Work Text:
Dmitri M. Ivanovich has a secret.
Well… One secret is a bit of an underestimate. Okay, well, actually, it's a huge underestimate. He probably has more secrets than non-secrets. Is non-secret a word? Technically you'd call it a commonly used pomanteau. Whatever. Language is a social construct in the first place. Every word is made-up: The only difference between words and non-words is their popularity!
What was he thinking about again? He was having a really productive train of thought just now, very interesting stuff. It's on the tip of his tongue.
Or is it technically his brain? He's thinking, not talking.
But that doesn't matter. Tip of the tongue is just an idiom for almost remembering something so in this context, it gets the job done. No point in being nitpicky.
Is there a more specific idiom, though? Something like 'tip of my tongue' but just for where you forgot what you were thinking about but it's a really good thought that you almost remeber?
…Probably not.
He's getting off-track again. What was he thinking about?
He was thinking about… Right. Thinking about what he was thinking about before he got distracted.
It was a very interesting thought. Very, very interesting. Mitya… doesn't quite remember what it was.
Something about secrets?
Right. Secrets!
Mitya has a lot of secrets. They are on various levels of seriousness and secrecy. These two are not necessarily directly proportional. A more serious secret isn't kept with more secrecy. That makes sense. Probably.
And his most secret secret… Is that grammatically correct? Technically, that's grammatically correct. Secret is an adjective and a noun.
Right. The secret-secret—That is a very funny way of wording it, though. Maybe he should come up with something more concise? And no, important doesn't work. He's already laid out his metrics.
Mitya likes watching the Korolevskiy Theater Troupe's ballet performances. That is well-known. Everyone performing there is well aware of the energy scientist that likes to take notes in the middle row seats of the theater.
That part is a non-secret. The secret, however, is that he likes it. A lot.
So much so that his investment does not end at simply enjoying and attending performances. It does not even end at attending fan greets and purchasing merchandise.
No. It extends further, so much so that Mitya needs to make his own content of his favorite theater troupe.
…He draws fanart. He draws fanart and writes fanfiction. That's it. That's the secret.
It's not that bad. Everything he creates is suitable for all audiences. His art consists of portraits and excrutiatingly detailed, rendered paintings that he titles things like 'pluey', and his writing is all just character studies—Nothing out of the ordinary. It's all harmless fun.
But Mitya will most definitely die if anyone finds out about this.
It's a warm—as warm as it can be in Snezhnaya—pleasant morning. Perfect time to go outside.
Perfect time to slack off work.
Mitya has fled to a restaurant today—A little place in the countryside, with the best desserts. It's a wonderful meal, made with love and talent, but Mitya finds himself unable to focus on his food.
Instead, he refreshes his Ao3 inbox at an alarming pace in search of a new comment.
Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Okay, this time, for sure, there's going to be something.
He refreshes again, and…
Nothing.
Mitya can't believe it. He wrote the worst fic in the world and now everyone hates him and wants him to die.
Objectively, that's false.
Of course it is—Hyperbole is a common tool of language in order to emphasize a sentiment.
But also, if he thinks about it, that fic kind of sucked. He's met Vodyanitsa before. Surely, he should know what's in and out of character for her, no?
In order to calm himself down before he actually goes insane, Mitya checks the comments already left under the fic.
It was a fluffy 3k Vodette oneshot—There's too much Vodette angst in the world, and he's had enough. Why can't they be happy for once? Is that so much to ask?
vodyanitsas
This was a lovely read. I quite like your style of prose, and the way you write these two feels incredibly true to their authentic selves. It's rare to find someone who captures Vodyanitsa's slight uncanniness like you have here, and the attention to detail here is absolutely wonderful. For a standalone made at the hours of the night, this is exceptionally well-researched and well-written. You should really be proud. This is a lovely work of art, and I look forward to seeing what you create in the future.
Mitya pauses to appreciate the long, thought out praise. It's not every day you get something like that.
It takes him a few minutes. He reads the comment. He rereads. He reads it a third time. A fourth for good measure.
Once he's finally calmed down enough to adequately function, he scrolls down.
SwanFishie
mmmmmmmmm odette wearing a turtleneck 😋 😋😋😋😋 baggy turtlesneck glub glub glub
Glub glub.
Before Mitya can continue his scroll, however, a notification pops up on his phone.
