think he’s not panicking. What will you do with him?

Oh~ trying to hide something from me, dear? How cute. The facade of fierceness isn't something a hardened criminal would like to drop, especially not behind bars. But you can't hide from that limp organ in your chest. And he's actually scared of me. I wonder if the other inmates have warned him about me. Really, he'd be an interesting case to see how his muscles are fading, both his cardiovascular muscles and skeletal muscles. Such a big bulky body, not getting the strength needs. As if we had replaced the engine of a 16-wheeler with an electric scooter motor. A broken electric scooter motor.

I swat his hand away easily and press my stethoscope deep against his chest, right above his aorta. Then, down to his raspy lungs. Those poor organs must be so confused. Starving for oxygen despite breathing just fine, rather the sickly and crummy heart letting them down. I should've been on his case sooner, but he's done an incredible job of hiding his pain. He's probably got a sweet damp rasp to his breathing caused by his struggling heart not draining fluids.

I grab him by the shoulder and force him to sit down and wipe his face with some towels. To get rid of that sweaty sheen and watch the terror on his face. Even though he is marginally taller, heavier, and stronger than me, my persistence would pay off. Still I need to make sure he doesn't lash out at me. He could get one good strike in, but that's all it would take for me. But such fighting back is going to take a toll on his heart.

I press my hand just under that pec, feeling his pulse beneath my fingers. The way his heart spasms sluggishly, the hole between the chambers makes the whole thing rather useless. His skin is so cold, a sign of the poor circulation. His rasping is so very perfect. But even more than that the fear in his eyes. Yes. He's scared. He knows I'm the mastermind. He knows I'm the head butcher. He knows that his little dirty life is in my hands. He's not the tough guy anymore.

I'm going to scare him to death, circling around him like a vulture, examining his heart from all angles and writing down notes.

"You have such a beautifully fucked up little body." I tell him, purring into his ear to make his skin crawl. A feverishly violent whisper. "I think a pretty little thing like you aught to give me your name. Not your prisoner number."

I make a great show of ominously putting on my sterile gloves, though my intentions are anything but clean. I'm going to make him gasp. I'm going to make his little whistling pump scream.