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wri0thesley · 1 month ago

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work health assessment - dottore x reader (nsfw, 4.8k)

you really need this job, and you're willing to put up with more than you should in order to get it.

cw: dub-con, dark content, medical kink, needles, mentions of drugging. reader is explicitly chubby and a virgin, afab (words such as 'breast' and 'cunt' used, but no pronouns). fingering, glove kink, mentions of forced prostitution. it's dottore!!

You’re trembling. You can feel your leg awkwardly twitching, a trapped nerve in your calf that makes you unable to sit still - and it only gets worse as the last applicant before you comes out with a face like thunder. The other Fatui agent stops and looks at you - he’s obviously higher up in the hierarchy than you are, wearing the trademark hood and red-trimmed coat of a Pyro agent. Somebody looking for a change of pace from combat, then, you suppose.

“You ought not to bother,” he spits out, vitriol in his tone - but you have been around other people enough to know that the vitriol is directed at the man sitting in the office and not at you. “He won’t care about how well-suited you are, any qualifications, any fucking scientific proficiency--”

The Pyro agent walks away still muttering under his breath; you think you hear something about how clearly graduating the Akademiya meant nothing in a place like this, and you feel an unfortunate pang of sympathy for him. He’s definitely far more qualified for this kind of work than you are. If Il Dottore is looking for an assistant, surely somebody who studied at the Akademiya is going to be a far better prospect than you--

You swallow. You need this role.

Everybody has been kind to you since The Fair Lady passed on. They knew you were one of her favourites, and they found work for you to do - even if it has been rather menial and trivial, it’s meant that you’ve kept receiving Mora, and been able to keep yourself afloat. Head above water. They’ve looked at you sympathetically for the past year - but this is the Fatui, after all, and you cannot expect to live on pity for the rest of your life. You need to make yourself indispensable to somebody else.

Heaven knows you’re not primed for combat, you think ruefully, as you look down at the soft curve of your hips and the plush of your thighs where they spread out against the chair you’re waiting on. You’re not clever enough to be an actual scientist underneath Dottore’s instruction, you don’t think; and you hadn’t liked the way that the Regrator had sized you up last time he’d seen you, enquiring after your salary and whether it was truly appropriate for the work you’d been doing around the Palace with that calm, sly smile on his face--

But administration? Handling The Doctor’s papers, filing things away, accounts and schedules and diaries? That is very much the kind of thing you can do, and the thing you did very well for Signora before she met with a shining blade. You grit your teeth and force yourself to think things through and get your words in proper order. The Doctor is not the kind of man who will be kind to you if you start stuttering or falling over yourself; he doesn’t suffer fools gladly, you’ve always been told--

Oh, it would be a step up though, wouldn’t it? To go from the employ of the eighth Harbinger to the second? You’d ordinarily never have dared entertain such a thing, but Pulcinella had sought you out amongst the Palace walls and patted your arm and given you a kind, fatherly smile as he’d told you that he thought you’d be a perfect fit for what Dottore needed.

The door to the office opens and there he is; tall, imposing, his gaze imperceptible behind the crow-like mask he wears at almost all times. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve seen him, of course . . . but this close, and with nobody else around, he has a strange aura that makes you feel dizzy and nervous. Like a laboratory mouse being observed through glass. Slowly, his chin tips down, as if he’s looking you up and down, and then he makes an impatient gesture with one gloved hand.

“Come, then,” he says, in a low, cold voice. “The first thing to learn is not to keep me waiting.”

You’re clumsy getting up off the chair, still a little rattled by the way he looks and just how much he towers over you. The accoutrements he wears on his lab coat do not soften the effect; they give him the look of a too-large raven who is ready to peck your eyes out, making him seem all the more intimidating and all the wider - and considering he is a Doctor, a scholar . . . he’s not exactly lacking in the breadth department even without them.

His lip curls for a fraction of a second at the sight of you pulling at your clothes, rearranging yourself, even nervously reaching up to touch your hair to ensure that it’s in place - but then he motions you through the door and his face is blank once again.

His office is in complete disarray. It’s no wonder he needs an assistant, really; there are files all over his desk, spilling onto the floor. A few tables and chairs in other corners are just as full of ephemera and notes and other things you don’t want to think too hard on. The only things in this office that are meticulously clear and clean are a doctor’s examination bed pressed up against the wall and a tray beside it with an array of silvery instruments that glint cruelly in the snow-bright reflection from the windows. The lock clicks. You swallow again as Dottore motions for you to take a seat in front of his desk and he walks around to recline into his own.

His is old leather, wingback; more throne than chair, and he sits in it like a king observing one of his subjects in a way that makes you feel so small you can barely stand it.

“Well?” He asks you, and you squeak in alarm before your words start to careen out of you like a runaway train.

“I-- The Rooster told me you were looking for an administrative assistant, and you know that’s the same thing I did for the Fair Lady. I-I’m not scientifically-minded or anything, I’d be no help with your experiments - but maybe that’s a good thing, if I don’t know enough to properly even understand the documents I’m handling then I’m no risk with sensitive information--”

He raises one gloved hand to stop you in mid-flow. There’s that quirk of his lip again, as he steeples his fingers together and leans forward on his elbows to rest on the messy wood of his desk.

“My dear,” he drawls at you, “are you truly trying to get me to employ you by making a show of your own incompetence?”

A cold shiver down your spine. You need this role. You need something to get you out of the drudgery of the boring tasks you’ve been given, to get you away from Pantalone’s prying eyes, to give you some kind of purpose--

“I’m good at admin!” You tell him, your voice pitching high in your nervousness. “I’ve a head for figures, I’m organised, I’m discreet--”

“How’s your health?” Dottore asks, that slight curve to his lip not dissipating even a bit. “I can’t employ somebody who is unreliable, you see. I’m rather more of a workaholic than some of my compatriots, and I do so hate to be interrupted when I’m on the brink of a breakthrough.”

“It’s good!” You blurt out without thinking. It’s true; you’ve never had any issues with it. You had mandated checks every year with a doctor that Signora employed - she always made a point to say she wouldn’t make the Doctor do it, with a pinch to your cheeks and a lazy, indulgent smile. She liked her underlings to think her magnanimous.

“Mmm.” Dottore says. He regards you over his hands once more, before he says; “When I saw your application on the pile, I had already half a mind to take you on. The Fair Lady was always effusive in your praises, and I do indeed not want a little upstart who thinks they can replace me. You were right to think your lack of scientific knowledge would be a boon to me. My work is very delicate, you understand?”

“I understand entirely, Doctor,” you say, nodding enthusiastically. “I’m the soul of discretion, I promise.”