Vodyanitsa
Hi Mister Mitya! I really hope this isn't too much trouble, but I have a small favor to ask you. Could you meet me at the theater? Thank you in advance!
He can tell Miss Vodyanitsa needs something from him because of how much politeness she's typing with.
…He has a hundred and five minutes before Valeriy shows up. That should be more than enough.
Of course! I'd be happy to help, Miss Vodyanitsa. I'll see you there!
A heart react on his message. Mitya lingers briefly before shoving the rest of the dessert in his mouth and placing a good ten thousand mora on the table. It was actually 7804 mora, but hey: The owner is a lovely lady, and getting in her good graces will most certainly be worthwhile.
The theater is pretty far from here. Mitya's got a long walk up ahead—Especially since he'll take a bit of a scenic route to avoid the Sarge.
He checks the comments on his newest art post.
ODETTE4LIFE! | Stell4r Stan (@SwanFishie)
first i see scarfyyy's fic with odette in this and now YOU'RE drawing it??? this is a message i need to see her in this irl
@vodyanitas
oops
@vodyanitsas
Vodyanitsas (@vodyanitsas)
???
ODETTE4LIFE! | Stell4r Stan (@SwanFishie)
look
yumyumyummmm
baggy turtleneck
bats my lashes at you and barks like dog
Vodyanitsas (@vodyanitsas)
Excuse me?
ODETTE4LIFE! | Stell4r Stan (@SwanFishie)
look at turtleneck odette oomf
Vodyanitsas (@vodyanitsas)
I looked?
ODETTE4LIFE! | Stell4r Stan (@SwanFishie)
ily oomf never change
Vodyanitsas (@vodyanitsas)
???????????????
Mitya decides to let those two have their conversation in peace. Instead, he elects to check other comments on his post.
Username (@user120131)
Your trangressions have not gone unnoticed.
Huh?
Mitya types up a reply.
Pelmeni⭐ (@dima)
What ˙ᵕ˙
Not even a second passes before the response.
Username (@user120131)
Check your windowsill.
Hmm.
Any normal person would chalk that up to being a bot. He really should chalk that up to being a bot.
It's probably a bot.
But… It would be really really funny if he went home and there was something on his windowsill.
It's probably a bot, Mitya reminds himself. He shouldn't be getting carried away. This is a weird bot, and only and idiot would believe it isn't.
Eh. He's one of the leading minds of Mistilteinn, and he didn't get this far by backing down from uncertainty!
That settles it. He's checking his windowsill.
With this genius plan of action in mind, Mitya scrolls.
Bennett! (@luckless)
I love this! Especially how yushdfkjshdkfjsdf
Your Local Architect! (@kvhhh)
They got him before he could finish </3
normal guy (@normalguy)
This is blatant engagement bait. No one cuts off in the middle of typing just to keysmash.
Your Local Architect! (@kvhhh)
do you have no joy and whimsy in your life? can you genuinely not conceive that something funny on the internet happening might be real?
Two lovebirds bickering under his post! How wonderful. Humanity truly is fascinating.
There's other comments, too—people telling him they liked the art, that it looks cute, that they want to 'chop it up, mince it, eat it, and run away'.
Mitya pours through them all on his way to the theatre. He doesn't even realize just how quickly the time passes until he bumps into someone.
"Sorry, sorry, I didn't see you there— Oh, Vodyanitsa!" Mitya's scarf waves in his stead. "To what do I owe the honor of this meeting?"
"Mister Mitya!" Says Vodyanitsa cheerily. "I see you're not paying attention to your surroundings once again!"
"Eh heh… I got lost in the beautiful scenery, what can I say?" concedes Mitya sheepishly. She really hasn't forgotten him forgetting what she sang, huh?
"Funny," says Vodyanitsa. "Considering you were looking at your phone the whole time, Mister Mitya."
"…" Mitya's eyes dart off sheepishly. "So, what can I help you with, Miss Vodyanitsa?"
Vodyanitsa perks up.
"Oh, right!" She says. "Well… This is a bit of a strange favor to ask, but—"
"Whatever it is, I'm happy to help!"
"Could you please bring Alyosha here?" she questions. "He's been working all day, and I'm really starting to get worried!"
…Does it technically make him a traitor if he knowingly helps two Rokot members engage in their operations? Hmm.
"Of course, Miss Vodyanitsa!" He says cheerily.
