bakerstreet | Swear Myself to You ( shipping + smut )

Swear Myself to You ( shipping + smut )

The Swear Myself to You Meme

It's been like this your entire life. Or perhaps it just seems that way, since it's been this way so long. Or it could hasn't been that long, and you remember what things were like before - worthless, fruitless, purposeless. Now, though, all is different. You've sworn your life to someone...or had your life sworn to them by someone else, back when you were young or powerless enough to not control your life. It doesn't matter if this swearing is an expected part of your society or an oddity in a modern age, here you are, and you know what you're here for. This isn't servitude, not in a fashion, as there's theoretically an honor here in your absolute loyalty. You are essentially on your "sworn duty's" level, you've just, well, chosen to dedicate your life to them. So if you're their best or brainwashed into being their right hand, all of it comes from a place of admiration!

Hopefully!

Theoretically.

Your position, of course, means you're a tool to be used, and every job needs a different tool. What's your job? Were you raised from an infant be be a constant companion for the one you're sworn to, who you grew up with? Instead, you could be a bodyguard or a first line of defense. In some cultures, there's an expectation that people be good in bed for future spouses; you could be there to train the one you're sworn to in the art of lovemaking. Of course, how well you're able to do your job depends on how your relationship is with your most important person. Are they kind? Cruel? What if they don't want you? It will be incredibly awkward if neither of you want to be in this position.

One certainty is this, however: romance and sexuality, unless heavily controlled, is forbidden. After all, how can you effectively dedicate yourself to them if some part of you wants them to dedicate themself to you?

How to Play

Comment with your character, your preferences, and what side of the equation you'd prefer to play - the being sworn to or the one doing said swearing. There are also three settings available: old fashion, modern, and future. You may want to specify which one of those you'd like, if you have a strong opinion.
Reply to others.
Use the RNG to determine your scenario.

Setting

Old Fashion: In the days of yore, be it ancient, medieval, or pseudo-Victorian - or altogether fantastical.
Modern: The here and now, where swearing to someone is pretty rare.
Future: Years from now, who knows what strange alien cultures and technologies we'll have to abide by?

Prompts

From Birth: You two were raised together, as one of you was given as a baby. There's no one who knows the other better than you.
BFFs: You are intended to be their lifetime companion...platonically, of course.
Repayment: You owe your life to them in one way or another. Devotion is the least you can do.
Out of Love: The reason you swore yourself to them is because you love them and this is the best way to be close to them, even if you have to sacrifice other things.
Unwilling Charge: Can you swear yourself to someone who doesn't want you?
Spoils of War: Being here and swearing allegiance isn't your idea, but when you or your people are defeated in battle, there's not much else you can do.
Ward: Perhaps you weren't there as an infant, but you did grow up in the family from a young age. They may be like a sibling to you. Would you be able to view them in any other way?
Marriage: ...a marriage is sort of a swearing, isn't it?
Mind Control: You need to be more pliable and loyal to be any good, servant.
Familiar: You were created through magic just for them.
Guard: Focus. You have to protect them, and you can't if you're distracted.
Eunuch: You're supposed to be completely chaste and celibate, or at least that's what they and those around them think.
To Teach: Your charge is going to be married, and you have to teach them how to please a future spouse.
Jealousy: You know you're not supposed to be
More than One: Someone else has sworn themselves to your charge...you were here first!
More than This: You want to be more to them than just a glorified servant.
Unwilling Charge: They don't want you, but you have to serve them.
Redemption: This is your way to make up for the sins of your past.
...what?: How to you get someone sworn to you again?
Utter Devotion: There isn't anything you wouldn't do for them. Anything.
Forbidden: Being with them sexually is a punishable offense for you, but neither of you care.
Equals: In society, you two are on different levels. In private, you see more eye to eye.
Not Too Serious: The more crack-y option. They saved you...but it was from something like stubbing your toe. Obviously, you owe yourself to them. Or something.
FREESTYLE

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Probably the one swearing themself to someone.