“Mmm,” he says, the noise not entirely convinced, but your toes have curled in your shoes and you can feel the fingers of hope crawling up your spine. “Despite that, you do not seem unintelligent. I don’t think I could bear having an idiot handle my files. You’re already well-versed in the politics of Zapolyarny and the way working for a Harbinger functions; I would not have to waste time doing too much training.”

“Not at all, My Lord,” you say, trying to smile despite the nerves that you can still feel tingling all over you. “I’d be extremely good at what you want me for, I promise.”

This wins a soft snort from him, as if you’ve said something very funny. You keep yourself as poised as you can, your spine straight, your face as sweet and open as you can manage. Signora always preferred you to be like this . . . in time, you suppose that you’ll learn what Dottore likes, but until then he doesn’t seem opposed to the same gentle demeanour that you’d perfected with the Eighth Harbinger.

“Nevertheless,” he says, “your physical condition . . .”

Your cheeks burn hot. You hope he is not referring to the curves of your body; you’ve never been particularly self-conscious about it - it’s rather the fashion in Snezhnaya to be soft, and you receive your fair share of admiring looks and propositions - but . . . you know that Dottore is not originally from your homeland, and there can be such strange stigmas in other lands--

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says to you, as if he’s read your mind. “In a purely biologically aesthetic sense, you’re very much a prime specimen. But looks can be deceiving, my dear, and before we finalise the employment I would like you to submit to a medical examination.”

Your eyes widen. You hadn’t prepared for him to ask for this; you try and run through in your head what he might want to check in this examination, but even as you do that you realise he has you caught. You need him to employ you, and he has as good as said that as soon as he’s declared you medically fit and able he’ll be able to officially do so. How bad can it really be, then? Let him poke and prod and walk out of this office with a brand new purpose. You swallow.

“Of course, My Lord,” you say, giving him a blank smile. “What would you like me to do?”

Dottore gives a pleased hum at your acquiescence as he stands up and walks towards the medical table.

“Obedient,” he says, approvingly. “That will serve you in good stead. Come here, if you please. For now, I’m simply going to listen to your heart and do a few quick reflex tests. The more . . . invasive tests will come afterwards. Please remove your topmost layer.”

You do not like the sound of ‘invasive tests’, but you allow yourself the briefest moment of a flinch before you follow his orders. The fur-lined cloak you wear is shed, and the soft knit cardigan follows suit. Seeing you’re wearing a blouse beneath that, Dottore clicks his tongue briefly.

“That too, I’m afraid,” he says. “I need to be able to place this device directly onto your bare skin.”

It takes another moment of steeling yourself, but the blouse follows your other garments until you stand shivering in your lace-trimmed camisole. You’re suddenly exceedingly aware of the generous curve of your breast within the silken cups of your brassiere, the bare skin of your collarbone, the plumpness of your shoulders - but Dottore, doctorly in the extreme, merely lets his gloved hands brush over them as he steers you to take a seat upon the examination table and presses the cool circle of his stethoscope against your chest.

The next fifteen minutes are boring but predictable. Dottore takes your vitals; your blood pressure, your heart-rate. He checks your reaction times with a little glowing light - he takes your temperature. You wrinkle your nose when he produces a syringe, but you have had blood taken before and you manage nothing more than a little flinch when you feel the needle slide into the crook of your elbow. He writes all of his findings down in a little black-covered ring bound notebook.

It is only when he closes the notebook that you finally let yourself relax; your shoulders to slump, the breath it feels as though you’ve been shudderingly holding on to finally dispelled.

“Do I meet your expectations, My Lord?” You ask him, and Dottore gives a small, considering noise before he looks back up from the notebook.

“I’m afraid I’m not quite finished yet,” he tells you, with a small smile. “If you’d please remove the rest of your clothing.”

Your eyes widen.

“I--”

“There’s a hospital gown for you,” he says, interrupting, reaching towards a lower drawer in the silver cart by the side of the bed. He pulls from its depths a pale blue, paper-thin concoction that you do not feel as though deserves the title of ‘gown’ - but Dottore has you at his mercy. If you refuse now, he simply won’t employ you - and who knows what might happen to you after that? You bite your tongue and repeat the mantra in your mind: what’s the worst that could happen? “I’ll turn whilst you change. Your underwear too, if you please.”

What’s the worst that could happen? You repeat it over and over as Dottore sighs when he turns around, as if he’s being very generous by making this small provision for your modesty and he doesn’t quite see the point. You put your clothes down onto the pile that’s been gradually growing and shrug yourself into the uncomfortable papery gown, perching primly on the very edge of the hospital bed when you’re done with your knees together.

You are terribly aware of just how naked you are beneath the flimsy covering when Dottore turns back around and gives you a slow once-over. There’s a lot of your bare thigh on display; the thin ties at the back of your neck you have done your best to fasten, but you’re also aware of cool air on the bare skin of your spine and the precarious position you would be in if he bid you to stand up and turn around. You press your thighs more fiercely together as if sheer force of will can make you less tortuously conscious of your bare sex, your missing underwear, the way your nipples have peaked in the cool air.

“Are you cold?” He asks, conversationally, as he comes closer to you - and your cheeks go hot all over as one gloved finger comes up and softly circles over the slight imprint of your nipple in the gown. You hiss through your teeth, but don’t say anything. “Your temperature was fine . . . so perhaps you’re just sensitive?”

He tips his head to one side as he considers it. He still has not removed the bird-like mask, but you have the fleeting impression that you’re being ogled by him. His other hand reaches up, and before you can make even a token attempt to slap him away, he is cupping the heavy fat of your breasts through the material, testing their weight in his palms.

“D-Doctor!”

“Yes?” He tilts his head again. “I simply have to get to grips with your body, my dear. This interest is strictly professional.”

“I-- this doesn’t seem necessary, My Lord Harbinger--”

“Believe me, it is. Unless . . . well, you do want me to employ you, don’t you?”

The last is said in a condescending tone that makes you very much sure that if you deny him, he will send you on his way and happily throw you to the mercy of whoever swoops down to feast upon his leftovers first. You remind yourself that it will be over soon; think of how this role will cement your place in the Palace as someone of use, and when Dottore’s thumbs swipe over your nipples you bite back the whimper that wants to tear from your throat.

“Mmm,” he says. “Very sensitive, indeed. Tell me when this hurts.” Still through the gown, Dottore uses thumb and forefinger to gently pinch your nipples. Against your will, you squirm on the hospital bed slightly, heat rising to your face as a low ache between your thighs makes itself known. He starts off soft, but gradually increases the pressure, until you blurt out;

“Th-that hurts!”

“Hmm?” He pinches a little harder and watches you in great interest as you flinch, giving a mean little twist before he finally releases the aching nubs of your nipples. “Yes. As I thought. Now, let me try without the obstruction--”

He reaches behind you and undoes the ties of the gown with one quick, fluid motion - so swift you barely have time to bring your hands up to cover the spill of your breasts, as protests die on your tongue.