Come to think of it, with Mistilteinn and Stuzha on halt, what does the Rokot even talk about?
Mitya contemplates spying on their meeting for a grand total of one second before deciding against that. That is a very bad idea. Worse than his usual split-second thoughts.
"Thanks!" Voyanitsa smiles. But then, something in her expression minutely shifts. "Mister Mitya, you were in attendance of my performance yesterday, correct?"
"Of course!" Says Mitya.
"Then, Mister Mitya," she continues, sweetly, so sweetly, in fact, that he just knows he's in trouble. "What song did I sing?"
…
Mitya looks to his scarf. His scarf only shrugs, coldly condemning him to doing this on his own.
"I, ah… It was—" He thinks to himself. "Boris Gudunov, right?"
"Correct." A thin smile splays across Vodyanitsa's face. "I'll see you later, Mister Mitya."
"Seeya!" Mitya internally sighs with relief. That was a close call.
Alright. Now to meet Alyosha. Where would he be…?
If he were backstage, Vodyanitsa probably wouldn't have sent Mitya to go gather him. No, he must be some place where she can't easily reach him.
And Alyosha probably isn't at home, either. He rarely remains idle. That man is always doing something to help either himself or the people around him.
If he was out hunting, Odette would likely be able to collect him. She generally partners up with him for those, since her missions with the Fatui are generally around his target areas.
If he isn't hunting, though, what else would he be doing?
Wait. Right. Mitya saw news of some criminal syndicate working around the train station. He must be there, right?
He has eighty five minutes left. The train station is more than close enough, right?
Great. That should work.
"…Mister Mitya?"
"Hmm?"
It takes a second for Mitya to properly register the person addressing him—Odette. He turns around to face her, trying to keep some face…
Only to lose all his composure the moment he sees her outfit.
A turtleneck. A baggy, off-white turtleneck with a pale, purplish swan in the middle.
Just like the one he wrote about! And drew. And is staring at right now.
…This is his punishment for messing with those tyrants in the sky.
"Lovely to see you around, Miss Odette!" He says, smiling serenely as always. Mitya is great at hiding his emotions. This means he is also great at pretending he isn't dying inside right now. Probably. Maybe. He hopes so. "Pardon me for prying, but, eheh, what prompted the change of style? It's wonderful, of course!"
Odette lets out a small huff of air.
"Vodyanitsa insisted," she murmured. "She stormed into my chambers earlier, waving her phone back and forth at me with such animation that I couldn't even see whatever it was she was trying to show. Apparently, she was under the impression that this turtleneck would suit me."
"She's right!" Mitya offers in lieu of willing his heart to stop. He survived the Grim Reaper herself, only to meet such an anticlimactic end…
As a scientist, his natural conclusion is that Vodyanitsa is stronger than the shades. This seems like a very reasonable conclusion to draw.
"You look lovely, Miss Odette, really," he says. Odette frowns. "Ah, did I say something to offend you? My sincerest apologies!"
"You're less talkative than usual," she says. "Normally, you'd have gone into at least three unrelated tangents by now."
…!
"You really don't mince words, Miss Odette," he says with a sheepish laugh. Odette is unmoved.
"You're hiding something," she says bluntly. Mitya reminds himself that he was able to survive throwing himself out into the leylines. He can survive his idol questioning him about his RPF Yuri.
It's not his fault, really! The Korolevskiy Theater Troupe has explicitly stated that fanworks are both welcome, and allowed. Vodyanitsa reposts cute drawings of her on her official account!
It's not exactly like Mitya had ever accounted for actually getting to know the people whose shows he so admired… And bonding with them over being trapped together in the God of Death's twisted murder mystery setup… And finding out one of them tried to threaten him once only to walk in on his dead body. All of those things have definitely made quite an impact on their dynamic.
"What a sudden accusation, Miss Odette! I'm heartbroken, really." He says overdramatically. "Really, though, I'm just tired. I pulled an all-nighter yesterday doing some reading."
Odette makes a punched sound.
"Strike a chord there?" He questions. "I get it. It's so easy to get sucked into spending hours reading. You don't even realize the time's passed until it's hours later and you're staring at the clock wondering how you got here!"
"…Indeed," agrees Odette reluctantly.
"What were you reading, anyways?" Questions Mitya, both to get the heat off him and out of sheer curiosity. "I can't help but wonder what could possibly be intriguing enough to take in the attention of a human as disciplined as yourself!"
