DETACHABLE HEARTS: THE MEME

[likespurple]

The Detachable Hearts Meme

(content warning: blood/gore)


What if you could give your heart away... literally? A cousin of tropes like Soul Jars or Beating Hearts, a universe of "detachable hearts" proposes that the heart can be removed from the body without impairing cardiovascular function, and shared with or given entirely to another person. They say the burdens of someone else's soul are easier to bear than one's own, after all... but you should be careful about what happens to your heart.

• Respond with your character(s) and put their name|canon in the subject bar. Feel free to include any special notes about your character's heart.
• Reply to others.
• Although this meme is perhaps best played on a case-by-case basis, prompts for inspiration or RNG usage have been provided below.

1. Introduction: You've just learned about how hearts work! How do you and the people around you react to this knowledge? What kind of person would you like to hold your heart someday? Do the two of you agree or disagree?
2. Weight: You've grown up and your heart has gotten heavier. How are you supposed to tolerate this? Whose presence eases your pain?
3. Exchange: You've found the one, the person who'll give you their heart and bear yours in return, and now you're both ready to find something sharp and make this final. How does it feel? What do you do now?
4. Mistake: You've just cut out your heart... and it's been refused or rejected. Are you bleeding out on the floor? Will that person provide medical attention or call 911? Or is this the end? Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all.
5. Bereaved: The bearer of your heart has died. How do you go on? Do you retain that person's heart or is your ribcage empty? Is someone else interested in that real estate?

Comments

Annie Leonhardt | Attack on Titan

[hollowheart]

[speakveryclearly]

[IN ANOTHER LIFE]

I'm not sure if like is a concept that can be accurately translated across cultures. Isn't it different for you and us, physiologically? [And God only knows how that plays into a shape-shifter's body.]

You have this notion that every single desirable emotion would be directed to one person... and consequentially hate has no place in the healthy cardiovascular system. [She draws a horizontal line below her breasts, across her upper ribcage.] And for us the conciliatory emotions, pragmatic analytical interpersonal ones, they're concentrated separately over here. [The right side of her chest.

The upper left remains unindicated.]

[hollowheart]

Would you look at that. [There is interest. In fact, there is some very evident interest that even the poker faced Annie can't quite conceal. It's marred by a tug at her mouth that shapes her lips into a smirk rather than any polite show of appreciation.

And while she's quick to hide her personal investment in this concept she's been ham fistedly trying to implement for years, the smirk remains.]

That's awfully convenient now, isn't it? Partition your heart and shove away all these pesky emotions where they belong, separately.

[speakveryclearly]

Depends on your point of view. It means you can't get rid of them all at once. You have to give each part to different people.

[There aren't enough hosts left, of course, though that might change if she gets through this trial. There couldn't be anybody for her. She doesn't deserve it, if she fails at the task before her.

At the start of the game she made a casual proposal to Kaoru, thinking the other designated killer would probably be a worthy host for her diamond, and then discovered. Annie is not afraid of blood, and unlikely to recoil at a bright green hue of it. She has a really fantastic pair of...

Ribs.]

I keep wondering, whether the mammalian heart is therefore a stronger and more comprehensive organ, or if the significance assigned to fond likemindedness and physical attraction is just greater.

[If she were just a little more cynical she would say she had no way of finding out. As it is she won't rule out the experiment categorically.]

[hollowheart]

[Having a heart is an utter weakness.

The thought makes her sigh, running a finger along the brim of her glass. Having a hear gets in the way. Having a heart that consolidates all human emotions is a burden.

Having a human heart will be the death of her.]

Have you ever ripped out a heart while it still beats? [She asks idly, her hand closing around her glass, the moisture beading outside it dampens her palm.]

It's still alive for minutes, even with the arteries ripped and bleeding. It keeps on pumping in your hands, like a little pulsing machine, expanding and contracting as it struggles to live.

But once it's dead, it's as good as any husk. A heart is only as good as what gets pumped into it.

[speakveryclearly]

[She has to think about this. It's not impossible her memories could contain such an event, but unlikely: The censorship is mainly a veil for her, no outright censorship of the blood and gore.]

I'm afraid I lack any recollection of that particular sort. [She avoids describing her inexperience as outright unfortunate, thinking that would be rude somehow, to suggest to the poor sweet child soldier who hates violence. That's what humans call her - in peacetime. Annie grew up in wartime, didn't she? Kanaya has still not heard nearly as much as she would like about the institution, imperial or otherwise, that produced the most interesting girl in this mansion.]

It's so strange for the stratification of quality, when you have that chromatic commonality. You're all the same inside, with red blood, I mean. [She can smell it, too; though Susan's suggestions have smothered the scent's power over her, that doesn't mean it isn't there at all - bitter cranberry candy she could eat for hours at a time, if Annie let her, but the girl would probably not allow that degree of vulnerability.] We associate that color with the heart, too, even though it's never the literal hue of our blood.

