#but also why would James Joyce be with with the guild? also James wasn’t that significant

[sableeira]

holy shit if there is no way to detach Fyodor from the body he has taken over, Bram is the first character named after an author who played a significant role to die in the bsd main manga

[jjoycesuggestions]

(Going to go ahead and post this, I apologize in advance for any errors I may have missed.)

If there was one thing James Joyce couldn’t stand it was idiots.

Seated at his desk he buried his face into the stacks of paper around him. No, that was a lie, there were some idiots he could stand. He was surrounded by them after all, it was inevitable that he’d developed a tolerance to at least some forms of idiocy. No, it was spineless idiots that he couldn’t stand. 

The kind of people who wouldn’t stand up for what they wanted not because they couldn’t find the strength, or the courage, but because they just couldn’t be bothered to give a damn about anything that really mattered. Those who would watch the water fill in the room around them and eventually drown when the escape was right there. Those who could survive if they only made the effort. But no, instead they just stood there and complained about the water rising around them, claiming that they were powerless to do anything when there was nothing stopping them.

Yes, it was those kinds of people that Joyce couldn’t stand, and it was that kind of person that his friend had turned out to be.

Perhaps he’d made a mistake by attempting to befriend Ivan.

He’d thought it would be good for him at first. Sure the man was bit annoying, but he managed to actually get Joyce out the door more than anyone had in the last several years when he was alive. He could be a pain, but other times he wasn’t necessarily bad company when it came down to it. But he should have taken that whining as a sign, he should have guess the truth sooner. Because when life had reared it’s ugly head and applied pressure, Ivan caved like a fortune cookie under a hammer, giving way and allowing lies and denial to take his place.

An organization tied only to greed and ambition? Ivan that idiot, he didn’t understand the Guild at all.

It wasn’t an organization of greed and ambition, or at least it hadn’t started that way, granted he hadn’t been around since it’s beginning, but it used to be different.

He’d been there with them since he was young. Trapped between a sheer mountain and a cliff, they’d offered him a slim path out. A chance to keep moving on when he was ready to give up.

Why did they use him as an assassin? Because he was good at it. Why? For the same reason he was back here now. Why even after everything he hadn’t taken the offer of eternal slumber that came with moving. Because he wasn’t done yet. Because even after giving all he could in life he still had things he wanted to do. Because they had taught him that every step required one hundred and ten percent of your resolve for it to really count. Never let yourself dream of the what could have beens. The what ifs. You had to take life into your own hands. Because even death stops nothing.

The Guild gave people like him another chance, like the rest of them. It offered a slap in the face to all the stupidity around them.

Sure it had changed, organizations seldom didn’t at the passing of leadership, but it still fulfilled the same role. Motivation, ambition, and spite, whether for selfless or selfish reason they were all the same in the end. They kept you alive. They kept you fighting.

That’s why he’d stayed, and that’s why he’d come back even after everything. And it was the same reason that he hadn’t been the least bit surprised to see Herman Melville still there when he’d walked through that door. There was no question in his mind that Francis was an idiot, that ninety percent of his co-workers were also idiots. But whether they could see it or not they were also relatable. They were all living for the same reasons.

But Ivan. Oh Ivan. Whereas Joyce had pledged his heart and soul to the Guild, Ivan had done the same to that House of the Rats only for all the wrong reasons. The Guild may be corrupt but it’s heart was still there lurking somewhere in the darkness. But the House of the Rats had no heart, if Ivan was looking for the organization tied completely with ambition and greed then he had to look no further than to his own god damn people.

No, Joyce couldn’t understand. He wouldn’t. Because way back then he’d made a conscious choice. He’d started giving a damn about letting the world kick him around. There was relief in lies yes, but there was more relief in finally getting up and doing something instead of groveling on your hands and knees and hoping it would be merciful the next time. If you wanted something you had to do it yourself. Or at the very least find the people who weren’t going to use you the same way it was and do it with them.

Maybe he was a hypocrite, hell he worked for the king of hypocrites in a way, but even Francis was leagues ahead of Fyodor.

But Ivan didn’t see that. That man was his lord and savior. Hell Fyodor was practically his God, and it made Joyce sick to watch. He couldn’t change Ivan’s mind about Fyodor as much as he’d like to, at least not right now. But he might be able to change his mind about Q, stop him from making another idiotic move out of cowardice and fear to add to the pile.

Ivan loved Q, he was sure of that. The problem was that neither the man or the child really knew what love was and, therefore didn’t understand how to deal with it, or with the falls that came with it. Q was headstrong and didn’t like to put up with anyone who tried to hold him down, even to the point that it meant pushing others away instead of accepting that he couldn’t handle everything himself. Ivan meanwhile was the image of a stereotypical perfect servant, obedient to fault and willing to follow his master’s orders without question, afraid to act and think for himself, especially when things got hard. It was the picture perfect example of the things that annoyed Joyce the most, and yet the he had to admit that he was drawn to the man.

Because there were moments when he saw another side to Ivan. A more independent side, a side that was willing to fight and a side that wasn’t so easily pushed back into place. He saw it when they fought, when Ivan fought with Gide, when they pushed him to edge of his comfort zone. On that line he was terrifying and beautiful, but the minute you pushed him across he would panic and fold back up, all that independence swallowed up by the void.

He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. He was barely involved in the affairs of the Guild anymore, aside from simply managing the day-to-day paperwork. Compared to that the House of Rats wasn’t anywhere his level of concern, and the welfare of it’s butler should be even less so. Not to mention when it came commitment Joyce was out more times than he was all in. It was easier swallow, better on his sanity. Also Ivan was an idiot.

But this was not simply a problem he would walk away from, especially not with his own recent actions leaving him far more ensnared in the troubles than he would have liked. Leaving this to fester and boil would only lead to worse headaches in the future, given no doubt by both Q and Ivan. Or possibly worse.

No, he was all in. Out of pure selfishness, spite, and mercy to his future self’s already aching head, he was going to do this.

Stepping away from the roses and the window he carefully relocated several stacks of paper on his desk before he got to work.

Ivan was lucky he was goddamn pretty.