"That's irrelevant," says Odette. "You're still not being forthcoming with me. Even when you're tired, you're still extremely talkative. You aren't direct unless you're hiding something."
??? How??? Did she learn to read him so well???
Technically, he should be honored. His idol is paying enough attention to him to be aware of his mannerisms. Isn't that a flattering thought?
"I've made the mistake of underestimating you before," she says. "But for all you like to act, you're extremely astute."
"Well, I am a scientist!" He offers up, knowing full well that's not what she's referring to. "Sure, I'm not the most attentive, and I'm a bit forgetful, and I'm bad at reading others, and… Okay, well, that aside, I'm good with energy science! That counts for something in the intelligence department… right? Right?"
His scarf shakes its 'head' in dissent.
"Agh, lay off!"
Odette is thoroughly unimpressed by the display, gritting her teeth in frustration.
"Just what 'are' you?" The question gives him pause. Mitya thinks of all the various, possible ways he could respond.
It's unexpected, that's for sure. Mitya hadn't expected anyone to pay so much attention. He makes himself easy to dismiss, notably un-noteworthy.
No one really takes him seriously. He's that scatter-brained slacker always running off from his own bodyguard.
Except, apparently, none other than the Prima Ballerina of the Korolevskiy Troupe.
"A fan of the theater!" Says Mitya simply. "And I'm truly flattered to receive such attention from you. Unfortunately, though, I'll need to cut this short: Miss Vodyanitsa asked me to fetch Alyosha for her. I'll see you later!"
Though Odette looks notably displeased, she does not stop him from walking off.
Alyosha is easy enough to find. Mitya sees him just as he's finished clearing out the group he must've been tracking.
He startles upon seeing Mitya.
"…You shouldn't be here," he says. Mitya takes a second to collect himself.
It's hard to forget the sight of him, possessed by the shade of death herself, callously admitting to having toyed with them all deliberately.
His fingers dig into his palm, grating a mark that isn't technically there.
"Sorry for the sudden visit," he says. "Vodyanitsa wanted to see you."
It really isn't fair. Alyosha suffered more than anyone, having his own body taken from him.
It really isn't, is it?
…This would make for a great fanfic. Some Rokot3 hurt/comfort—Wait, he shouldn't call them Rokot3. Most people don't know they're in the Rokot.
Uhh. Theater trio? Theater trio. Yeah, sure. That probably works.
He's such a genius. No one has ever come up with this before.
"I see," says Alyosha. "I'll go meet her. Thanks for telling me."
"I'll go with you!" Offers Mitya. "We can get something to eat on the way."
He needs to not think about his fanfiction ideas right in front of the people they're about. Great practice.
"…The offer is appreciated, but I'm sure Vodyanitsa's patience is running thin by now," says Alyosha. "Maybe some other time."
Alyosha starts to walk off, briefly freezing in his tracks.
"Tugarin." With a little yip, the husky follows in his human's tracks.
And with that, Mitya is alone.
Great.
Time to start writing.
Mitya pulls up the word processor with confidence brimming in his veins.
Heh. He's going to put Zhenyu to shame with this one.
Mitya is not putting Zhenyu to shame. Well, maybe he is, but in the sense that the man would probably be overwhelmed by unbridled despair at the sight of this revulsion of language.
"I'm not her," Alyosha murmurs. His heart weighs heavier in his chest than heat-treated Geoculus Solute.
This is so out of character! He's being too direct. The Alyosha he knows would never be so open about his problems. He just loves trying to take on everything himself.
And, of course, how could he forget? That metaphor…
It's kind of clunkily integrated. Mitya should make it a bit more smooth. And complex. Right now, it's really insulting the intelligence of the reader.
Mitya retypes the sentence. Retypes it again. After three iterations, he has something he's satisfied with.
Alyosha half considers saying something. There's a burning in his chest right where the heart is, a sting much like those lab-grown strains of Kresnik Kristal. And every single lingering glance strengthens it, douses it in Oculi Solute, until it's well primed to explode.
He really should speak. Open the container's lid before the pressure grows enough for the gases trapped within to burst out.
But he doesn't.
Now that's better. That metaphor still seems a bit simplistic, but that's alright.
Okay, nevermind: Mitya is definitely putting Zhenyu to shame. He's the best writer ever. He's so good at everything.
