Artyom, currently residing in his home station at VDNKh, is a Spartan Ranger, mushroom enthusiast, hero of the Metro, and somewhat a dick. Part time mun shitposter
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Artyom hugged his jacket around himself and leaned back against the tunnel wall. It was cold in the metro- colder than usual. Maybe they were near an opening to the surface, but there was no trace of a radiation leak yet. Even if there was, they couldn’t afford to waste any filters anyway.
Artyom stared at the drunken man, trying to forge a fire. Should he tell him that it wouldn’t work with burnt out matches? He didn’t want to make him any angrier than he already was...
“You don’t happen to have a blanket in that bag do you...” Artyom asked quietly. “Or at least some vodka to share?”
Nightmare: I’ll write my character having a nightmare about yours, or vice versa.
Kiss: I’ll write our characters sharing a kiss, it can be innocent or passionate.
Traumatic: I’ll write my or your characters going through a traumatic experience.
Murder: I’ll write my character killing yours or vice vesra.
Home: I’ll write our characters living together.
Holiday: I’ll write our characters celebrating a holiday together.
Prank: I’ll write our characters pulling pranks on each other.
Scars: I’ll write your character touching my character’s scars or vice versa
Sketching: I’ll write your character drawing mine or vice versa
Warmth: I’ll write our characters getting warm.
Solace: I’ll write my character comforting yours or vice versa
Drink: I’ll write our characters drinking together
Game: I’ll write our characters playing a game.
Love: I’ll write our character’s falling in love.
Death: I’ll write our character’s mourning over each other.
Hate: I’ll write our character’s hating each other.
Seduce: I’ll write my character trying to seduce yours or vice versa
Old: I’ll write our characters growing old together
Song: I’ll write our character’s singing or playing a musical instruments.
Child: I’ll write our characters raising a child.
Poem: I’ll write my character speaking a poem to yours or vice versa
Insane: I’ll write my character is insane inside asylum and yours is the doctor, vice versa
“Don’t be mad, Artyom– just doing my job to protect the Red Line. And you, musketeer, are from the wrong side of the barricade.”
Pavel, from Metro Last Light. Yeeeeeeah… I completely fell for it, with all of his adorableness and talk of being the two musketeers. I was venting to my sibling afterwards, and they said, “So… this guy basically pulled a Hans on you?” He would’ve earned the title of “Favorite NPC of the Game” too.
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I’ve never been anywhere close to love until now and I’m just so happy and giddy and I need to tell the world cause I’m in such a great and healthy relationship wheeelppp im sorry bye
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I wrote this about a year ago because I figured Roman marriage would be more fun to study if it was with Artyom and Pavel.
I’m really sorry
bourbon-the-huckster
The chess still smelt of dust sawn wood. It seemed small, but it was a decent size for the purpose it served. Handcrafted specially for him by his uncle, Artyom had had this box for as long as he could remember. He must have been so young when he got it, Artyom figured he probably would have been able to fit in the box at the time.
He opened it carefully and came overjoyed with a warm sense of nostalgia. Old toys and tunics that were too small for him were delicately placed in the box. Everything he had outgrown in his childhood ended up in here.
He picked up the folded toga in his lap and placed it overtop of those old tunics, and closed the box without another look. That was it. He wouldn’t get to wear it ever again. It wasn’t that he would miss the toga itself- because to be honest, it was heavy and hot to wear in the sun, and it always slipped of his shoulders if he wasn’t careful, and he’d have to ask his uncle to help him fix it. But now he was really no longer a kid anymore. It was true that he had put it off long enough, but he had no regrets. Tomorrow, he would be married.
Artyom supposed he was fortunate that his uncle Sasha never arranged a marriage for him. His uncle claimed that it was just an old-fashioned tradition, and that if Artyom was a good enough boy, a man would marry him soon enough. Although Sasha hoped it had been a little sooner, he tried to remain patient until the day.
Artyom got up and got into his bed. He had to sleep- tomorrow would be the day, but his eyes wouldn’t shut, and his heart wouldn’t calm down.
He turned over on his bed, chewed on his lip, and then whispered a prayer to Juno under his breath, and when it didn’t help him, said another prayer, and another, until he managed to drift off.
~~~~~~
“I can’t braid this, your hair is too short,” Anna muttered, her hands roughly combing and pulling through his mess of black hair.
“I don’t know what to do,” She sighed, clearly irritated as she turned to Sasha, who stood on the other side of the room, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I read that in Sparta, brides cut their hair off on their wedding day,” Artyom stated. It seemed a lot simpler…
“Enough with the Spartans, Artyom,” Sasha scolded. “Anna, try harder, even if you have to pull his hair.”
Artyom sighed and clenched his fists. He had other things to worry about than his hair. The guests…the socializing…and his husband.
“Artyom, I’ve asked you a hundred times,” Sasha asked, stepping up to him and Anna. “You’re sure?”
Anna tugged his hair as he tried to glance at his uncle.
“About sine manu mariti?” Artyom winced, trying to keep still. “I’m sure.”
“Artyom,” Sasha sighed, “You know you don’t have to.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you want to give yourself away?”
“Because I trust him.”
It had been a discussion ever since the sponsalia- the betrothal. Artyom had the choice to give himself entirely to his new husband, to become his property. In manu mairti. In the hand of his husband.
His uncle protested this. Sine manu mairti; without the hand of the husband was now encouraged under the reign of Augustus. This would mean that Artyom would still be property of his uncle. It wasn’t because he was unready to give Artyom up. Really. It was out of fear of what could happen if Artyom was divorced. He was risking everything by committing himself to a new man.
