An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
"Martyn looks to find Ren, but instead of meeting Ren's eyes, he finds himself staring at someone whom he’s never met but knows very well."
Or, how Martyn writes a new story in the Third Life time-loop, and what it means to be fully warm.
i dunno if anyone still cares about docmartyn in 2024 but i've completely forgotten to post this link here! if you like the idea of doc in third life and/or third life as a time loop, come come
So anyone who saw the first chapter of Twilight Shadows probably noticed the lack of a 2nd chapter flowing from my keyboard. :p
I haven’t been leaving the story stagnant, though! Mary and I have been focusing on it a lot! Sadly, mostly on later parts that won’t show up for a long, long time, even if I put out a chapter every month.
But some of those later parts I’ve actually done writing for, scenes and chapters I’d like to have in the fic at some point, or things I was just trying out to see how they flowed.
And I’ve decided to shove the best of these into an entry on AO3, for those who want to read my ideas when they’re more raw and less polished, and don’t mind spoilers for Twilight Shadows.
You can find that here, if you like:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094607/chapters/29957940
“This is not good,” Nate mumbled again, chewing the end of his pen, and Mike paused the DVR.
“What’s going on?”
“Hm?” Nate glanced up and blinked at Mike and the screen as if he was startled to find them in the room. “Oh, nothing. Go ahead, you can keep watching.”
“It’s nothing interesting anyway. What’s not good? Also, why the hell are you so far away?”
Despite his apparent distress, Nate managed a grin, and unfolded himself from his position in Mike’s favorite big comfy armchair. He stretched as he stood, cracking something in his back, and his dark blue Berkeley t-shirt rode up on his stomach. He was wearing pajama pants that hung low on his hips, and two days ago that probably would have been enough to interrupt their conversation entirely. But they had had plenty of time to reacquaint themselves since then, and Mike was able to not ravish Nate when he sat down again, this time on the couch, and curled up against Mike’s shoulder. He was clutching a sheaf of paper, and he smacked the front sheet for emphasis.
“I’ve got fifty-two quizzes and fifty-two essays to grade, I’m only two-thirds of the way through the quizzes and I’ve had to give ten grades under 70. And some of these are such stupid mistakes! Like mixing up countries–I don’t expect you to be mixing up any countries by Thanksgiving break, honestly, but I’ll grudgingly allow it for something like Yemen and Oman, or Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan. But Turkey and Saudi Arabia? No!”
“The nerve,” Mike drawled. Nate craned his head to glare at him.
“This is actually serious. We’re well into the early modern period now, and students are still confusing two of the major influential players.”
“I know it’s serious, baby,” Mike said soothingly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “I’m just sayin’, you can mark ’em down and move on. No use getting yourself all worked up about it.”
“Fine,” Nate huffed. “If you’re okay with the fact that the US is currently at war with two Muslim-majority countries, that complex theology and history is regularly being reduced to two-second soundbites on the news, and that I have eight students attending the highest-ranked public university in the country who think the Arabic word for a protected monotheistic group is hummus, then sure, I’m okay with it, too.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s probably not good.” Mike paused. “Dhimma?”
“Full marks,” Nate smiled. He gave Mike a peck on the cheek and wiggled, adjusting so he was leaning against Mike’s chest and thus freeing up both arms for grading. He set aside the top quiz and scanned the next one in the pile. “If this is what the quizzes are like, I’m dreading the essays. They’re only four to five pages, but…”
“Do you really have to do all of this on your vacation?”
“I’m sorry,” he frowned. “I know it’s getting in the way, but–”
“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that. Being in the same room is enough for me, and if you’ve got work I’m a grown man who can entertain himself without whining. I was thinking more about how traveling from Berkeley to here to Baltimore and back sounds like enough to keep you busy. You didn’t want to take a real vacation?”
“I promised I’d get these back before they turned in their papers, so I really need to finish the quizzes at least.” He snorted. “Brad suggested I need to drink more whiskey when I’m grading. Ray says I should give everyone a B minus and watch them implode. Sad thing is, for some of these people that would be a significantly higher grade.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Mike said. He wrapped an arm around Nate’s shoulders and kissed him again, this time just at the nape of his neck. Their libidos may have been temporarily sated, but damn, he was really enjoying this cuddling shit. “In four and a half years you’ll be done with your program, and most of these kids will be just graduating. That gives you–what, three years to fix the Middle East before they really start fucking shit up? Plenty of time.”
“Stop trying to cheer me up. But--yeah, keep doing that.”
“This is not going to get your grading done,” Mike murmured as he trailed his mouth down Nate’s neck, then up again on the side, beneath the hollow of his ear. Nate leaned into his touch and tossed the papers onto the couch beside him.
Asami could hear Senna’s mumbled cries as she held Korra’s head to her shoulder in an embrace, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she could certainly imagine the meaning.