“I don’t have time for prudery,” he tells you. “Show me.”

To your great horror, a shaking breath only a moment away from a sob comes trembling out of your throat - but you do as he asks, thinking once more of that job that is dangling over your head. Dottore seems to observe your naked chest for a moment, and then smiles sharp and cruel again.

“Lovely,” he murmurs, as he returns to touching them - kneading handfuls in those awful gloves, tugging at your nipples, rubbing circles around the areola until your over-sensitive body squirms. “Ah, these are nicely sized, aren’t they? And these . . .” Another pinch to your nipple, and this time you feel a tear slip from the corner of your eye unbidden, your throat clogged. “Such pretty little things. So responsive! I daresay the rest of your body has reacted just as nicely?”

“I--I don’t know what you mean, My Lord,” you say to him, although you have the mounting fear that you understand exactly what he means. Dottore chuckles.

“So far, you’re passing the physical examination with flying colours,” he says to you, voice low and cool and smooth. “Don’t disappoint me now, darling.” He pats the side of the examination bed. “Get yourself up here please. Feet flat, knees up.” He leers at you even through the mask as he finishes his order with two words that make your blood run cold. “Thighs apart.”

It almost pushes you over the edge. The thought of Dottore looking at you, so vulnerable, so close to naked (actually, you suppose when you move the gown will flutter to the ground and you will be utterly bare before him) - the idea of him having you entirely at his mercy . . . You’re suddenly all too aware that there is nobody waiting for you; no applicant after you, who might poke their head in rudely to see if Dottore is nearly ready for their interview. For all intens and purposes, Dottore could kill you and use you as spare parts and nobody would ever know--

“My patience is not neverending,” Dottore murmurs, drumming fingers on the leather of the bed. “You do want this, don’t you?”

“Y-yes,” you swallow back the fear. You have nothing else that is viable to do, really - you would never beat him to his door if you ran, you would be naked and afraid, you are entirely at his mercy. . . “S-sorry.”

A pleased noise at the apology. You force yourself to keep breathing as you manoeuvre your traitorous body - to your immense horror, you realise that the kneading and the pinching and the petting that Dottore lavished upon your chest earlier has had an effect between your thighs, and there is a definite dampness wetting the curls of your pubic hair. You squeeze your eyes shut so that you don’t have to see that damned bird mask looming down at you.

“There we are,” Dottore coos to you - fingers slide up your shins, rearranging them slightly until you’re put in exactly the position he wants. “Relax, now. Head on the pillow. This will perhaps be uncomfortable, but I shan’t hurt you on purpose. Ah, there we are. Very good.” You hesitantly settle flat against the leather, and for your obedience you are rewarded with a fleeting pat on your head, like a well-behaved little dog. “Oh, my.”

“I-- is the examination nearly over, Doctor?” You ask him, though you fear that you know the answer - and to answer your fears, Dottore lets out a chuckle that sounds like a creak.

“Oh, not yet,” he says, airily. “Relax, my dear. If you don’t, perhaps I ought to inject some kind of tranquiliser?”

“N-no,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to relax.”

“Very good. Ah.” He shifts again, and you hear the sound of the cart being moved. Your heart begins to rabbit at the thought of any of those silvery sharp instruments coming near the soft part of you nestled between your thighs, but Dottore simply pauses at the foot of the bed and once more observes you.

It’s been a while since he wrote in the notebook, you can’t help but note.

“You’re just as lovely here,” he says to you. “A perfect specimen, really. Very nice.” Very slowly, all the more terribly enhanced because you cannot see him, you feel Dottore bring his gloved finger to stroke down the plump slit of your labia. Your body tenses at the sensation. “You’re wet, too. Good. I’m going to help that along a little - this might be a bit cold, you can shiver if you need to--”

The clatter of the cart again - and then something thick and viscous and cool is being drizzled over your bare sex. You do indeed take in a deep breath, your nails digging into your palms at the unusual sensation.

“Wh-what is it?” You whisper, a thousand horrible thoughts flitting across your head - numbing agents, or oils designed to make you all the more sensitive, or any other kind of horrible concoction that the Doctor might have at hand - but he just laughs at you, as if you’ve told a very funny joke. His tone is condescending;

“Merely a lubricant, my dear. We are simply testing your health; your sensitivity, your reactions, how much you can take--”

He gently continues to stroke up and down the slit of your sex, working the lubricant against your cunt - paying particular attention, to your mortification, to the swollen nub of your clit. Of course, you’ve touched yourself - but to have someone else doing it! To have the Doctor, doing it like this!”

“You’re a virgin?” He asks you, with a note of surprise, and you press your lips tightly together because you cannot bear to say it out loud. Dottore chuckles. “Oh, you don’t need to answer that. I can tell from the way your greedy little hole is trying to suck me in even though it barely seems as though it will stretch enough to fit a finger in.” He clicks his tongue and lets out another low little laugh. “I should have guessed when you started panting and whimpering when I played with your nipples. You’re just darling, you know.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t think this is part of an ordinary medical examination,” you whisper, as Dottore’s finger prods testingly against the flutter of your hole. You hate that he’s right - despite how your mind is whispering poison, your body is only aware of how good it feels to be touched like this, by slow and practised and meticulous hands.

“And I am no ordinary Doctor, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“Please--”

Your next words are drowned out by the whine that falls from your lips as he slowly slides his finger into the hot tight tunnel of your sex. His gloves are still on; the texture makes you fight against the desire to wriggle as he crooks it inside of you, truly getting a feel for the pulsing walls around him.

“I’m sure you’re aware the Regrator has inquired about your contract,” he says to you, as he slowly begins to slide his finger out and then in again, the movement aided by the lubrication and your own slick. Your back arches, but you do not receive a scolding for it - Dottore’s voice has shifted just a semi-tone, thickened just a touch. “He’s thinking you’d make him a pretty penny if he loaned you out to some of his more discerning investors.”

The thought of the way that the Regrator looks at you flashes through your mind again, and you find yourself tearfully shaking your head.

“As well as being a prospect to indulge in himself,” Dottore continues, as if you have not responded. “Now. I’m sure you won’t want that, do you?”

“P-please,” you say, shaking your head. “No.”

Dottore lets out a satisfied exhale. A second finger prods interestedly at your entrance, and you try to force yourself to relax as he slides two of them inside instead. The stretch now is noticeable, and the muscles in your thighs jump. Two fingers, and you almost tell him that it’s too much - before you remember what it is that Dottore is telling you.

