Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Ra’phiel Tia didn’t remember much of the invasion. He was around six-years-old living with a family he can’t seem to recall the names of. He remembered the vaguest images or noises. Even with his attunement to Hydaelyn, the Primal Big Damn God, everything was just blurs. Blurs and headaches that continued to plague him to the present day. It was just another perfectly executed invasion of a sovereign state. Years had passed, and now the once undisputed ruler of the highlands of Gyr Abania fell to a Garlean invasion to become yet another imperial territory. The nation of Ala Mhigo and its people were torn apart. If Phiel’s memory of the invasion was patchy, his memory of the time right after that was just shit. He remembered being scared and then cold, and then less cold? And then some noises. 

     According to his adoptive mother, Shara Galeheart, Ra’phiel was found in the garbage while she was trying to survive the whole invasion thing. Shara wasn’t a native Ala Mhigan or a loyalist of any sort. She was a self-described “adventurer” and actual choremonger. Whatever got her paid, fed, and warm for the night was what she did. She found the adorable little sprog in a small laundry basket alongside the bodies of his family. Shara didn’t have the heart to ever fully explain to him what happened. 

She adopted a terrible little feverish son and he would be better suited for a library than a bloodied basket.

     His early life was spent as an accomplice to Shara Galeheart and her then platonic partner Sazah Castagnier. They worked as legally as one could be and gave Ra’phiel a surprisingly functional home for how often they moved around getting into trouble. It wasn’t that they were bad people or anything. They just happened to be a tad mischievous. The toddler Tsu Castagnier didn’t exactly help either. Having to care for a brand new child alongside a dangerously nosy and curious little shitheel that kept digging his way into massive issues. Not that the kiddo was just a nosy and curious little shitheel. When he wasn’t getting himself into trouble, Ra’phiel was a brilliant child full of ingenuity and too much backsass. 

    Phiel went on to scrounge up enough income and influence to make his way into an esteemed magic college of sorts. The memory and certain single friendship he made there were all quite important. As was his eventual and somewhat inevitable expulsion. Proving once more how booksmart a man could be without having a single shred of common sense.

After that? Well he

• moved back in with Shara,
• returned home to find the apocalypse happened,
• became something of a God-chosen superpowered magic-wielding defender of the whole continent of Eorzea,
• freed a nation from a literal hundred year war,
• saved his fellow Ala Mhigan refugees,
• and helped in instating a new ruler for both new places and opening the doors to a full alliance of powers on the Eorzean continent. 
• After that? Well it was as simple as freeing a second sovereign nation of Doma from imperial rule,
• experience countless battles and heartbreaks,
• lose sleep over it,
• be forcibly called into a parallel dimension on the brink of collapse by his former classmate/best friend/crush turned old man protector of a doomed people…
• Experience yet more tragedy, death, decay, and be so infused with pure Light energy that he nearly dies without the aid of his comrades. 
• And then go home to his apartment and his husband. Right. His Husband.

All of this reminiscing and backstory fact-checking was all a part of an attempt by Ra’phiel Castagnier to somehow pinpoint down the exact origin of his stupid fucking husband. 

     His husband was not without his quirks to say the very least. Q’ithup Castagnier was a strikingly tall Miqo'te, an immigrant beast-like race from the southern continent of Meracydia, the same race as Ra’phiel. He had green hair and fur for his tail and ears, and tanned brown skin. He wore nearly the same outfit everyday. A white dress shirt, a boring set of trousers, and some work boots. He wore an expressionless mask everyday of his life, a wooden carved two blank eyed piece that was painted a similar green to him with black sort of lines from the cheek bones to the temples of his head or thereabouts. He was a mute and was very much fluent in Eorzean Sign Language. He was just a gardener. Not one of the Warriors of Light as they were called, nor any kind of warrior or scholar. 

     Despite his rather unassuming job and background, his past was causing Ra’Phiel a massive fucking headache. It was late into the night and he was getting nowhere fast. This was supposed to be his vacation from the events of the First. Y’know, that parallel dimension that traumatized his ass into remission?

     This was his vacation. Hunched over looking at everything under the Twelve could possibly tie back to his stupid husband. His stupid husband which was currently staring over his shoulder.

Chapter Text

     "By the Twelve, would you stop jumping out of nowhere like that?!" Ra’phiel shouted, as his husband seemed to arise from nowhere to peek over his shoulder. One of Q’ithup’s ear twitched once as he signed out,

     "I live here, this should not come as a surprise to you." Ra’phiel took grievance with that assumption,

     "It’s 2 A-fucking-M! You shouldn’t be bothering me while I study!" He had a point there. While the apartment they shared in the Lavender Beds was spacious enough for two people, it was obvious when one would put on a light to grab a midnight snack or to read an especially hard to put down book.

