Title: Mad World
Author: Rageful Fairy
Rating: R
Warnings: Insanity, suicidal acts, violence, m/m sexual and romantic situations, drug reference, alcohol reference/use.
Disclaimer: I do not own the song, "Mad World," and do not own the ideas of Final Fantasy VIII.
Summary: Ultimecia's precense still lingers with Seifer, even after her passing. She remains forever there in his memories, installing everlasting fear and insanity within her knight. Revenge- for the efforts he failed to aid and succeed with. How does he deal with all of this while running from all of those who want him dead? Eventually Seifer x Squall.
Author's Notes: This idea came up while dealing with the insanity that is my house, and while listening to Mad World by Gary Jules and Micheal Andrews.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
The tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad World
Mad World
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
And they feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me whats my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad World
Mad World
- Gary Jules and Micheal Andrews, "Mad World."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PART ONE - AFFLICTED
Useless was what he felt he was, only being a scrap of what was a terrible attempt to aid Sorceress Ultimecia achieve her goal of Time Compression. Only being a remembrance of what had happened so many months ago. He had survived long, considering everybody who wanted him gone. Everybody wanted to forget. Seeing him, knowing he was there, knowing he could very well follow the path of utter evil once more made it impossible to forget. So he had to be gone.
Sitting in dark alleyways of Deling, smuggling drugs and reselling them for small gil profits was about all he could do to keep alive. The most low profile thing you could do- smuggle drugs. He could get anything from anywhere, just as long as you can pay him for his services and swear to say you've never met him.
Call him a drug dealer, loser, lap dog, whatever you want. He agrees, he knows he deserves those titles. He knows he deserves every single slap, slice, punch, shot, kick... any assault thrown at him for the things he's done.
Regret is what he was beginning to feel. How uncharacteristic of him, but having the whole world hate you for something you've done out of being a power-hungry bastard... it has to get to you. It was getting to him. Slowly but surely. Gnawing away at his ego, replacing the huge part of him with stress. Worry. Fright. Pain. Gloom. Anger. Depression. Hate...
He learned to hate himself for all he's done.
He learned to hate himself for something he didn't do voluntarily.
Of course, he knew he gave himself in to the Sorceress, but he had never knew he'd become some sort of toy, who's own motives were removed and replaced with the motives of a disgusting blood thirsty magical person from a distant furture. Who would have known? Who could have guessed?
That is what's driving him crazy. Absolutely, utterly, crazy. Insane, if you will. I'm not trying to throw titles around, but his mental state is completely shattered, confusion being his sanity's undoing. He knew now so many things he's disturbed to know. There is nothing to distort what he knows.
There is also no way anybody in their right mind could explain the happenings. Everybody believed that he was following the Sorceress by his own will, and damn well was going to be proud of whatever unmaking he could do while doing what he was doing. The true, determined person he was had turned into a figment of everyone's imagination as he was proudly standing tall on a float in honor of the Sorceress at the parade in Deling. That person at the Sorceress Parade, D- District Prison, in Space... it all wasn't the real Seifer.
But I suppose this is the real Seifer now. Determined to live, and that is all he wants to do. His only priority. He yearns to see another day, yet wants to make sure there's no tomorrow for him either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brutally, he was beaten. Three street thugs dressed in all baggy black attire slashed knives through his once flawless tanned skin, dying the road and his body scarlet. He responded not. Whimpers were released, in addmittance to his newfound weakness. It was all he could muster. He was almost too tired to feel the pain.
One of the thugs spat out curses which blended together with the grunts coming from the other two whom were assaulting the man for all he's worth. Kicking and slicing at flesh... they were now the blood thirsty bastards. He needed to be gone. At that particular moment, he wanted to be gone.
He'd taken the slashings, the kicking, everything. When you know something is coming, it doesn't hurt as much as something unexpected. Maybe that is how he lives through every brutal beating he had to take.
Blood created a scarlet stream on the road, leading away from the body of the now unconcious man. His heart beat was faint, but he wanted to live. If he was going to go, he wanted to make damn sure he was the person who'd show himself the exit door.
With one last kick, the thugs were gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The weather was also violent, perfect to match the mood of the street- living man, after being attacked from seemingly berserked thugs. Rain unsuccessfully trying to pry open wounds, beating at his his purple bruises harshly, allowing stinging feelings to surge in his body.
He tried to move, tried to get up, but he couldn't. All he could do was reach blindly for a bottle to ease the immense pain he endured. He couldn't invest any extra money on a house, a car, or anything a normal person would. Any records of anything in his name would do him harm in the long run.
So, he invested his pocket change in liquor. He had never needed to eat, for drinking so much alcohol would bloat him. With alcohol, he almost resented food. Food never had as good as effects as the liquor does, atleast in his own opinion.