“Oh, very clever. I am not lying about needing an administrative assistant,” Dottore tells you, fingers pumping in and out of you now, curling against the pounding of your inner walls, the wet click of his fingers fucking into you echoing too loud in the room. You hate that you can feel yourself, wet and sticky and hot. You hate all the more that inside of you is growing a warmth you have never experienced, a tight ball of tension that makes you dizzy. “I am merely a man who believes in . . . multi-tasking. Dual purpose, if you will. I have found that sometimes I get . . . frustrated in my work, and one of the few ways I have found to expel some of that frustration lies in sexual gratification.”

Your face, hot. Your body, responding against your will. Your heart, pounding like a trapped animal. Dottore’s thumb swipes across your clit, circling the bundle of nerves with the practised assurance that only a doctor can truly embody.

“Your virginity is a variable I hadn’t quite counted on,” he continues, still working you over like your cunt is a puzzle that he needs to solver. You can barely concentrate on what he’s saying now, that ball of heat within you is so overwhelming. “But it’s hardly unwelcome to know I’ll get to shape you to my own desires, if you will.”

You can feel that you’re close; you can feel that if he just carries on a bit longer, if he just lets you get a little further, that ball will explode like fireworks in your head and warmth will spread through your body like a heating lamp on a cold Snezhnayan night. But he stops.

“So now you know the full terms,” he tells you, whilst you fight and lose against the instinct to try and hump your hips back to the gorgeous sensation of his hand on you. “Tell me, my dear. Do you still wish to be my assistant? Or do Pantalone’s plans sound more desirable? For a virgin, you’re being more than a little desperate - perhaps you like the idea of him sharing you out?”

“N-no,” you gasp out, shaking your head. Better the devil you know. Better the second Harbinger, and the same face, and the familiar walls of Zapolyarny Palace than beds of men you’ll never see again. “M-My Lord Harbinger, Dottore, Doctor, please--!”

He chuckles.

“Alright,” he murmurs, and he resumes fucking into you, the firm pressure on your clit, and before you know it you can feel yourself spasming around him with soft pleasured cries as your body is suffused in the warm glow of pleasure. Dottore fucks you on his fingers through the afterglow, the ebbing tide of your first orgasm at the hands of somebody else - before he abruptly stands and you hear the clack of his boots on the floor as he walks away, leaving you naked and shivering and gasping.

“Very well,” he says to you, and though you’re still staring at the ceiling you hear the smile. “I shall see you bright and early tomorrow, my dear. We’ll make a start on my next tests. For now . . .”

It all feels like a muddle in your head. You can’t remember what you’ve agreed to; Dottore’s words are so mired in meaning, and you’re an admin and not any kind of genius--!

But it’s too late. Dottore’s voice is lazy and indolent in a way you’ve never heard it be as he says to you;

“You’re dismissed.”

#writing #genshin impact posting #dottore smut #dub con for ts #dark content for ts #dottore x reader #not sfw #afab reader #medical kink cw

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poisonlove · 1 year ago

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a macchiato, please | j.o

Y/n, working in the quiet café in Turin, is having a normal day until Jenna Ortega, a famous actress, walks into her establishment. This unexpected event will change Y/n's routine and lead to a series of events that will transform her life.

Immersed in the quiet routine of an afternoon in the small café in Turin, I focused on cleaning the cups and glasses.

The atmosphere here was always enveloped in a calm aura, so different from the chaos of daily life. The café, furnished with simplicity and charm, exuded a welcoming atmosphere. Wooden tables were neatly arranged, with comfortable chairs framing the central area. The walls were adorned with paintings by local artists, creating a lively and artistic ambiance.

"Hey, y/n," I turned at the sound of the voice and noticed Mrs. Rossi, my boss, emerging from the kitchen with a gentle yet concerned expression.

With a friendly smile, I approached. "Is everything okay, Mrs. Rossi?"

"Yes, everything's fine. You can call me Maria, you know that, right?" she replied with a sigh. "I have to go for an unexpected medical check-up. Will you be able to close the café tonight?"

"Of course, no problem," I assured, trying to reassure her. "I'll take care of everything. Have a good check-up." Mrs. Rossi smiled at me. "Thank you, Y/n. If you need anything, call me. Goodbye!" she said, putting on her jacket and leaving the premises.

With a wave goodbye, Mrs. Rossi left, leaving me alone in the small yet cozy café.

The sweet melody of Leave Me Lonely by Ariana Grande filled the air of the café through the speakers. "Dangerous love, you're no good for me, darling," I sang with a smile, feeling captivated by the music as I grabbed the coffee capsules for the machine.

I moved my hips slightly, letting the song's rhythm envelop me.

The tinkling of the bell at the entrance made me look up. "Welcome to Caffetteria Rossi! How can I assist you?" I murmured with a warm expression.

My eyes gazed with curiosity at the girl who looked around cautiously and with interest. She wore a huge black cloak, sunglasses, an elegant hat, and a scarf that wrapped around her neck.

I blinked in confusion, considering that the weather in Turin wasn't as cold as her attire might suggest. Perhaps she came from a much colder place, I thought, or she simply loved the mysterious and incognito style.

"Do you speak English?" the girl asked with curiosity, her voice muffled by the scarf.

"Uhm, yeah," I replied, confused.

I glanced around and realized I hadn't put on the shop's apron yet. I turned and took it, tying it around my waist.

"Of course. What can I get you?" I asked absentmindedly, still facing away.

"Uhm... a macchiato, please," she smiled. I realized her voice was clearer now, probably because she had removed the scarf.

A smile crept on my lips at the peculiar pronunciation of macchiato but of course, I wouldn't judge. I focused on the coffee machine, carefully starting to prepare her order. The reassuring sound of capsules entering the machine filled the air as I worked.

The girl approached the counter, pushing her sunglasses slightly down, revealing a lively and curious gaze. "Mi scuso per il mio italiano, è... non è molto buono" she said with a slightly embarrassed expression. She removed her sunglasses, placing them on top of her head.

"Don't worry, you..." I stopped abruptly, surprised, seeing her brown eyes clearly. Penetrating coffee-colored eyes, a delightful smile, and several freckles around her nose.

"You're doing fine," I replied timidly, almost embarrassed and excited by her presence.

What was Jenna Ortega doing in our café?

Jenna seemed slightly tense, as if she feared the worst, even having to escape if recognized. The atmosphere suddenly became more intense, and I could sense her nervousness. "You... do you know who I am, right?" she murmured with a disheartened tone.

I gave a slight side smile, nodding.

"Don't worry, I'm not like the other fans," I said, smiling.

I picked up the coffee cup and offered it to Jenna. "What are you trying to say?" Jenna asked curiously, looking at me seriously.

In the meantime, Jenna had taken off her coat, placing it over the armrest of a chair.