     Q’ithup, now realizing he was—in fact—in the wrong, decided the best action was to divert Phie’s attention and angsty rage to his studies.  "Whatcha studying anyway?" Q’ithup signed, hoping to whatever god was listening at the time he would take the bait.

     "N-Nothing," Ra'phiel insisted, "Just some mage-y stuff..." The first sign something is wrong with Phiel is that he shut up about his studies. Glancing at his strewn about papers, Q'ithup got the idea why, his ears shifting into a solemn position. "Haha... Just normal mage things, right Qithy?" Pet names weren't winning over Q'ithup over anytime soon, especially with the subject at hand.

     The papers were a mix of interview captions, newspaper clippings, and diagrams of the mask on Q'ithup's face.

     Q'ithup's hands moved in an anger signing, "I told you last time, I don't- We don't need to find out about this stupid thing!"

     Ra'phiel protested, "But if we I can just know what it is, maybe there's a chance we could..." His words trailed off into nothingness, sensing the emotions in the room. "I thought I could. Is that so wrong?" Ra'phiel was never the type for crying, but here he was, bawling his eyes out.

     Q'ithup, realizing his intensity was effecting Phiel, embraced his companion, waving various versions of "It's okay." A bit difficult with one hand around the man, but he was short enough (or Q'ithup was tall enough) to make it work.

     "Why should I even care!" Ra'phiel spoke with a cadence of an emotional Broadway actor. "You won't even tell me what happened, so why do I not take the hint?!"

     "Will you stop crying if I tell you?" Q'ithup's very arm motions looked sarcastic, but teary eyes aren't known for good vision. After a short series of sniffles, Ra'phiel managed another reply out.

     "Y-Yes..." Honest and clear communication was never the couple's specialty, but this was more than another tease or jab. This was genuine plea for explanation.

     "You should put on the tea," a phrase used by Q'ithup when he knew they were about to engage in a healthy bit of confession.

     Q’ithup lit some candles for mood lighting while Ra’phiel managed to heat the kettle without burning down the whole building. They sat across from each other on mismatched chairs, drinking from a chipped tea set, and talking over a discount hexagonal table. The tension was palpable. Every little movement of the hands was accentuated to the other. Q'ithup could barely take another second of it. Luckily, Ra'phiel sighed and began the conversation.

     "So, where do you wish to start?" Ra'phiel tilted his head to the left, slightly tousling his hair as he conversed. "There is a start to your story, yes?"

     Q'ithup stared into the middle distance, his emotions hidden to the rest of the world. After a pause, Q'ithup's gaze turned back and he signed, "Sorry, it's been a while since I've thought too deep on this."

     Q'ithup began his tale, opting to write his thoughts down on parchment. Ra'phiel paced behind Q'ithup's chair, checking over his shoulder every few seconds for new updates.

"Let's start from the beginning. I believe I was born around 20 years from now. Though I was born to the Q tribe, I do not have a working memory of those years. How to put this... I can only remember little scenes, spliced here and there, with no grounding ideas. Or a-"

     Before Q'ithup had the chance to continue, Ra'phiel raised his voice. "You have no memories yet still are able to read and write? Fascinating... And what of your mother? Do you have any sort of-" 

     Q'ithup dropped the writing implement loudly on the table and signed back, "I will get to that. Please. Wait." Despite there being no tone to his words, the intent was very clearly delivered. ["Stop asking questions, this is serious."] Phiel gave a quick series of nods and returning to his pacing.

This was going to be a very long morning.

Chapter Text

     Ra’phiel attempted to sit still instead of pacing around the room. He was successful for all of five seconds before he released his vice-like grip of the table and launched himself off of the seat and into yet more circular walking. Q’ithup tapped his writing implement on one of the mask’s cheeks trying to recall a detail.

     With his tail fully straight and ears forming a plateau, Ra’phiel bursted out, "Wouldja just hurry up!! It’s nearly 2:30 in the morning." Phiel lowered his voice as his interjection went on. Q’ithup stared at the man with an unchanging unbothered look. Phiel mumbled out an apology. They both understood that his interrupting and explosive shouts weren’t intended to be rude. Q’ithup knew that his husband could only bottle up his enthusiasm and/or mania for so long. It was something he actually loved about him, but like most things, Q'ithup kept that to himself. Regardless of loving hissy fits, Q'ithup stretched out his arms and returned to the matters at hand.

      "I use the phrase 'I believe I was[...]' when referring to my exact age for good reason. I cannot know that. To this day, I still wish for every piece of memory my brain can offer. The early years are especially nebulous. I have"

  ...

     Q'ithup then paused his writing to place a hand on his forehead, rubbing it gently. Ra'phiel stood at attention, his ears flicked while his tail turned into an exclamation point of worry.