"Mister Mitya."
"A-Ah!" Mitya whips around to face none other than the Sarge.
Of course. There's only one person that can actually startle him.
"Heya, Sarge!" He says, pretending he didn't just yelp shrilly enough to shatter a wine glass. "To what do I owe the honor?"
"Mister Mitya." Not in the mood for jokes today, huh? "How many times must I remind you? Just because you are off-duty does not exempt you from reporting to me about your whereabouts. You are still key personnel, and your unreported disappearances are still cause for investigation."
"Eheh, sorry, sorry," Mitya says, not particularly apologetic. "Why don't I make it up to you? Have some food: It's on me!"
Though Alyosha had rejected his invitation to dine together, Mitya still didn't want to miss out on a chance to grab a bite.
"Actually," says Valeriy. "I must escort you back to the Armory Palace. Your assistance is required."
…
"Jeez, they should really find someone else! This meal is so wonderful that it would be a shame to leave it behind…" whines Mitya.
Yes. They really should. Because he is on vacation! Vā-ˈkā-shən. Noun. 1: A period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation; 2: A—scheduled period during which activity (as of a court or school) is suspended, or B—a period of exemption from work granted to an employee. See: 2B. A period of exemption from work. Source: Oxford Dictionary. A book that Mitya has in his personal library and plans on throwing at whoever it is at his workplace that seemed to need a rehashing of that definition.
"The Jester requires your presence." And Mitya requires a copy of the Oxford Dictionary to throw at his face.
"Ah, I see," Mitya says. "…You think I could take this to-go, Sarge?"
Valeriy gives him an unimpressed stare.
"You have been called to a summon by the Jester himself," he says.
"And I really don't want to meet him on an empty stomach!" Says Mitya.
Valeriy stares at him. Mitya stares back. They remain locked in this contest of wills.
"We are not getting food to-go for your meeting with the Jester," insists Valeriy.
…
They end up getting it to-go. Mitya's willpower—and set of puppydog eyes—is insurmountable.
"Do not blame me for any reprimands you receive," says Valeriy, watching as Mitya walks off to approach his boss.
"I won't, I won't," he says. He really won't. He will blame the Sarge for not letting him find a copy of the Oxford dictionary to throw at his boss.
Mitya enters the isolated chambers.
"Mister Mitya."
Mitya, paragon of respect, discreetly stuffs a dumpling into his mouth.
"I heard my presence was requested," he says. "It must be rather urgent, seeing as you needed to solicit me for this."
Considering I'm on vacation.
The jab does not go unnoticed. The Jester sighs.
"I apologize for the sudden summon," he says. "But this pertains to you and you alone."
"Huh?"
"Your hand." Mitya extends his hand. The Jester stares at it.
A small hum.
"It is as I thought," he says. "I can now see it."
"…Huh?"
"That imprint you carved into your hand," elaborates the Jester. "The Eye of Death."
Silence.
"Thank you for allowing me to test my theory." A pause. His boss really doesn't know how to hold a conversation, huh? "You are dismissed for now. I may have to call you back to work soon. Our efforts in thwarting death are crippled without our lead researcher."
"You flatter me, Sarge." Ughhhhhhh. There goes his free time. "I'll take my leave. Seeya!"
The moment he's out of sight, Mitya starts to think about if ditching work tomorrow—because there is a non-zero chance of him having work tomorrow, how wonderful—will be worth it.
No. He needs to show up—There's no theater performances tomorrow, and he needs to make sure the Heavenly Principles stay slumbering forever, even if he has to die a million times to ensure it.
Mitya imagines a hypothetical Celestia burning in flames for motivation. It's very effective.
"Wasn't that rather quick and simple, Mister Mitya?" Valeriy quips, snapping him back to attention. "One could only imagine just how much more so it would be had you simply stayed by my side in the first place."
"But where's the fun in that?" His fanfic! His Rokot3 hurt/comfort fanfic! He's almost done and he needs to get it posted!
"Just take me home, Sarge," he says, sprawling himself atop the Major overdramatically. Valeriy makes no move to get him off.
"Of course," he says. "…But get off of me first."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes."
Home sweet home. Mitya immediately forgets about all other assignments and rushes to finish what he started:
His idea. His masterpiece. His lightning in a bottle.
He's going to post the best work of fiction ever. The world will forever know this beautiful piece of literature.
