bakerstreet | My word means everything

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My word means everything

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

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( very open to crosscanon and au! )

[ open to xcanon and au, either or of the swearing! ]

( Fridge, do you want a sword to be sworn to your figure skater )

[ I CANT BELIEVE U.... should I make a starter or do u wanna ]

[ Can be the one swearing herself or being sworn to. Either role is fine by me! ]

[ can be either! ]

((OOC: Open to manga, anime, AU, and cross-canon! Available in normal and full Grim Reaper flavors! Willing to be sworn to or swearing to someone else's service...though in the latter case he probably wouldn't announce it. He's a death god, after all, and he'd at least need to seem impartial on the surface.))

((OOC: Open to canon, AU, or cross-canon. Can be the one swearing allegiance or the one being sworn to.))

Edited 2017-06-09 13:15 (UTC)

((OOC: Open to canon, AU, or cross-canon. Definitely the one swearing allegiance. You know you want the sixth deadliest man in the world guarding your back.))

[ Most likely the one swearing himself to you ]

Edited 2017-06-09 16:47 (UTC)

Romantic or Gen takes both fine.

There are strange things, out in the Western Wastes, more of them than the name would suggest: storm-rocs of wind and smoke that that can shadow the sky, with swarms of sparksparrows and lightninghawks swirling in their wake. Three-headed ravens, rabbits covered in spines, little black moths like holes cut in the world, that can eat anything. (They are fond of eyes.) Things with the shape of wolves that look as though they're made of glass, or quicksilver, or white mist. Their messengers are closest to 'ordinary' Narnians - the smiling, red-lipped rosekin could be relatives of the dryads, if they didn't have smiles sharp enough to match the the thorny tangles in their hair, and constantly stained fingertips.

The Wildlings never bowed to Jadis, but they did negotiate with her, kept their own skies and seasons in ways they have not chosen to reveal. They encroached on the woods, during the early chaos of the Penvensies' rule, but since were beaten back. They cannot even be called a tribe; one member of the second diplomatic delegation was eaten by her colleagues, to little fanfare. But they do have a queen, whom they all respect, or fear, or love - and it is not clear if even the wildlings themselves know which it is at any moment. The Lady of the Gold Cloud Throne, Daughter of Intoxication and Caprice, the Vixen Who is Crowned With Laughter, Queen Khiaz.

The Wildlings have an overfondness for poetic description, even by Narnian standards, as if to make up for their vagaries in other areas. She is almost a legend; few enough Narnians can claim to have seen her, and their reports are not entirely compatible. But she has agreed to the new border, and the new peace. She is sending one of her favorites, the charming and fragrant and effervescently sanguine emissaries insist, to seal the accord. They do not say whether it is a hostage or a gift or something in between; they do not say her favorite what.

When the captive arrives, it looks like an ordinary red fox, jumping gracefully down from the glowing back of a cindercrane the size of a carthorse. A large voidmoth perches directly on its head, and a similarly featureless black band wraps around its neck. Sericea - the chief diplomat, or at least the one who talks the most and has the most impressive thorns - presents him to the monarchs of Narnia, scattering white flower petals from nowhere as she commends it to their care. To Peter's care, specifically, because the Wildlings have always made strange noises about the idea of cooperatively sharing power, and at least once offered, very casually over dinner, to support Lucy in a coup.

The fox walks through the rain of petals and bows - prostrates itself, might be a better verb - at Peter's feet. The voidmoth flies away to perch in Sericea's nimbus of briars, but the black collar stays. Mere minutes later, without waiting to answer questions, the rest of the Wildlings depart, apparently uninterested in any further contact once their own ideas of proper ceremony have been fulfilled.

It follows Peter like a shadow unless it is ordered elsewhere; it is silent, at first, unless ordered to speak.

Edited 2017-06-10 10:34 (UTC)

It isn't a 'gift' he wants, or has any particular use for. It isn't a gift he's going to reject, either. The meaning that comes with this fox is more politically important than his distaste or discomfort.

He doesn't order it to speak. He demands nothing at all from it - from him - for the span of several days. He simply allows it to follow him, makes sure that it is provided food and water and never, ever, tries to separate himself from it. That means it is privy to discussions both formally related to the running of the country and less formal ones with his siblings that involve a bit of snark and eye-rolling about his new 'pet' , all with warmth and affection between them.

It also means that it sleeps on his bed.

He lets a routine develop, and then after more than a week asks a single question - while settled in his own quarters, with the fox on the foot of his bed.

"Why are you collared?"

It bothers him.

To bind me, he thinks, or because Khiaz is as spiteful as she is beautiful, or to make me suitable for Narnian society.

The fox slowly opens one yellow eye.

"Take it off and find out."

Edited 2017-06-10 19:34 (UTC)

"That," he says, reasonably, "sounds altogether too much like a warning for me to think that taking it off is a good idea."

Still, he quickly, deftly, moves his hand to the collar to unfasten it - half expecting to be bitten or shocked or worse for his trouble, but not at all inclined not to anyway.

He's sometimes less than smart, but he is at least confident in his ability to handle trouble. Excessively confident, possibly, but confident.

The collar feels cold. Not ice cold, but chill like cool water, and there's a tingling, numbing sensation everywhere he touches it. The thing is smooth all around, with no clasp, but as soon as Peter has a grip on it the fox flattens his ears and jerks his head back, whining high in his throat. There's a sound like breaking glass, and the collar is off.

The fox triples in size in an eyeblink, turns a tawnier russet gold color, fans his sudden profusion of tails like a peacock as he lunges forward and grabs the collar in his jaws, trying to yank it from Peter's hand.

He frowns, but only very slightly. Slightly enough that there's little more than a crease between his eyebrows at the change in his 'gift'.

He does not, however, try to keep hold of the collar. "By all means, destroy it." Or not, but its not his and again, he is both overly confident and fundamentally opposed to seeing people - animal shaped or not - in collars.

In another instant, the fox spirit has forced open the window and leapt out. If Peter goes to the window to watch, he jumps from place to place in the air as though he were descending an invisible mountainside, eventually dropping the black circlet into the sea.

By the time he slips back in the window, he looks like a little red fox again.

"You really can't give me back now," he announces.

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Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki | Touken Ranbu

KATSUKI YUURI | yuri on ice

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6 brace yourself for some indulgent nonsense, you can decide the post-concession timeline?

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