     "Oh don't tell me you've gotten sick from this…" The sour-faced scholar was quick to wrap himself around Q'ithup from behind. The hold was a bit awkward considering his considerable height advantage and the chair he was still sitting in, but Phiel wasn't a quitter. Despite the fact he was fuming with the unbridled rage from an interrupted investigation, caring for his partner's wellbeing was a priority.

     "It's only a minor pain, nothing more," Q'ithup motioned without much hesitation to it. It was just a minor pain to him. "Minor pain" as in it felt like swarm of killer hornets stabbing inside his most inner being… Buuuuuut, he could still bear it, so, it was minor. This pain scale was pretty normal to him. Ra'phiel was only somewhat aware of this, still having a difficult time whenever he attempted to callout which statements were true or not

     "Just because I'm prancing with anxiety doesn't mean you have to rush, dear," Phiel murmured out. He was absolutely pissed off, there wasn't any doubt about that. But after years of training in the dark arts of "Emotional Repression", he could manage pretending to be the normal amount of pissed off. For him, his ability to appear miffed and only miffed was a modern day miracle. Regardless his level of restrained irritation, Phiel stayed closer by Q'ithup's side, leaning into one of his arms and trying to place his chin on the gardener's shoulder. This was difficult, given the nearly two feet height difference, but a little bit of clambering and back mounting wouldn't stop him. Very, very few things could stop Ra'phiel from ever letting go of Q'ithup again.

     Never again. 

     ...

     Never. 

     Again.

     "I have memories of my early years. I do. They are by no means structured or strong. Less of a completed illustration, more of a mad heap of ungodly paints and textures. The sounds and sights of somewhere sparsely populated, of wildlife and buzzing insects, and of a crackling fire.

     I do not have memories of my early years, in some sense. No names, no faces, and no visions that could at least slightly indicate a location. They are not there. No portraits or landscapes, just a few barren feelings and scents I long for. Freshly baked bread of unknown origin. Sweet flowers in a half empty broken vase. I do not know who I was when I took my first steps. Most don't as well, but most have older people to know for them. Oh, what a luxury.

     It was about that time"

     ...

     Ithup paused, the grip on his pen tightening. Phiel, noting his white knuckles and tension, wound his head back to headbutt directly into his shoulder. 

     "Ow," he shrieked quietly. Phiel was by no means raised by wolves, but he did have his more animalistic tendencies, especially in-private and even more so with his husband. Ithup seemed to understand, despite his flinch at the impact. He turned his head just slightly so he could see Ra'phiel rubbing his head. With a blocked smile on his face, he raised his other hand to pat him gently on the head. Phiel, in return, bared his sharp teeth and bit through the white dress shirt to puncture Q'ithup's shoulder, though gently. Ithup seemed to rumble a silent laugh, giving him one last pat, then returning to work.

     How biting the other came to be a sign of affection and trust was probably the least bizarre thing these two men learned together.

     "It was about that time. Maybe four years old? I had gotten quite talkative. I remember saying a lot and hearing a lot, then wanting to understand it so I could spit it back out. The patterns and rhythms of my speech. The unrestrained creativity that I saw. This is all just a guess, but it makes me feel better if I imagine myself as a talkative young boy. That reads sadder than I intended. Phiel stop ponking l am trying to write. [sic]

     I am presuming all of this based on when children tend to become more verbal and creative, as it explains my otherworldly memory of the night they took me. It w"

     The pen careens right, tearing into the paper and leaving a few ink stains. The reason being Phiel was inable to contain his… "Enthusiasm" for learning such a crucial detail that Q'ithup had very much not mentioned until now. Phiel felt very much beyond miffed.

     "Would it have KILLED you to mention that sooner you no-good—" Phiel would likely continue into more colorful language were it not for Q'ithup turning to him to motion for quiet. Q'ithup then hangs his head, solemnly. 

     He was proud of not being afraid of showing emotions, yes, but he did have an inner wall. Some things were just…

     Inconvenient for others to hear. Troublesome and untrustworthy bad memories that didn't matter. It was about the here and the now. Loose speculation of his various…

     Difficulties as a child didn't help, he rationalized. This was just for Pheil's delusional—

     "I swear on… I don't even have anything strong enough to swear on for this!" Phiel continued his scolding, though attempted to make it quieter.

     Both of their ears were bent backwards with the occasional flick.

     Q'ithup closed his eyes. He wasn't weak, nor overly emotional. It was fine to feel a hook jabbing into and around his stomach. He felt fine. The anger that Phiel felt was not affecting him, it was fine to feel the room closing in. The spikes of bitter self-hatred and condemnation was fine.

     They both moved to embrace their stupid godsdamn husband. Their tears trailed down in unison. Q'ithup could feel the warmth in his chest return to him.

     They both needed another cup of tea, and another after that.