Also available as Eas.]

(OoC: Would you be keen to Setsuna swearing to Zelda?)

[Sure! 18 is probably the easiest prompt to fit Setsuna into. 1. 11 and 3 are also likely. Any preferences or other ideas?]

(OoC: Oh, hard choice! I like the idea of both 1 and 18! How about we go with 1 for this? Want me to start?)

[1 works! 18 does have my eye as in her canon she starts out as an enemy and eventually changes sides and works to redeem herself. I could easily work in that she used to Ganondorf if you'd like?]

(OoC: Oh, that's right! Then, 1 and 18 together would be perfect!)

[Probably the person being sworn to.]

[Up for either role.]

[The one sworn to. M/F for shipping. No - 9, 12, 13.]

( swearing himself...probably reluctantly. most likely reluctantly, to be honest. )

[you up for henry accidentally summoning the wrong demon?]

( swearing himself. )

( Either. )

Edited 2016-05-04 05:40 (UTC)

( Either. )

Edited 2016-05-04 05:40 (UTC)

ooc: Would prefer modern, or future, but I'll roll with the Ol' Fashioned.

Edited 2016-05-04 05:57 (UTC)

[ooc: Either /or. Always up for discussion.]

[Most likely doing the swearing, but can also be the other way around for a change.]

Edited 2016-05-04 07:10 (UTC)

[ can take on either role. m/m for ships. ]

[ definitely the one who did the swearing, if in an unspoken manner and/or indirectly because his pride is way too big. he's an over-protective worrying guy who'll fight anyone who threatens those he dedicates himself to but never actually say he cares about the one he's protecting 'cause he sucks like that.

cross-media/canon + assumed cr is awesome. aus are great too! ]

((Either))

Edited 2016-05-04 10:47 (UTC)

((More interested in having Jeremy swear himself to someone. Gen preferred.))

Edited 2016-05-04 10:51 (UTC)

[ misty can go either or in this case, swear herself to someone or be sworn to! ]

[Swear yourself to the greatest ~~criminal~~ mind of this age.]

"And what exactly are you offering?" side conversation to the real issue in front of him, or more accurately down his scope.

The wife wants the husband followed, He's cheating she says. Jack needs the money, plain and simple. After all, the housekeeper wants her pay and the larder must be filled. Instead of a peaceful stalking, he's being accosted by a well dressed, and groomed - as if Jack cares about a few days growth of beard - man. Self important too, unless he's missing the mark, and Jack never misses, it takes effort to miss.

"A job, Moran."

This part is always the tedious bit. People were always so predictable, but James did enjoy collecting the very best. He had been watching Sebastian Moran long enough to know that he was, in fact, just that.

"You'll be well-compensated, and, of course, you won't be bored." His gaze pointedly wandered towards the sniper's quarry.

A job, Moran, it sing-songed through his head as if he were stupid. It was always about a job. Have a little caaaaaash, Mooooooran...

Well-compensated didn't move him. Okay, it did, but only a little. He had a full pension and stood to inherit a fortune and a title for gods' sake. But not bored? That got his attention, or half of his attention because the husband began to grope his secretary. The shutter in his scope clicked, collecting the incriminating evidence. Most women would be happy with that. If not, he would return for a bedroom scene. Would rather be photographing ducks or the island's salamanders, those were interesting. Sold photos like those to the nature rags or 'Guns Unlimited' as he had mentally renamed the duck foundation. If all else failed, rare hard to get photos of celebrities would keep him in whiskey. Clicked off a few more as the man his wandering hands slipped under her skirt, beyond that, he guessed they wouldn't go, not with the usual conference call straight up on the hour, Jack's heart counting off the last minute.