"I respect your privacy... oh god... I adore you, you're amazing and beautiful..." I confessed, my cheeks reddening. "But I can't imagine how it feels to be recognized by everyone," I murmured absentmindedly.

Jenna seemed taken aback by a sweet surprise, as if those unexpected words had positively impacted her. "Thank you, really," she replied with a sincere smile.

"And you're right, it can be a bit overwhelming. But meeting genuine people like you makes it all more enjoyable." Jenna tilted her head to the side, reading my name tag, smiling playfully "y/n..." she whispered softly "y/n, you're beautiful too," she said in a light tone.

I felt myself blush immediately, caught off guard. Jenna had joked about me calling her beautiful, and now the compliment directed at me made me feel a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you," I replied shyly, with a timid smile.

Jenna gracefully took the coffee cup, thanking me again with a warm look. Then, with elegance, those coffee-colored eyes were now free to survey the world around, revealing a depth and intensity that captured my attention.

"Can I ask you something?" Jenna asked kindly, sipping her coffee.

"Of course," I replied, intrigued by her interest.

"Tell me about this café? It has such a welcoming atmosphere, it seems like a special place."

"Sure," I said with a smile, beginning to tell the story of the café.

"This little oasis was born many years ago, founded by a couple passionate about coffee and art. They wanted to create a place where people could escape from their daily routine, enjoying great coffee in a cozy and stimulating atmosphere." Jenna listened attentively, interested in the narrative.

"And the tradition continued over time," I continued, "maintaining the authentic and friendly atmosphere that is the heart of this place. Now it's a beloved spot for many, not only for the coffee but also for the sense of community that is felt here."

As I spoke, I noticed Jenna was fascinated by the story of the café. It was nice to share a piece of that magic with her, who had brought a bit of light and curiosity to that quiet working day.

"And what are you doing in Turin? It doesn't seem like the kind of place someone like you would want to visit," I murmured curiously, leaning on the table.

"Someone like me?" Jenna finished her coffee and gently placed it on the counter. "Sorry, but Turin doesn't seem like your kind of place," I confessed, picking up the cup and placing it in the sink.

"I have an interview, and we'll probably be around here for the new season of Wednesday. Tim fell in love with this city after seeing the exhibition dedicated to him months ago," she confessed, and I smiled at her honesty.

"I loved that series," I admitted quickly. "The way you act is impressive, you can tell you love your job," I nervously bit my lower lip. "But personally, I also loved Scream... Tara is so mysterious... I swear I thought she was the ghostface" I chuckle "then the scream you make... wow!" I murmured absentmindedly.

"Thank you..." she chuckled softly.

"Do you want something else? A brioche?" I asked gently, and she nodded slowly.

"Cream, chocolate... pistachio, or plain?" I asked with a small smile on my lips.

"I prefer cream," she murmured lightly.

Jenna looked around curiously, and I couldn't ignore her beauty. Her dark and silky hair fell gracefully on her shoulders.

Her face had delicate features and penetrating coffee-colored eyes that expressed vivacity and determination. Her smile was radiant, illuminating the entire café. The thin lips added grace to her face. Jenna exuded elegance in every gesture and movement.

"Can we take a picture? I swear I won't post it," I asked nervously.

Jenna chuckled, "It doesn't matter, you can post it if you want," she said with a smile.

"Sorry... after, I'll give you the brioche, but I really want this photo," I admitted, picking up my phone from the counter.

I walked around and approached Jenna, smiling at the height difference. Jenna stood next to me, and we both smiled at the camera.

Jenna's arm gently wrapped around my waist, and I shivered at her touch. Her scent, a mix of fresh and light notes, filled my nostrils as I tried to maintain my nervous smile for the photo.

My heart was racing, almost deafening, feeling Jenna's breath against my cheek. The moment seemed suspended, an eternity compressed into that simple instant.

I looked at the camera, trying to focus on the shot, but it was difficult to ignore Jenna's proximity. It was as if everything else faded away, leaving space only for the two of us in that small fragment of time.

And then, the click of the camera broke the spell. It was over, but that brief moment would remain etched in my memory, like a pure and authentic emotion. I smiled in satisfaction and quickly went back behind the counter, wanting to fulfill Jenna's request.

"Here..." I handed her the brioche, and Jenna smiled sincerely.

"How old are you?" she asked with curiosity, taking a bite of her brioche.

"20," I replied, taken aback.

Jenna nodded, listening with interest. It was pleasant to converse with her, as if there was a natural harmony between us, despite the obvious differences in our life paths.

Shortly after, Jenna's phone chimed, announcing an incoming call. She pulled the phone out of her bag and checked the screen.

"Sorry, I have to take this, it's my agent," she said, slightly rising from the stool.

"Go ahead," I replied, smiling understandingly.

Jenna moved slightly away from the counter, answering the call with a professional yet polite tone. I could perceive her determination in the way she spoke with her agent. Despite the distance, I could catch snippets of the conversation, discussing work commitments and future projects.

As I waited, I looked at the paintings on the walls, letting the café's music lull me into a quiet serenity.

"Sorry, but I have to go," Jenna murmured with a clearly disappointed expression. "The brioche is excellent," she confessed, and I smiled gently.

"How much do I owe you?" she murmured softly, flustered. "It's on the house," I confessed, and Jenna gave me a huge smile.

"Thanks" She quickly says

"No worries, have a good day," I replied, feeling a hint of sadness.

Jenna picked up her coat and put it on, putting on her sunglasses. "It was a pleasure to meet you, y/n," she confessed as she put on her scarf.

"The pleasure was mine," I murmured with a small smile.

"See you soon," Jenna said, opening the door and turning in my direction with a smile.

I didn't reply and watched as she left the café, glancing at the sign with curiosity. Jenna approached the street and raised her hand, catching the attention of a black SUV that had come to pick her up.

I sighed, looking at the clock and realizing that I would soon have to close the café.

"Yes, it's time to go home," I murmured, allowing a wave of nostalgia to wash over me.

I approached the door and hung the "We're closed" sign with a sigh of satisfaction. Next, I dedicated myself to arranging a few things in the café, sweeping the floor and cleaning the cup Jenna had used. It was a way to bring order and close a day that had turned out to be much more interesting than expected.

I sighed audibly, letting the weariness and excitement of the day blend inside me.

A notification on my phone caught my attention, and I approached the counter with slow steps. I picked it up and widened my eyes seeing two notifications on Instagram:

Jennaortega started following caffetteria_Rossi.

Jennaortega started following you.

#jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x you #miércoles addams #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega smut

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iwriteaboutfeminism · 1 year ago

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Please call and/or email your Congressperson now and ask them to join in the House Resolution to call for a de-escalation and ceasefire in Palestine.