Mitya rereads the draft.
Eugh.
Scrap that, actually, this is the worst work of fiction ever, forever to be taught in schools as a lesson on what not to do. What was he thinking?!
No. He can't hesitate now. Mitya was brought into this world for one task and one task only: Eliminating the Heavenly Principles.
And also, posting this fanfic.
Without even bothering to proofread, Mitya posts the fic.
It's done. Okay. Alright. His life's work is out.
Now, to do actual work.
Mitya needs to figure out a way to eliminate Ronova from the equation before project Mistilteinn can go any further.
But could that too trigger a Curse of Death? What exactly are the conditions that trigger a curse?
If Mitya wants to figure this out properly, he'll need to run some experiments. Look at different environments, different topics that could possible be considered 'forbidden'. Though he can't remember his deaths, his amnesia alone should be enough to cue him into his demise.
Sure, it'll probably be unpleasant, but that's the price of science. Of defying the tyrants in the sky.
A couple of temporary deaths is something Mitya's more than willing to accept for this.
Alright, now to plan out an experiment.
Observation: Certain critical breakthroughs trigger the Curse of Death.
Question(s): What areas of study trigger this curse? Are there any locations with different impacts and limitations? How broad is the area of effect?
The third question risks bringing other people into this yet again. The second question would require quite some travel.
The first question, therefore, is Mitya's best bet.
Anything that threatens the heavenly principles constitutes death. But what constitutes a threat?
H₀: There is no specific criteria for threats. Threats are constituted based solely on the whims of the Gods.
Considering the way the curse was described, that seems highly unlikely. It was automatically activated. That must mean there's a set criteria involved.
But the point is to try and disprove the null hypothesis, isn't it? That's what Mitya needs to do.
Find a more concrete alternative that gives him something to actually work with.
His coworkers can't do this. None of them have the firsthand experience with the Grim Reaper's interference to adequately test this.
So… His hypothesis. What should it be?
Before Mitya can continue this line of inquiry, however, his phone buzzes.
Vodyanitsa
hi mitya!!! my favorite person ever <3
you're super smart i love how knowledgeable you are about the world
Mitya holds back the urge to laugh.
Thank you for the wonderful compliment!
So, how can I help you, Miss Vodyanitsa?
i dont want anything im just!!! feling nice!!!
glub glub glub
Your favorite person in the whole wide world is Odette.
Also *feeling
woah thanks!!!!! didnt know that!!!!
cough cough clanker cough cough
Clanker?
how?? are you??? acting like the boomer here???
respect your elders boy
Biologically, you'd still be around the age of a twenty-five year-old human.
shut up <3
please <33333
and if you say!
"🤓 i'm not actually talking i'm typing!!!!"
Then what?
ohhhhh my goddd shut uppppp!!!!
"then what?" y/n @ ceo
'Y/N' at-the-rate of a CEO?
What does that mean?
ok there's no WAY! you're fr. you read a million mangled ao3 fics from yae publishing every day
and you don't know y/n ceo
you're larping!!!! you're larping boomerism!!!!
'Larping'? What's that?
hurrr durrrr all i hear is larp larp larp
First Odette, now this… Mitya's been getting worse at this lately.
I don't do 'Live Action Roleplay'! What a strange allegation!
2 choices!!
1: admit you larp
2: don't <3
and i sign you up for odette's ballet lessons <3333
…
She's got him there.
Okay FINE I larp! I think it's funny (◕‿◕)
I KNEW IT!!!!!
you make me SICK!!!
there's_no_limit_to_the_LARP.png
I'm sorry (｡•́︿•̀｡)
if you're really sorry then!!!
u need to prove it
actions speak louder than words
Of course!
okay great!!!
so
So?
hypothetically
HYPOTHETICALLY
if i was reading something
and the author used the metaphor of lab kresnik kristal being covered in.
oculi solute.
what does that mean???
tell me.
energy boy.
are you ignoring me????
??????
In the one minute he spends before replying, Mitya goes through every stage of grief.
That digestible and simplistic metaphor. That was… That was the exact one he used in his work earlier, wasn't it?
Of course, that alone isn't enough to jump to any form of conclusion.
But Odette wearing the turtleneck after that comment from a user with a typing style eerily similar to Vodyanitsa's… a user who also had that same, trademark 'glub glub glub' in their typing pattern…
This is how his life ends. No, seriously. This is the end for him.