The alcohol fogs up his mind, and that's what he finds so intriguing about alcohol. He can forget, maybe even for a little while. It makes him happy and cheerful for once, not caring. For he has to give a damn about every little thing that already does or might involve him if he wants any chance to live out until he wants to just... go away.
He just fiddles with death, as if it were a toy. Facing it atleast once everyday, but just barely making it alive. Always wanting to go, but not wanting to at the same time. He knows that no matter how many times he's slit a knife into his wrist that he wouldn't do anything more drastic until he was ready to leave this mad, mad world.
He knew that'd he'd know, and it was a good enough conclusion for him. He knew that when he finally realized he had nothing more to live for, he'd go and he'd take himself out. The stubborn man just wanted to know if there was anything good out of his kind of lifestyle. It was what he was determined for, other than his life itself. He wanted to know if anything beneficial to him or anybody else could come out of drug dealing besides getting many other people high and making himself a few thousand gil to add to his alcohol funds.
After taking a swing of vodka, he'd managed to swallow it. Swallowing was painful, for there were many slits, cuts, bruises, and a few open wounds cascading the hollows of his neck, that were relentlessly being pryed at by the berserked rain, also against him.
Taking gulps at a time from the glass vodka bottle, he grew drunken. Eyes turning bloodshot, and cheeks turning flushed. He felt at ease with himself, at a sudden peace. Memories swirling and dancing, and they were all the bad memories, but they just seemed to pretty and positive in his mind while intoxicated. He admired the blood, the shame, every single negative point transformed into something positive. It was because it was what he wanted, and it was what it took to accept it. To accept everything. Alcohol had outstandingly outlandish affects on the man.
The strange effects could only prove beneficial to himself and everybody around him, atleast for the time being. Nobody is in danger, except for himself, but that is not what he cared about right then. He only cared about existance, 'cause everything else didn't matter.
And with a smash of the vodka bottle on the cold hard alleyway ground.
He was out cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yup, that's part one! Yes, there is more after this. This might have been confusing since it was basically a vague outline on what Seifer's been doing. Yes, I am aware I never adressed him by his name in this part! It was purposeful.
I'm just giving myself more work with all kinds of continuous fics to work on, but I really wanted to write this. I was so excited to write more, but I'm sleepy... it's 4:11 AM, and I've been working on it since 11:00 AM so, let me sleep a bit!
Author: Rageful Fairy
Rating: R
Warnings: Insanity, suicidal acts, violence, m/m sexual and romantic situations, drug reference, alcohol reference/use.
Disclaimer: I do not own the song, "Mad World," and do not own the ideas of Final Fantasy VIII.
Summary: Ultimecia's precense still lingers with Seifer, even after her passing. She remains forever there in his memories, installing everlasting fear and insanity within her knight. Revenge- for the efforts he failed to aid and succeed with. How does he deal with all of this while running from all of those who want him dead? Eventually Seifer x Squall.
Author's Notes: This idea came up while dealing with the insanity that is my house, and while listening to Mad World by Gary Jules and Micheal Andrews.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
The tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad World
Mad World
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
And they feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen
Sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me
No one knew me
Hello teacher tell me whats my lesson
Look right through me
Look right through me
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very very
Mad World
Mad World
- Gary Jules and Micheal Andrews, "Mad World."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
PART ONE - AFFLICTED
Useless was what he felt he was, only being a scrap of what was a terrible attempt to aid Sorceress Ultimecia achieve her goal of Time Compression. Only being a remembrance of what had happened so many months ago. He had survived long, considering everybody who wanted him gone. Everybody wanted to forget. Seeing him, knowing he was there, knowing he could very well follow the path of utter evil once more made it impossible to forget. So he had to be gone.
Sitting in dark alleyways of Deling, smuggling drugs and reselling them for small gil profits was about all he could do to keep alive. The most low profile thing you could do- smuggle drugs. He could get anything from anywhere, just as long as you can pay him for his services and swear to say you've never met him.
Call him a drug dealer, loser, lap dog, whatever you want. He agrees, he knows he deserves those titles. He knows he deserves every single slap, slice, punch, shot, kick... any assault thrown at him for the things he's done.
Regret is what he was beginning to feel. How uncharacteristic of him, but having the whole world hate you for something you've done out of being a power-hungry bastard... it has to get to you. It was getting to him. Slowly but surely. Gnawing away at his ego, replacing the huge part of him with stress. Worry. Fright. Pain. Gloom. Anger. Depression. Hate...
He learned to hate himself for all he's done.
He learned to hate himself for something he didn't do voluntarily.
Of course, he knew he gave himself in to the Sorceress, but he had never knew he'd become some sort of toy, who's own motives were removed and replaced with the motives of a disgusting blood thirsty magical person from a distant furture. Who would have known? Who could have guessed?