Sasha nodded, “Then I trust your judgment Artyom.”
Anna sighed. “I can’t do anything with this hair,” She stated. “No one is going to see it anyway. Get the dress.”
Within a short amount of time, Artyom was ready. His dress was long, simple, and white, a knot of Hercules tied delicately at his bad, and his red pala covering his head, and trailing down behind him.
Sasha smiled warmly. “You look wonderful, you know I’m so proud.”
Artyom smiled back at him. “I’m so happy to have your support uncle. I wanted to make this decision myself and…”
“I knew you’d find someone to take care of you. You’re a smart boy, just like how I raised you.”
He nodded again, “And … now we wait?”
“Now you wait,” Anna correct, sitting up. “I have more arrangements to take care of before the guests arrive. Now sit still an- no! Don’t touch your pala- good. Stay there until I come and get you.”
His heart was in a bigger twist than the knot of Hercules on his dress.
In just a few short hours, he would be wedded, and he would belong to Pavel. It filled him with warmth and joy, and excitement. No longer would he feel jealous over petty things. He would be his wife. His partner. And there would be nothing more to be jealous of.
He remembered seeing him just two days ago, that heavy guilt and jealousy in his stomach to see someone else kiss him in greetings. It seemed to mean nothing to Zhenya, or, Pavel, or anyone else. As if they were just saying hello. But Artyom was jealous, and he would never admit it. He wanted Pavel for himself.
After some time, Anna and Zhenya walked in the room, holding his pala training behind him as he walked out of his room, and into his uncle’s atrium, where the rest of the guests were gathered. He tried to breathe calmly, look delicate, and chaste, and humble. Everyone he loved and cared about was here except for Pavel. He could feel his heart beating so fast, and he tried to breathe deeply as he stood by the water in the atrium. Soft morning sunlight filled the little house from the impluvium, filling the room with gentle, June scents.
Anna stood by him, leaving the space ready for Pavel. She exchanged looks with Artyom that said everything was in place. Pavel would arrive soon, and Anna, as the matron of honor, would direct the ceremony. Artyom nodded. Good. And now they would wait for him. Music played, and he tried to take deep breaths, trying to look pleased, and elegant in front of all the guests.
The door opened. Pavel stepped in, wearing his best tunic. He looked at Artyom, smiling warmly as he walked down the atrium, his eyes full of love and excitement.
He stood in front of Artyom by the water, looking at Artyom. Anna asked aloud if they both accepted the terms of the in manu maritia. Artyom nodded and agreed, and so did Pavel. Artyom tried not to smile brightly.
Pavel extended his hand to him, and Artyom happily took it, completing the official ceremony. They shook hands, and the small group of people crowded around the little atrium clapped their hands.
After the celebration, complete with wine-cake, and the sacrificing of a pig, Pavel was the first to leave. Anna and Zhenya got Artyom ready, holding his palla that trailed behind him, while others, Khan, Ulman and Bourbon stood around with torches to guide him through the night.
They took him outside and walked down the streets of Rome. It was a sight he had seen countless times as a child- the young, beautiful bride making her way to her new husband’s house, where she would spend the rest of her life. He had dreamed that the day would come for him- that he would live to see such a day when he could look back on Rome with the torches of matrimony in his eyes and know that he had found his place.
They reached Pavel’s house- the little casa- no shops attached to this building, and it had an intricate ionic pillar design around the boarder.
Artyom knocked at the door, and Pavel opened, grinning widely.
“Salvete omnes,” Said Pavel.
“Salve,” Artyom nodded.
And then he took Artyom into his arms, and holding him like the bride he was, taking him into his house. Artyom laughed, holding Pavel around his shoulders as he was brought to the altar. Pavel didn’t place Artyom down as he had him wash his hands in a dish of water, and then light a candle. The symbols of water and fire meant to represent the purity of the bride and her past, along with commitment and passion for the future.
He placed Artyom by the impluvium and kissed his head. “I’ll see you soon,” He said, and left into the bedroom. Artyom sat there. He had never been to this part of the ceremony before, so he felt a little lost now …
“Artyom my boy!” Ulman came up to him and sat down. “You know- when I first married Khan I was about your age too.”
Artyom looked at him, a little unsure of what was happening now.
“Now I’m sure you have a lot of questions about what’s going on with your body, am I right?”
“Uuuh…”
“Now listen, all those questions are going to be answered soon. This is the reason you get married, you see…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He stepped into the room.
“Pavel…?”
Pavel sat there, on the bed.
“You can come in Artyom, close the door.”
Artyom did just that.
“Come sit with me …”
Artyom sat next to him on the bed, just a few inches between them.
Outside, he could hear music begin to play … the guests had followed them to this house, and were celebrating outside his doors now. Drunk.
Pavel moved closer to him. “Artyom…” He said, touching his hand.
“Yes?”
“I … can’t tell you how happy it makes me that you trust me… to agree to enter this in manu with me.”
Artyom grinned. “Of course…”
“…and… you understand what happens now,” Pavel said, not so much of a question but more of an understanding.
“Yes.”
“Artyom…” Pavel took both of Artyom’s hand and enclosed them in his own. His touch was firm, but warm. “Do you still trust me?”
Artyom looked at Pavel, and then smiled. He was so lucky that this was the man he got to spend the rest of his life with. “Of course I do Pavel.” Artyom said. “I’m in your hands~”
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