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Entry tags:
FFVIII: Radiant
Fandom: Final Fantasy VIII
Pairing: Seifer/Raijin/Fujin
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer is not the man they remember. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100. Rather influenced by the poetry I'm reading at the moment.
The middle of the war is a long -- endless -- drag of pain, for Fujin and for the men she loves, for Seifer with his bright dreams and golden hair and his bright green eyes, for the simple loyalty of Raijin, dragged through the dirt after them and never complaining. He's a good man, a good friend, and Fujin grieves for his fall as much as for Seifer's -- though Seifer still seems half an angel to her, a radiant saviour from boredom and the endless grind of life in Garden.
He took them both up. Taught them, trained them, until she's as quick with her weapon as the two gunblade students with theirs and their ceaseless practicing. Just as Seifer practices every moment of every day -- in the sharp cut and thrust and slash and parry of conversation -- so Fujin hones her strength. Or did.
Now it is nothing but worry. Seifer is not what he was, his green eyes dulled and feverish all at once, his trench coat torn, and where is the man they love so much now? He'd never have worn that trenchcoat, torn and stained as it is now by battles and punishments and the slow inevitable breakdown of his mind, his dreams, all his precious plans laid bare and ridiculed.
Fujin won't speak up. Not now -- not yet. Not while Seifer still has a chance to redeem himself, not while sorceress and knight can still come together and become something glamourous.
But there Squall stands, upright and beautiful, and Seifer is no longer such an angel. She feels no shame in leaving -- she and Raijin will wait for their love in a brighter place, when he is whole again, when he is their love again.
She leaves. Raijin follows.
Pairing: Seifer/Raijin/Fujin
Warnings: Angst
Rating: PG
Summary: Seifer is not the man they remember. For
fanfic100. Rather influenced by the poetry I'm reading at the moment.The middle of the war is a long -- endless -- drag of pain, for Fujin and for the men she loves, for Seifer with his bright dreams and golden hair and his bright green eyes, for the simple loyalty of Raijin, dragged through the dirt after them and never complaining. He's a good man, a good friend, and Fujin grieves for his fall as much as for Seifer's -- though Seifer still seems half an angel to her, a radiant saviour from boredom and the endless grind of life in Garden.
He took them both up. Taught them, trained them, until she's as quick with her weapon as the two gunblade students with theirs and their ceaseless practicing. Just as Seifer practices every moment of every day -- in the sharp cut and thrust and slash and parry of conversation -- so Fujin hones her strength. Or did.
Now it is nothing but worry. Seifer is not what he was, his green eyes dulled and feverish all at once, his trench coat torn, and where is the man they love so much now? He'd never have worn that trenchcoat, torn and stained as it is now by battles and punishments and the slow inevitable breakdown of his mind, his dreams, all his precious plans laid bare and ridiculed.
Fujin won't speak up. Not now -- not yet. Not while Seifer still has a chance to redeem himself, not while sorceress and knight can still come together and become something glamourous.
But there Squall stands, upright and beautiful, and Seifer is no longer such an angel. She feels no shame in leaving -- she and Raijin will wait for their love in a brighter place, when he is whole again, when he is their love again.
She leaves. Raijin follows.
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