Jack kept up his lazy facade. "How not bored," finally lifting his eyes from the viewer. He could speak in a crisp educated accent, but why bother? This man clearly wasn't hiring him for his education. His time at the poker table said that this man was not married, no ring to hock - therefore he wasn't looking to have a spouse tracked. A business rival perhaps? He was dressed extremely well, expensively well, and everything fit, tailored to him. This man could afford to lose many hands. Jack, on the other hand, dressed to be underestimated, to be thought crass and needy. Dark denim trousers, a wrinkled white collared shirt (one of his favorites, top button unbuttoned), a tie that was askew, sturdy boots, dark blazer that hid some of his tools of the trade from revolvers to knives, and an oiled wool peacoat.
Boxers or briefs, Jack? Boxers or briefs?

(Jack is verbose sometimes, don't be afraid)

Edited (words...) 2016-05-05 17:04 (UTC)

Appearances mattered only as a form of communication. The Professor, for instance, had been chalky, with ill-fitting suits and worn shoes. Acceptably absorbed in the subject matter to the point of near isolation. Someone to glance and look past.

Moriarty, in contrast, was the control freak. He flaunted his success in the well-cut lines of expensive suits. He did not blink quite enough, and he watched as if he could see your every thought. The results were phenomenally different.

Very few people met Moriarty. Some met an actor in his place. Others didn't make it out of the room. He'd been playing a Three Queens game with all of London's criminals for a long time now. No one had managed to keep their eyes on the queen yet.

He'd researched Moran thoroughly before his approach. His military record, the circumstances of leaving said military, his vices. Particularly those involving drink, cards, and violence. It was just a matter of applying the right stimulus.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Very. Why don't you take a test drive and see how right I am?"

Jack was still angry about that forced retirement. If it were up to him, he'd still be popping off the heads of known terrorists in Afghanistan. Sir Augustus believed the whole business to be beneath the family's good name and had Jack ousted. Would have gone for a dishonorable discharge as that would have been faster, but again, the family name couldn't take the shame. He had liked being in the Queen's Service. Not so much for the three hots and a cot, or the comfort of a uniform, but because he got to put his skills to use in an acceptable direction, ie killing people. To be clear, Jack hated people. There were too damn many. The only reason he had stalked and killed the tiger at all was because the bloody thing had cleared out a schoolhouse full of children and Jack drew the line at killing kids. If it had stuck to adults, they would have had no problems, him and the cat, but Kali's kitten had to expand its menu. It was a damn shame. The tooth lay heavy on his chest, strung on a leather thong and hung around his neck, not up high to be shown off, but sliding over over the missing nipple, as if it could straighten his off kilter physical appearance.
Good luck with that

Rose, his eyes coasting over the man, taking in the audacious offer, if that was truly what was being offered at all. Best to pretend he hadn't interpreted it that way. Some people got a little tetchy and Jack would rather not find himself in bed with the devil before sussing that out first.

"How so?"
What exactly did he have in mind?

His dark brows raise an inch. It does nothing to dispell the air of control around him. One hand pulls his lapel forward and the other fishes out a card.

Heavy card-stock. Thick, embossed letters.

A name on one side, of an upperclass gentleman. Moran might even know him. Hadn't they gone to school together? The same year, at least. The name of a very underground club on the other. Very Bond.

"One job. Show up, complete your mission, and if you're bored, get paid and walk away. If not..."

Then you're mine.

Too bad, almost wished he was pulling out a weapon. Had job interviews like that, they never ended pretty for the other side. A nose broken at the very least, more if they were actually competent. Weight evenly distributed in his boots, the scope was slid into its protective case, freeing his hands to accept the offering.

Wary, chilly blue eyes narrowed, "What is this 'mission'?"

Better question, Why me?
Why Moran?
Because Sebastian's an upper class git.
Even better question, Who is he?

Did and did not like the word 'mission' that was hearkening back to a time when he had actually been happy. When he wasn't dancing to his family's tune. Politicians and petty criminals always traveled hand in hand, and Jack had no wish to please the people or rip off the local grocery.