(pdf of the Resolution)

This resolution was written by Rep. Cori Bush (MO-01), and is co-led by Reps. Rashida Tlaib (MI-12), Andre Carson (IN-07) Summer Lee (PA-12), and Delia Remirez (IL-03). (If these people are your Reps, call or email to thank them!!)

This is what I said in my voicemail:

My name is [name]. I live in [city], zip code [xxxxx]. I'm calling to ask the Congressman to join Representatives Cori Bush and Rashida Tlaib in their House Resolution calling for a de-escalation and ceasefire in Palestine.

Find contact info for your Congressperson here:

https://www.house.gov/representatives/find-your-representative

Or call the Capital Switchboard at 202-224-3121 to be connected to their office.

We must never be silent in the face of genocide, especially one carried out with our tax dollars!

Text of the Resolution:

RESOLUTION

Calling for an immediate de-escalation and cease-fire in Israel and occupied Palestine.

Whereas all human life is precious, and the targeting of civilians, no matter their faith or ethnicity, is a violation of international humanitarian law;

Whereas, between October 7 and October 16, 2023, armed violence has claimed the lives of over 2,700 Palestinians and over 1,400 Israelis, including Americans, and wounded thousands more;

Whereas hundreds of thousands of lives are at imminent risk if a cease-fire is not achieved and humanitarian aid is not delivered without delay; and

Whereas the Federal Government holds immense diplomatic power to save Israeli and Palestinian lives: Now, therefore, be it

Resolved, That the House of Representatives—

(1) urges the Biden administration to immediately call for and facilitate deescalation and a cease-fire to urgently end the current violence; and

(2) calls upon the Biden administration to promptly send and facilitate the entry of humanitarian assistance into Gaza.

#palestine #free palestine #ceasefire #cori bush #rashida tlaib

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jenniemnhi · 1 year ago

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Nebraska housing crisis: Seniors struggle to find affordable housing [Video]

#IndependentLiving #SeniorsIndependentLivingIL #SeniorsIndependentLiving #AgingParents #AssistedLiving #Independent Living #Seniors Independent Living IL #Seniors Independent Living #Aging Parents #Assisted Living

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kwisatzworld · 15 days ago

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The first time I actually saw Vale was at a gala in Barcelona for the Sport Awards sponsored by IWC. I was the only journalist in a tuxedo. The editor-in-chief of Donna Moderna had told me to try to snag an interview with him on the sly. So, I kept my eyes on him all night, and when he got up to chat with some friends and Arianna, his girlfriend at the time, I slipped into the group and asked him a question. He turned to me, laughing, and asked, “Who are you?” A journalist, I replied. I was just starting out, a bit naive, thinking of being a journalist as some kind of status. Not for Valentino, though: “Then I’m not talking to you.” He turned away and completely ignored me. End of story.

Then I joined Riders, even though I knew next to nothing about motorcycles. So, I started studying. And only then did everything start to connect for me: his decision to switch to Yamaha to prove he was the best, even without Honda, his rivalry with Biaggi, the tax controversies, his comeback victories, and the antics to celebrate them—all of it was already framing a legend, an incredible story. That’s when I got the idea to dedicate a cover to him and his father, Graziano. They’d only been interviewed together once before, and it hadn’t gone well. I was sure mine would be a hit. We set it up. I interviewed Vale and Graziano separately. I spent nearly four hours with Graziano in the Yamaha hospitality and had 15 minutes with Vale in a small office in the same place. Was I nervous before meeting him? I remember I was—very much so. At the end of the interview, I suggested he pose nude, embracing his motorcycle, both of them lying down, shot from above, inspired by that famous photo of John Lennon and Yoko Ono. He replied that, no, he’d never do it nude. And then he left. I was left with the impression that he had no real sense of the legendary status he held or of the power his story already had. I liked that, honestly—it made him feel more relatable. Someone you could talk to about Inter and girls, and nothing else.

I reentered Vale’s world when we arranged an interview with Uccio. Uccio was his personal assistant back then; now he’s in charge of the VR46 Academy. In those days, he also drove the motorhome. We agreed to do the interview on the road, so we met outside Milan, and I joined him for the drive to Barcelona. Uccio struck me as a bit of an enigma—a tough guy, not one to warm up easily. We spent the journey listening to Vasco and Cremonini, chatting, and smoking. Vale called him only once, just to ask when his Nike sneakers would arrive. Uccio said to me, “Do you know how many people would like to please Valentino?” Uccio, who calls him “il Capo,” Uccio who, at one point, sang out loud against the windshield to Cremonini’s song PadreMadre: “Padre, occhi gialli e stanchi, cerca ancora coi tuoi proverbi a illuminarmi…”

After reading the interview, Uccio crossed paths with me in the paddock and simply said, “Nice article. Nice.” Then he walked back into hospitality. Only later did I understand that giving that compliment, with the way he is, had cost him a lot.

In the meantime, I got a call from Gabriele Romagnoli, one of Italy’s finest journalists—narrative and romantic. He called me to Rome, and over coffee in a fading bar, he proposed I write a book about Rossi for the publishing house 66thand2nd. The idea was to portray Vale in the aftermath of the accident with Simoncelli. A story of human tragedy and novel-like fate. Life and destiny. The book never came to be. I’d wake up at 5 every morning, writing from 5:30 to 8:30, but what I wrote lacked truth. I wasn’t deep enough into Vale’s mind to pull it off, and the more I wrote, the more I realized that he was slipping through my grasp.

In an attempt to understand him, I even sought advice from an astrologer, Chiara Viola. She told me, “Of course he eludes you—you’re used to seeking the meaning of things in depth. Vale doesn’t even question the meaning of things. He just lives. You’re vertical, he’s horizontal. You live in the past and the future; he seems superficial, but in reality, he’s a constant present.” That description helped me more than anything else in understanding how Valentino overcame everything, especially Marco’s death. And today, as I see him calmly approaching the moment of his last race, I recall that phrase.

What luck I’ve had. What luck we’ve all had to have you, Vale. Luck for those who stood by you every day, for those who admired you only on TV or in the papers, for those who commented on you, interviewed you, and even for those who never missed a chance to give you a hard time. What luck we’ve had. To experience you, to grow up with you. Because that’s exactly what it’s been about. To rejoice and despair with you. Yes, what luck. Today an era ends. A generation comes to a close. It’s been splendid. And that, dear Vale, no one can ever take from us. No one. Ever.

#reading #by moreno pisto

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dontmeantobepoliticalbut · 1 year ago

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Illinois Governor JB Pritzker has signed a bill that is aimed at fighting homelessness.

Called “Home IL,” it will bring state agencies, nonprofit organizations and other advocates together. The bill focuses on an equity-based approach, which includes the voices and contributions of those who have experience homelessness.