That is what's driving him crazy. Absolutely, utterly, crazy. Insane, if you will. I'm not trying to throw titles around, but his mental state is completely shattered, confusion being his sanity's undoing. He knew now so many things he's disturbed to know. There is nothing to distort what he knows.
There is also no way anybody in their right mind could explain the happenings. Everybody believed that he was following the Sorceress by his own will, and damn well was going to be proud of whatever unmaking he could do while doing what he was doing. The true, determined person he was had turned into a figment of everyone's imagination as he was proudly standing tall on a float in honor of the Sorceress at the parade in Deling. That person at the Sorceress Parade, D- District Prison, in Space... it all wasn't the real Seifer.
But I suppose this is the real Seifer now. Determined to live, and that is all he wants to do. His only priority. He yearns to see another day, yet wants to make sure there's no tomorrow for him either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brutally, he was beaten. Three street thugs dressed in all baggy black attire slashed knives through his once flawless tanned skin, dying the road and his body scarlet. He responded not. Whimpers were released, in addmittance to his newfound weakness. It was all he could muster. He was almost too tired to feel the pain.
One of the thugs spat out curses which blended together with the grunts coming from the other two whom were assaulting the man for all he's worth. Kicking and slicing at flesh... they were now the blood thirsty bastards. He needed to be gone. At that particular moment, he wanted to be gone.
He'd taken the slashings, the kicking, everything. When you know something is coming, it doesn't hurt as much as something unexpected. Maybe that is how he lives through every brutal beating he had to take.
Blood created a scarlet stream on the road, leading away from the body of the now unconcious man. His heart beat was faint, but he wanted to live. If he was going to go, he wanted to make damn sure he was the person who'd show himself the exit door.
With one last kick, the thugs were gone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The weather was also violent, perfect to match the mood of the street- living man, after being attacked from seemingly berserked thugs. Rain unsuccessfully trying to pry open wounds, beating at his his purple bruises harshly, allowing stinging feelings to surge in his body.
He tried to move, tried to get up, but he couldn't. All he could do was reach blindly for a bottle to ease the immense pain he endured. He couldn't invest any extra money on a house, a car, or anything a normal person would. Any records of anything in his name would do him harm in the long run.
So, he invested his pocket change in liquor. He had never needed to eat, for drinking so much alcohol would bloat him. With alcohol, he almost resented food. Food never had as good as effects as the liquor does, atleast in his own opinion.
The alcohol fogs up his mind, and that's what he finds so intriguing about alcohol. He can forget, maybe even for a little while. It makes him happy and cheerful for once, not caring. For he has to give a damn about every little thing that already does or might involve him if he wants any chance to live out until he wants to just... go away.
He just fiddles with death, as if it were a toy. Facing it atleast once everyday, but just barely making it alive. Always wanting to go, but not wanting to at the same time. He knows that no matter how many times he's slit a knife into his wrist that he wouldn't do anything more drastic until he was ready to leave this mad, mad world.
He knew that'd he'd know, and it was a good enough conclusion for him. He knew that when he finally realized he had nothing more to live for, he'd go and he'd take himself out. The stubborn man just wanted to know if there was anything good out of his kind of lifestyle. It was what he was determined for, other than his life itself. He wanted to know if anything beneficial to him or anybody else could come out of drug dealing besides getting many other people high and making himself a few thousand gil to add to his alcohol funds.
After taking a swing of vodka, he'd managed to swallow it. Swallowing was painful, for there were many slits, cuts, bruises, and a few open wounds cascading the hollows of his neck, that were relentlessly being pryed at by the berserked rain, also against him.
Taking gulps at a time from the glass vodka bottle, he grew drunken. Eyes turning bloodshot, and cheeks turning flushed. He felt at ease with himself, at a sudden peace. Memories swirling and dancing, and they were all the bad memories, but they just seemed to pretty and positive in his mind while intoxicated. He admired the blood, the shame, every single negative point transformed into something positive. It was because it was what he wanted, and it was what it took to accept it. To accept everything. Alcohol had outstandingly outlandish affects on the man.
The strange effects could only prove beneficial to himself and everybody around him, atleast for the time being. Nobody is in danger, except for himself, but that is not what he cared about right then. He only cared about existance, 'cause everything else didn't matter.
And with a smash of the vodka bottle on the cold hard alleyway ground.
He was out cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yup, that's part one! Yes, there is more after this. This might have been confusing since it was basically a vague outline on what Seifer's been doing. Yes, I am aware I never adressed him by his name in this part! It was purposeful.
I'm just giving myself more work with all kinds of continuous fics to work on, but I really wanted to write this. I was so excited to write more, but I'm sleepy... it's 4:11 AM, and I've been working on it since 11:00 AM so, let me sleep a bit!