He watches Moran turn the prospect over in his head, smiling as if he could read the other man's thoughts. Maybe he could.

His smile widens at the question, and there's the first glimmer of a manic fire in his gaze. Crime is one thing, but reeling in the sniper is thrilling.

"Murder, Moran," he says, the overly solemn tone at odds with his pleased demeanor. "The mission is murder."

Flipped the card between his fingers, debating. Robert Adair was certainly deserving of death, especially at Moran's hand. As the prefect he had the run of the dorms and took that advantage to use the younger boys. Jack had gotten his swings in when Ronald was alone. In a group though - well, it didn't stop Jack from damaging as many as he could. Glowered, expression black. The trouble with taking this bait was that Jack would be owned, and he did not like collars. The trouble with not taking it was, based on this card alone, he would bet a year's pension that Adair hadn't stopped that particular vice and nothing pissed him off than a buggerer of children. That this man in front of him knew exactly what Jack hated, might even know what he had gone through in school, what he had put behind him when choosing his own name, also pissed him off. What's more, in order to get into this club, Jack would have to pretend to be one of the users, and his gut twisted.

Hated every second and wanting to strangle someone, to tear them apart with his hands, he snarled, "I'll take a look."

Edited 2016-05-05 19:32 (UTC)

His expression remains the same, but he spreads his hands. He had simply offered this as a test, from both of them. He was almost certain Moran would take it. He could comment on the man's expression, a moment before 'going off' from the appearance. Or express his disapproval at the trafficking of children.

Perry was a necessity. The imp had killed twice before he had found his way into James' attention, and took such glee in murder. Yet, despite the joy the youth took in killing, even James would not send him on such a mission.

He turns to leave.

Let him go. Jack had a very good idea that he wouldn't be tearing this man apart anytime soon, not that he wanted to. Felt the eyes on his back, worse were the targets painted on him. No one looking like that went around unguarded and unprotected, even if he appeared to normal senses to be very much alone.

Called after the suit, "What is your name?" dealing with the hate of being known to someone he hadn't been introduced to.

He turns back, pausing at the exit. James knows that Moran will ask. That his name is steeped with rumors and truths, each more outlandish than the last. The civilians have no idea who he is. The police have never heard the name. Yet everyone else, from the lowest pick pocket to the crime lords in their perfectly legal Estates, had heard something about Moriarty.

"Moriarty."

Jaw tightened as the rest of him only appeared relaxed. Moriarty is the boogieman come to life. Someone his father and uncle wanted to consult with on their petty plans, as if that were some prestigious feather in their caps. To be left alone and not contacted by his family was something else to add to their negotiation. But Moriarty would know that, just as he knew about one half of the Adair brothers.

"Deal." He saw it all, the ending was written right there in the name and acceptance. Robert's death was a foregone conclusion, caught with his pants down. He would bleed out and Jack would watch as the light dimmed and guttered in his eyes. Later, Moran wouldn't have to go searching out this Moriarty, there would be summons. His path had taken a detour.

(Meant Robert both times up there...not Ronald, he's the card player and an issue unto himself.)

It comes as a text message, once Moran is safe and sound, the deed done.

It only said: Ready for another?

Looking at the message as he emerged from the old tunnels under London, there was the familiar churning in his guts, not as bad as the first time. The third time wouldn't be as bad as this time and each time afterwards it would grow less. Didn't mean that Jack didn't have some sense of accomplishment about this evening's work, only that he knew the collar had been snapped on and he wasn't yet comfortable with it. Life was always easier when someone told him where to go and what to do, a fact he was aware of and uneasy with.

In for a penny. In for a pound.

Tapped in a response, his fingers disliking this form of technology, preferred sturdy military issue equipment:
Ready, boss.

( au, canon etc, roll with whatever! )

( more likely to be on the side of being sworn to, if for the one doing the swearing PM me first to discuss details! otherwise, open to anything. )

[up for either role]

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