Theomachy

Independent and Selective roleplay blog for Genesis Rhapsodos from Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII

-Written by Kkeungi (he/him; 30+; PST) - Portrayal will be very headcanon heavy, Fanon will be ignored with extreme prejudice and spite - Mature themes will be explored, but tagged appropriately - Para/Multi-para preferred, longterm and in-depth plotting preferred

Tag: @theomachst​

Thank you, I deeply appreciate the kind words! I have been avoiding this blog for some time, but I think I've gotten my muse for this trainwreck back as of late.

It still manages to take him off guard, somehow- The way Angeal manages to say such things and yet earnestly means it with every well-muscled fiber of his being. It's almost painful how devoted he is and Genesis wouldn't have it any other way. Maybe there was something wrong with him, some unspoken deficiency that made him desire to latch his claws into someone's chest and wrap his wings around them in the most suffocating of embraces. If he couldn't have everything that Hewley had to offer, why bother having him at all? What kind of selfish creature could willingly demand such and expect even more?

It had always been their shared dream, ever since those bygone days spent laying in the grass with a portable radio and their glossy-eyed pouring over latest news of the Argent General in newspaper form- Something brought to their small hamlet all the way from Junon's rocky shores.

While Genesis' pursuits were largely intellectual and academic, any subject from agricultural pursuits to engineering painting a fresh and lush landscape for his mind to wander, he did enjoy practicing swordplay with his childhood friend. He was always chasing behind Hewley in that respect- Angeal had a broad and sturdy build that would be well suited if honed for combat, his father even managed to have a sword crafted especially for him. Genesis found himself both in awe of his friend's prowess as much as he was insanely jealous, his own slender figure and nascent breasts being completely unwanted, visibly the opposite of the image of strength he desired to become.

Training became an obsessive activity, muscle replacing supple curves as he toned up into an athletic figure. He'd saved money for masculinizing surgery he'd heard could be performed by city doctors, ignoring the lack of understanding from the other townsfolk, much less his own parents.

It wasn't enough to simply be faster or more agile than Angeal, he needed to be just as powerful in his own right- Otherwise, how would he gain respect? Sephiroth himself embodied both strength and beauty, but he cut a far more intimidating figure than a lanky ginger-haired teenager with 'more freckles than a lick of common sense', as his hecklers loved to parrot.

Perhaps that's why having such a hold over Hewley feels so insidiously thrilling. He'd managed to capture the heart and trust of a man he viewed as the ideal, an apex of human physicality, power and sound reason in equal amounts- All laid bare at his feet, hinged upon only his words and esteem. As guilty as he feels for enjoying it, he knows that Angeal has the same pull over him- That indescribable magnetism and familiar intimacy, no need for paltry words spoken about how ironclad their bonds of brotherhood must be. He is as weak as a trembling fawn learning to walk on four legs in the face of the other man, his magnitude of presence, the quiet assumption of trust and that either of the pair would leap into the path of direct harm for each other without prompting.

He knows that he holds this loyalty and kinship over Sephiroth's head, unintentional as it may be, that it's often all too easy for the General to feel like a third wheel in face of shared memories and jokes spoken between he and Hewley. And yet this makes him cling to his friend all the more for it, knowing that he has managed to grasp something that Sephiroth himself wishes he also had- In what other subject would such an achievement even be possible?

Yes, my side is where you are meant to be-

It doesn't come as a surprise: his little fledgling is growing, maturing by leaps and bounds. Perhaps Rhapsodos had been too mired within his own personal woes to notice it's insidious leakage into what should be effortless and genuine, the depth of his caring for the other SOLDIER and his progress as a rising young star on the cusp of nucleosynthesis.

He can feel the pride swell within his chest, his smile aglow with heartfelt emotion, even as he gently and steadily begins to pull away from the younger man's orbit. This had always been the plan since he learned what laid in store for him. He couldn't trust himself to fade away gracefully, with poise and perfection. He'd rip and rend, scratch and tear at even the kindest of hands offered in 'understanding', as well-intentioned as it was, he could not ignore that, no- They did not and could not understand what he was going through, thinking of every passing day, unless they had lived through it themselves. The starkness of it, in high contrast to everything else that had come before- It's fathomless enormity, yet it's bone-chilling precipitance.

The End.

"I know to what heights you'd yet soar, my friend. You cannot let anyone stand in the way of your upward momentum. It's not enough to want to be like someone-" he trails off, staring down into his own flexing hand, feeling the tightness of the bandages hidden just beneath the protective layers of leather and fabric.

"-in fact, I'd advise against limiting yourself that way. It is your own unique path that you're establishing, hammering out in flame and steel. Look up to those who came before, certainly... but you have to be willing to eclipse that image you've built within your own mind, and don't let it hold you back. Especially if it happens to be my own."

He claps both hands upon Roche's shoulders, giving a firm jostle, as if to ground him in he reality of that moment.

"Promise me," he demands rather than requests, the gravity of his expression perhaps too intense for the snippet of wisdom he's extrapolating.

"There you go again-" Genesis laughs, though a genuine air of exhaustion can be parsed from his tone.

"You don't have to worry about 'repaying' me, you're my friend and I want to do this for you. If you're really that torn up about it, then you owe me a drink during off duty hours. Deal? When's the last time we sat down and caught up, it feels like ages ago."

Of course, he couldn't blame Hewley (or could he) for being the 'spiritual heart' of SOLDIER, more myth and legend than the humble and borderline infuriating man he'd grown up with.