Sorry for the delay! Even before Mistilteinn, research labs often modified kresnik kristal to amplify its energy output. As a result, however, these strains of modified kristal became highly volatile, with an extremely low heat capacity and high thermal conductivity. As a result, these variants of kristal generally hurt to touch. In fact, some researchers have even gotten first or second degree burns from the mishandling of them!
And Oculi Solute amplifies the effects of Kresnik Kristal due to its concentrated divine power. This is a technique commonly used to make the effects of experiments using kresnik more visible.
Too much oculi solute, however, can lead to explosions in the Kristal.
(As some of my assistants have found out the hard way.)
🙏
id nerd react but this was helpful actually!
thx
this author is so good!!! they make peak!!!!
but everything they write has some of the
CRAZIEST
most CONVOLUTED
science metaphors ever.
i came here for yuri!!! not a science education!!!
What? He thought his metaphors were extremely simple and digestible!
That seemed digestible enough to me.
of course!!! of course it is <3
one of the best scientists in the country gets the metaphor
so CLEARLY!!!
everyone can!!!!
Mitya had no idea she felt so strongly about this…
Okay, maybe he should take the physics metaphors out. Even if they're all very simplistic and fun to write. For Vodyanitsa's sake.
Fair point (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
yeah
i swear it HAS to be one of your coworkers writing this
if you ever meet them
tell them 1: miss vodyanitsa herself loves them!!!
2: never ever use a science metaphor again please. EVER.
Duly noted. It's okay. He's never going to use a science metaphor ever again because he's going to die in t = 5.2 minutes.
Come to think of it, what even is this work you so adore?
I'd love to see whatever it is that's capable of appealing to your refined tastes.
He really wouldn't.
im gatekeeping!!!
Maybe he should be thankful for this.
Come to think of it, how did his fic do, anyways? Mitya pulls up AO3 to check his statistics.
Immediately, though, the newest comment catches his eye.
Swanfishie
author. i say this as someone whose read AND LOVED AND COMMENTED!!! every single one of your fics. everything you write is peak fiction. you FEED ME!!! you FEED korolevskiy fandom!!! your science metaphors are genuinely impossible for anyone without an energy science degree to understand. this time i had to ask my energy scientist friend. he asked me what i was reading anyways that had me asking about 'kresnik kristal covered in oculi concentrate' and i had to tiptoe around the fact that i messaged him to ask about a metaphor in my hurt/comfort rpf fanfic. great work though i think this may be some of the best stuff you've ever written. the prose was so good glub glub glub. just crazy when i finish my mini physics lesson then check the a/n and see "I was feeling a bit silly (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)"
Swanfishie
ALSO… from vodette to theater trio… can we get scarfyyy stell4r soon 👀
Stell4r? What's that?
Before Mitya can contemplate the question, however, there comes another buzz on his phone.
Vodyanitsa
wait
you use kaomojis. when you arent larping.
Hmm? Is something the matter with that?
Vodyanitsa
just thinking over text
mitya
do you know anything about the korolevskiy theater troupe's fandom?
…!
Mitya's life is over. He's actually going to die. Please. Let t = 5.2 minutes have passed already.
There's probably some… instrument with which to orchestrate his demise, right?
Maybe he should listen to that shady message and check his windowsill already.
He steps towards the windowsill.
Nothing.
…Of course. Just a bot.
Suddenly, though, his phone buzzes.
user120131 (Scam Likely)
I see you have finally listened to my order.
Be more punctual next time.
Your transgressions against the Heavenly Principles even after the halting of Mistilteinn have not gone unnoticed.
Let it be known that the all-seeing eye follows your every move.
Grim Reaper???
Unknown User changed their name to The Ruler of Death.
I am the Ruler of Death. Address me as such.
Do not think you are above consequences.
Your arrogance will be your downfall.
Look Grim Reaper i just found out my oshi reads the rpf yuri i write about her
And she just found out i'm the one writing it
So I'd actually really appreciate your intervention right now.
please
Minutes pass. No response.
Then, after Mitya has just about given up on the conversation bearing any fruit, there comes a message.
The Ruler of Death
Your work of fiction was decently written, but you desperately need a proofreader.
5/10.
Mitya looks away from his phone and just stares off into space, silent as a mouse, contemplating one thing:
How the hell did he end up here?