[hollowheart]

I wouldn't expect you. What a dinner conversation to be had, hmm? [She fakes her attention on the rest of the drink she's been warned not to indulge in as she takes Kanaya's words. Were they all the same, really? Annie's human shell was very convincing, from her unassuming fair head to her toes. In her mind, she knows she stands out, not quite belonging to either race.]

Let us say I do lack a heart, [She offers at last, glass woefully empty and pushed away] Would I still deserve to be liked?

[And painfully enough, her heart is the only human thing about her.]

[speakveryclearly]

What lighter topic is there, the latest television shows? We actors are off the clock at this point, and they don't give us the screens to watch our competition on any other channels. [Her desperate sarcasm can't brighten the mood; her flickering skin can't do that either, nor her eyes like lamps.]

Reducing worth for affection to capacity for that physical exchange is an inherently incredibly speciesist notion. [She pushes the question What Equivalent Of That Did Rin Have out of her mind.] I don't think your intelligence and matter of fact manner would lose their charm were they produced by a literally heartless being. [Unspoken, too explicit: Your body would not be any less beautiful were it to belong to a doll, though it would be much less exciting.] You deserve at least as much affection as anyone else in this manor, though that's just my personal opinion.

[Kanaya has found herself leaning in very close to Annie, staring at her intently.] I do deeply doubt you don't have one, just for the record.

Godot | Ace Attorney

[waitingforhim]

abed nadir | community

[coolcubed]

[ my weakness. can also come in evil goatee flavor? ]

Lightning }{ FFXIII/FFXIII-2

[strikeoflightning]

Tony Stark | MCU | OTA

[shwarm_after]

Amelia Jones ✩ Nyotalia

[american_sweetheart]

Mytho | Princess Tutu

[soheartless]

[This is only all too fitting for him.]

Nill | DOGS: B&C

[reassures]

Will Graham | Hannibal

[empathetic_profiler]

stiles stilinski | teen wolf | ota

[jumpiness]

Raleigh Becket | Pacific Rim

[righthemisphere]

5 + PacRim AU

[oversight]

Details were vague, even after the fact. A head injury and a good amount of physical trauma robbed John Blake of the details, but as he made his recovery, more and more information returned, hauntingly vivid and exceptionally troubling.

It happened so fast, all waves of chaos and damage. No one said piloting would be easy, but with a partner...

Blake stared down at his glass, occupying a place he'd come to make his own over the long recovery. The alcohol was a new addition, something he'd taken to over the last week or so, and despite the fact that he could hear the murmurs around him, about him, about them, he didn't care. His partner was gone. His compatible, raucous, loyal, faithful companion and co-pilot, the man he had loved instantly the moment they'd made that too-strong connection, had fallen just like the others.

It usually happened in pairs, so the fact that Blake was spared felt more like a punishment than a miracle. And the worst part? It wasn't just the Drift, or the Corps, or the work. They hadn't just shared a Jeager, but they'd given their hearts to each other, too.

Pressing his hand to his chest, he felt the familiar warmth of Winchester right there. His own heart was no more, and what he had left was a piece of a man he'd never see again, a reminder that he'd never be whole again, proof that the world effectively ended for him during that battle.

He'd felt it — the end — all through the connection he'd shared with Dean, and maybe the slow return of those memories was a defense mechanism, but as time rolled on — nearly a month at that point — it just became more and more apparent to Blake he couldn't run from Dean's death, or that heart in his chest, nor could he forget any of it without the aid of alcohol (or at least a distraction of equal or lesser value).

[righthemisphere]

It was harrowing to hear about. Torture to live through, but hearing it had happened again.. To anyone much less a strong team, to hear the horror stories and sad, quiet whispers, Raleigh can't help but feel invested.

The bar is busy enough. A stone's throw away from the Shatterdome, it's mostly full of PPDC but bits and pieces of the public filter in as well.

He doesn't have to ask who the guy sitting alone is, he knows exactly who John Blake is, former pilot of Delta Renegade. Left hemisphere of what was an efficient and accomplished American team.

Raleigh keeps his distance at first, nursing his own drink from across the bar, but he can see Blake from where he's sitting in the reflection of the mirror paneling that covers the entire place. He can see the guy leaning hard on drink in a bad way and really, Raleigh is surprised he's even up and around. Out in public. Around people.

The last thing Raleigh wanted when he lost Yancy was to be anywhere near the rest of humanity. They didn't understand and how could they? They'd never been there. They'd never felt it.

But Raleigh has...and now so has this man.

It compels him to finally pull himself up and work through the crowd to quietly sit down beside him and gesture to the barmaid for two more of whatever it is Blake is drinking.

[oversight]

The feeling of having his space invaded, especially without a standing invitation, felt sickeningly familiar. Almost too familiar, because for too long, that had been Dean. It would be followed by some kind of stupid joke, a charming smile, a mention of the good looking bartender that always got Blake to roll his eyes. They hadn't gone to the bar often, but they'd always had a good time when they did.