It codifies the collaboration to move Illinois to “functional zero” homelessness by bolstering the safety net, targeting high-risk populations, expanding affordable housing, securing financial stability for unhoused individuals and closing the mortality gap.

“Every person deserves access to safe shelter and the dignity that comes with housing,” Pritzker said. “This is a first-of-its-kind multi-agency cooperative effort — bringing together state agencies, nonprofit organizations, advocates, and people with lived experience to prevent and end homelessness. I’m grateful for their dedication and believe that together, we can prevent and end homelessness once and for all.”

Rockford has already taken strides in this aspect. In 2017, it became the first community to reach “functional zero” levels among veterans and the chronically homeless.

Illinois’ Interagency Task Force and Community Advisory Council works across 17 state departments and agencies, as well as over 100 processes, programs and policies, to develop a comprehensive plan to combat homelessness.

The goal of the plan is to prevent shelter entry or ensure that shelter stays are limited and lead to quick transitions into stable living situations.

Pritzker has also committed about $360 million for the initiative in his FY24 budget. These investments include:

• $118 million to support unhoused populations seeking shelter and services, including $40.7 million in the Emergency and Transitional Housing Program.

• $50 million in Rapid ReHousing services for 2,000 households, including short-term rental assistance and targeted support for up to two years.

• $40 million in Permanent Supportive Housing (PSH) Capital funds to develop 90+ new PSH units providing long term rental assistance and case management.

• $37 million in Emergency Shelter capital funds to create more than 460 non-congregate shelter units.

• $35 million for supportive housing services, homeless youth services, street outreach, medical respite, re-entry services, access to counsel, and other shelter diversion supports.

• $21.8 million to provide homelessness prevention services to approximately 6,000 more families.

• $30 million for court-based rental assistance.

• $15 million to fund Home Illinois Innovations Pilots.

• $12.5 million to create 500 new scattered site PSH units.

“People experiencing the trauma of housing instability are our neighbors and community members who deserve to be treated with humanity and dignity. With this cooperative effort, Illinois is ensuring our state agencies can continue to collaborate, and that stakeholders are at the table with us, to support our most vulnerable in living healthy, well, and with dignity.” Lieutenant Governor Juliana Stratton said. “Our state is making it clear that we will continue to work together so we can all move forward, and we will focus on holistic strategies that bring us closer to ending homelessness in our state.”

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selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs · 11 months ago

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Monster from the deep

Self-Aware! BSD x SAGAU Imposter crossover

Self-Aware! Howard Phillips Lovecraft x GN! Reader

Description: Waters of Teyvat become dangerous. Something is destroying ships. Dottore is asked to kill the monster.

Warning: OOC. Mentions of insanity, torture, religious fanaticism, animal death. Dehumanisation (Dottore refers to Reader as 'it'). Lovecraft is soft protective yandere towards Reader. English is my second language.

A/N: , if someone was waiting for full fanfic about Self-Aware! BSD X SAGAU! Imposter crossover, here we are.

______

To: Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore

Lord Harbinger,

I swear on the greatness of All Creator, if situation didn't call for that, I won't write this letter, but, I am afraid, our nations are in a dire situation.

As you must know, another ship was destroyed. Another deal fell through. Liyue will not be able to send a shipment of minerals to Snezhnaya. We lost another ship, cargo and ship's crew.

At least, until we finally have found a survivor.

He was found on a lifeboat near Liyue's shores three weeks after the ship sink. He was dying of hunger and thirst.

And he has gone completely mad.

Sailor was starting in the distance, repeating again and again.

"Ephaiagl ah mglw'nafh. C' ah mglw'nafh."¹

At first, we thought, that he was delusional, that we could save him, if we get him in better shape.

Yet, he refused to eat or drink.

He only stared in the distance. Talking and talking.

He didn't let anyone inside his hospital room.

He became aggressive every time someone tried to peek inside.

He did come out, but, always tried to return to his room as soon as he can.

We forced him to eat and drink, to keep him alive. We gave him every medicine we could think of.

He didn't become better. And he didn't become worse.

And tragedy strikes.

All-loving Creator were visiting the hospital. Their Grace light patients' mood. They felt better, after seeing Their Holiness.

One of the patients, who was staying here with his dog, feel happy for the first time in last days, after seeing All Creator. He dog disappeared, and he was feeling terrible, but, after seeing Their Holiness, they forgot their sorrows.

And All-loving Creator met mad sailor.

For the first time in weeks, he got silent.

He was staring at Creator, unblinking and unmoving.

And he committed a sin.

He dared to attack Their Holiness.

Screaming words in the strange language.

"N'ghftdrn! ah'legeth n'ghftdrn!²"

We killed sinner.

And inside his hospital room, we found a lost dog. What remains of him.

We also found this in his room.

[Photo is attached to letter. The wall of the hospital room is covered in red letters. Words makes no sense, except ones, that are written under the red drawing of an octopus-like monster. "BRING DOTTORE TO HIM"]

Lord Harbinger, It seems, that it's the monster, that destroying ships. We have heard about your victory over Ursa the Drake. Perhaps, you could try to defeat the Sea Monster as well? Liyue will send millelith and our best sailors to assist you. It will take time, because Liyue captains refuse to go to sea, so the expedition will reach Snezhnaya by land.

Wishing for an eternal reign of All Creator.

Ningguang, The Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing

_______

Il Dottore, Second Harbinger, One of the Creator's Personal Physicians, was standing on the deck of the ship. They were in the middle of the sea, moving along the trade route from Snezhnaya to Liyue.

Everything was quiet.

No signs of a monster.

Sailors were doing their job. Fatui and millelith were on observation duty, trying to catch a sign of a monster.

Yet nothing was happening.

Dottore feel anger. The damn creature asked for him, yet, it didn't show up. Cowardly vermin.

Few months ago, after the low-live Imposter disappeared, the strange monster appeared in Teyvat waters. It attacked ships, making any sort of trades not just dangerous, but straight up impossible.

Nothing could stop that monster. And no witnesses remain.

Everytime they killed another sea monster they thought, that they finally succeed.

And, in a few days, another ship got sailed.

Mora was low, and Pantalone became angrier and angrier.

The trades became impossible, and people start loosing jobs, factories started to close down.

And, finally, they have a lead, to what they are looking for. And this thing decides to hide.

Dottore clenched his fists. Everything went to Abyss after Imposter escaped.

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream.

"Man overboard!"

______

A saved man called himself Lovecraft.

And he was strange.

A tall, gaunt man, was towering above everyone on the ship. His eyes looked bored and tried. Almost empty. He hardly talked to anyone, preferring to stay on his own.

The only time Dottore saw any kind of emotion from Lovecraft, was when Fatui soldiers, after a few drinks, were discussing The Imposter.

________

"Oh, I am so jealous of Lord Harbinger! He managed to pay a part in punishing the Imposter!" proclaimed Fatui Agent (Dottore didn't care about his name), waving a mug, that was filled to the brim with alcohol, in the air. Other Fatui and millelith solders cheered.

"Yea!"

"He showed them their place!"

"Dirty parasite, how dare they impersonate Their Holiness."

The night was full of alcohol and talks.

The agent, who started talking about the Imposter, turned towards Dottore.

"Lord Harbinger, please, tell us, how you avenge Their Holiness."

Dottore rolled his eyes. The rest of the Fatui, sailors and millelith joined Agent in asking for a story. Well, one time, he can entertain them.

Dottore put down his glass of wine, cleared his throat and start his tale.

___________________________

The Dungeon was dark and dirty.

Still, too good for a creature, that were contained here.

Dottore walked down the corridor, that leads to an isolated part of the dungeon.

In the small cell, full of torture devices, it were kept.

Exact double of Creator.

A dirty heretic.

Braces on its legs had forced it to remain in a standing position all night. Its eyes were unfocused, due to a lack of sleep and enduring intense pain.

Its lying lips and mouth were now covered in burns and blisters. Before Dottore came here, the high ranking church members came, to clean its soul by pouring boiling water in its mouth.

"Well, look at this squalor. Not so confident now, are we?" with mocking concern, asked Dottore. Sinner flinched. It strained to speak with its burned throat, as it managed to croak out a response.

"want home... to friends..."

Dottore mockingly pet its head. He grabbed the fist, full of its hair, and pull. Sinner let out a cry of pain.

"Aw! This creature has friends? Well, when we are finished with it, we will go after its friends."

Dottore let go of its hair, taking a step back. He took a metal instrument from one of the small tables in the cell.

"Let me give you something, Sinner. Nice salted water for your mouth. So you won't say even more of your heresy."

_____

The crowd roared. They were cheering for Dottore.

"Hooray for Lord Harbinger! Let Creator bless you!"

"I bet, it were crying like a dirty pig, when salted water got into its mouth. Oh, my bad. I shouldn't be rude towards pigs, by comparing it to them!"

"It got what is deserved."

Dottore scoff, pleased, with the reaction.

And he felt a gaze on him.

Howard, who was sitting in the corner, looked at him.

The look was full of hate and disgust.

Howard, suddenly, became blurry.

In the next moment, the ship was cut in half.

_______

Ground was moving up and down.

The ground felt like wood.

The night was cold.

Dottore woke up. With half-closed eyes, he tried to stand up. But the ground was still moving. And his clothes start getting wetter. He felt the scent of salt.

Dottore finally opened his eyes.

He was on the raft.

In the middle of the sea.

And no ship or other crew members were in sight.

Dottore felt anger. He wasn't sure, how he got here, but, he swears to Tsaritsa and All Loving Merciful Creator, that he will find the person, who put him here, and will destroy them.

Something swam under the raft.

And someone jumped from the water, landing next to Dottore, almost sinking the raft.

Dottore was ready to curse the idiot, who almost drowned him, when he saw it.

Lovecraft was completely wet, but, somehow, dark navy, slightly wavy hair didn't look wet at all. The dull, blank, dark gray eyes met with Dottore's red eyes.

"You hurt them." there were no emotions in this voice. The man reached towards Dottore's head. A large hand grabbed Dottore's face.

A black empty holes replaced Lovecraft eyes. Octopus tentacles squeezed around Dottore.

Dottore was afraid. His fear was strange. Like it was something, that came from his ancestors. Something, that he would feel, even he was a newborn right now.

Dottore managed to gather enough power to attack.

Yet, the attack didn't do anything.

It didn't even scratch Lovecraft.

Howard put his face near Dottore's.

"You have hurt them. And I am their friend. And I will share some nice salted water with you."

Dottore was thrown in the water.

Waves closed above his head.

____

Dottore was sinking.

And a huge, octopus-like monster were circling around him.

Huge, greenish. With countless tentacles.

Monster stared at Dottore.

It became blurry again.

It changed its looks again.

One tentacle squeezed Dottore's neck and forced him to look straight at the monster.

"Ymg' lloig ah mglw'nafh.³"

Dottore looked at the monster.

And screamed.

Seawater filled his mouth.

______

After leaving Dottore near Liyue's shores, Lovecraft start swimming to their base.

To a hidden cave, where a portal, that leads back to their new world, were located.

Lovecraft reached the cave in a matter of minutes.

He took a special trap from the water, where three kois for you were swimming.

Lovecraft stepped into the portal.

_____

You were standing near a big fish tank. You carefully observed Teyvat fish, that Lovecraft brought you every time he returned from Teyvat.

You flinch, remembering Teyvat. You didn't have physical scars, thanks to Yosano, but, you have plenty of mental scars.

You heard familiar heavy steps.

Lovecraft walked inside the room. He noticed you and walked closer. He holds the trap with fishes towards you.

"For you."

You mumble a little'thank you' and took the trap, immediately releasing fiches into the fish tank.

Then, Howard hold something else towards you.

A familiar mask.

You froze, looking at it.

"For you. I made him lose his mind. He won't hurt anyone. He will never hurt you. I won't let him."

With shaking hands, you took Dottore's mask. Tears run down your cheeks.

"Th-thank you... Howard..."

A big hand carefully cups your cheeks. Lovecraft wiped away your tears.

"Don't cry, Treasured Guiding Light. No one will hurt you. And the ones, who dared to hurt you, will pay."

____

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He doesn't sleep. He doesn't eat. He doesn't drink. He's only howling this words, if it's even words."

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Let's call for the All Creator. Their Holiness might help."

______

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"Someone, put a gag in his mouth! He is disturbing other patients!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"AAAAAH!!! Dear Creator! He bit my fingers off!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

"He is getting away! Lord Dottore, stop!"

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh! Ymg' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁵"

"He is attacking Creator! Stop him!"

_____

Dottore was standing in the middle of the same cell, where you were kept in back then. He was forced to stay in standing position. His red eyes were bloodshot. His mouth was covered in burns and blisters. He was staring at the wall.

His screams were filling the night. He doesn't care about burned throat. The only important thing in his life were the words he was repeating.

"Y' ahnythor ah'mglw'nafh!⁴"

______

In a real world, you were sitting next to Lovecraft.

Both of you were eating chocolate ice cream.

You leaned against Lovecraft's side.

Big hand softly pet your head.

"Y' ahnythor ymg' nnn, gokar'luh. Y' ymg' ephainnn, gokar'luh.⁶"

You smile slightly.

One day, you will heal completely.

And your friends will be with you for every moment of your recovery. And for every moment after you heal.

________