But it wan't him, it wasn't Dean. A glance confirmed it, even if it was obvious before, and John snorted into his glass before downing what was left.

Raleigh Becket, huh? It only took one guess to know what brought the pilot to Blake's side, and he didn't much like the implication, even if it was true. Yeah, they'd both lost someone, but the time on Blake's wounds wasn't nearly enough for gentle advice or heartfelt bonding.

Vividly, he imagined what he'd do if Raleigh started talking about connections and partners and healing — not that he pegged him the type — but it was the alcohol turning him sour more than anything else, the alcohol powering his desire to fight back against the reality, the alcohol making him want to rip that too-familiar heart from his chest as if it might make him forget.

Blake hissed out a breath at the lingering burn in his throat and placed his glass on the counter resolutely. He didn't say anything, barely even acknowledged the presence of the pilot next to him, save for a slump of his shoulders. What could he say, really? This was one club he hadn't expected to join (but at least they all meet at the bar).

[righthemisphere]

And that was all just fine. Raleigh didn't expect John to say anything, he knew there was nothing to say. What could you possibly say to a man who'd lost everything? Sorry? Have a fruit basket? We'll put his name on a park bench? Nothing is good enough. Nothing would ever be good enough.

Raleigh was also aware of what his presence signified in that respect. What other reason would there be for him to approach? They have no business together, there's no command structure between them. Sure, Raleigh had some degree of seniority but it didn't mean much and he wouldn't care even if it did.

End of the day none of it really matters.

The waitress made her rounds and finally set two glasses down in front of the pair. She didn't ask for payment. Raleigh has a tab.

Not that he ever used it, but he was being paid well and had nothing to spend it on. An open tab at a bar wasn't going to cripple him.

But he supposed in a way he was trying to reach out, otherwise he wouldn't bother. The wounds were still too fresh and...he briefly considered backing off again. As though his presence may have been offensive because it did say Oh, you poor thing. Look at us, crippled together.

He instantly regretted his decision and pulled back, retreating from the stool he'd claimed and picked up his drink to head back to his little spot in the far corner where nobody paid him much attention. But not before laying his hand on Blake's shoulder. Only a moment. One firm but gentle squeeze.

An open invitation to join him he he liked. Not that they'd have to talk, but it was better than sitting in the middle of a bar getting pity-eye fucked.

[oversight]

The thing about all of it — the heart, the Drift, the connection — is that he knew he'd never really be free of that nagging voice, that ever-present piece, Dean who was part and parcel to his existence forever more. Before he could feel bad himself, he heard Winchester in his ear, on his shoulder, in his chest, telling him to give it a rest with the same blunt force that Blake had grown to appreciate deeply during their time together.

"He's good people. Don't be such a sour son of a bitch."

A sigh escaped past his lips and he reached a shaking hand up to press against his forehead, eyes closing against the churn of his stomach, empty save for whiskey. Becket had meant well. He hadn't done it to be malicious, or to make statements with his presence, he had just sat there to show his support, and it was pretty rude of Blake to ignore that.

Before standing, he resolutely tossed back the shot gifted him and then shakily pressed to his feet. Fuck it. He could use the company, could use a distraction, and Raleigh Becket had plenty of stories. The glass was deposited on the bar in passing, a signal made for a bottle more.

While he waited, he glanced around the bar and felt himself straighten as all the eyes averted. What the hell could they even be thinking, he wondered, not taking the time to consider his own thoughts the day he'd heard the story of Yancy Becket's untimely end. Thankfully, the appearance of the bottle rescued him from his bitter thoughts and he pushed away from the bar so everyone else could continue to stare.

At the edge of the shadowed corner, red-rimmed, half-hazy eyes peered down at Raleigh and he shook the bottle of whiskey. "Buy you a drink." It wasn't a request, croaked out from a dry voice that hadn't been used much in days. He dropped down to sit without the invitation, much like Becket had a moment before, twisting at the cap on some kind of rotgut.

[righthemisphere]

Blake's presence was a surprise but not because he didn't see him coming. Raleigh had tried to be polite and not stare, to give Blake at least one small reprieve on someone who wasn't looking at him but he hadn't managed it and found himself glancing in the mirror every so often after his retreat.

And then all of a sudden Blake had gotten to his feet and disappeared from view only to offer a bottle next to him a moment later.

Raleigh looked up, eyes following as the other sat across from him.

The booth was crowded with all four spirits but those no longer physically present were kind enough to stay quiet...ish. Yancy whispered poor kid in his brother's ear. Raleigh ignored him and pushed his empty glass forward a few inches.

"Has medical assigned you a shrink yet?" He asked, voice flat, quiet and even. There was no point is making small talk and no point in waiting for Blake to start speaking. He hadn't felt like talking after-

He still doesn't feel like talking.

Chuck Hansen | Pacific Rim

[suicidemission]