★arzask | Vgen comm open

“Our Legacy”

“I would die for you” ❌

“I would k!ll for you” ❌

“I would be kind for you. I would reject the impulses to indulge in my violent nature for you.

I would brew the very elixir of immortality, neglecting the decay of my own flesh just to ensure yours remains untouched by time.

I would rush to your side at a mere whisper, eager to mend whatever fragile piece of you has broken.

I would tear out your failing lungs and replace it with a new ones, simply so you could ruin them all over again with those expensive cigarettes you love so much.

I would hold you so tightly until you felt at peace if the gods refuse to grant you.

If I succeed in creating a new world, i’ll also consider to create one or even more just so you can be worshipped.

I can be strong if I have to. I can fight if it is truly necessary. But when I think of the way that I love you, it does not make me feel violent.

It makes me feel quiet. And gentle. And calm.

Pantalone meeting Femttore 🧪

The heavy mahogany doors of the Regrator’s office did not open with a frantic burst, nor with the heavy, heavy-booted thud of a Fatui guard. They parted with a quiet, deliberate click—and then, the soft rustle of silk.

Pantalone did not look up from his ledgers immediately. He was used to Il Dottore’s segments barging in. Usually, it was a younger, louder iteration demanding a budget increase for mechanical components, or a senior segment coldly presenting a list of casualties that required financial cover-ups.

But the footsteps approaching his desk were different. They were light. Measured. Possessing an inherent, dangerous grace.

When Pantalone finally raised his gaze, the words of polite dismissal died in his throat.

The figure standing before him wore the familiar, pristine white and blue of the Doctor’s laboratory, but the coat was tailored to a starkly different silhouette. Sharp shoulders tapered into a slender waist, and a dark, silver-trimmed mask obscured the upper half of a distinctly feminine face. Below the mask, a cruel, entirely familiar smirk played upon her lips.

For a fraction of a second, the Regrator’s flawless public facade fractured. He nearly lost his cool.

Another one? Pantalone thought, his fingers tightening subtly around his fountain pen. No. Not just another segment. A woman.

Pantalone was a man of the world. He was entirely accustomed to women throwing themselves at him—wealthy socialites trying to secure loans, Mondstadt noblewomen seeking alliances, or Snezhnayan bureaucrats attempting to curry favor. He knew how to handle them with a smile and a deflection. But those women wanted his Mora. This... thing was an extension of the most unhinged mind in Teyvat.

Like the Doctor, Pantalone’s life was entirely consumed by his work; he had no need for a maiden, let alone whatever bizarre science project Dottore had cooked up this time.

"Prime is currently preoccupied with an... delicate incubation period," Segment F-01 spoke. Her voice was smooth, carrying the exact same arrogant, theatrical cadence as the original Doctor, yet pitched in a rich, feminine alto. She slid a neatly bound stack of requisition forms across the polished wood of his desk. "He sent me in his stead. The funds for the laboratory’s next quarter, if you please, Regrator."

Pantalone adjusted his glasses, forcing his trademark, closed-eye smile back onto his face. He needed to adapt. He was a professional. He would not be distracted by the uncanny, striking beauty of a literal monster in a lab coat.

"I must admit, Second Harbinger, your capacity for reinvention never ceases to appall me," Pantalone said, his voice dripping with smooth, venomous charm as he picked up the paperwork. He idly flipped through the pages, though his mind was racing.

Was this a new tactic? Had Dottore finally realized that Pantalone was growing tired of the usual threats and calculated tantrums, and decided to appeal to a different demographic? Did the Doctor honestly think sending a beautiful, feminine mirror of himself would make the Northland Bank’s vault doors swing open any wider?

"Flattery will not expedite the approval process, Lord Pantalone," F-01 replied, leaning slightly over his desk. The scent of sterile chemicals and faint, expensive perfume drifted toward him. Her smirk widened.

In that moment, it clicked. So that is why the Doctor wanted his budget early. Pantalone didn't know what this clone was for, but she had clearly already piled the Prime with luxury demands. If she was bleeding Dottore's accounts dry with such expensive tastes, it was no wonder the man was desperate for funds ahead of schedule.

"Though, if it helps grease the gears of commerce, I am entirely authorized to negotiate... alternative terms."

Pantalone’s smile tightened. Oh, he was definitely going to have a very long, very pointed conversation with the Prime Doctor later.

🧪 about Segment F-01

The Doctor was not unfond of women. To harbor a specific distaste for one half of the human species would imply an emotional bias, and Dottore considered himself entirely above such trivialities. It was simply that, in all his centuries of research, he had never once had a need for one.

Until now.

This experiment required absolute precision. The segment had to be perfect, a flawless biological mirror capable of gestating life. But as he stood before the empty glass pod, a rare, aggravating realization stalled his pen above the clipboard.

He was entirely unfamiliar with the subject matter.

He understood the anatomy, of course—every muscle fiber, endocrine pathway, and genetic sequence was cataloged perfectly in his mind. But the nuances? The behavioral traits? The inexplicable nature of a woman's presence? Science had never required him to study such domestic frivolities.

"..."

Dottore set his pen down with a sharp, echoing click. He would simply have to gather data.

He ventured out of the inner sanctum, his coat billowing behind him like a shroud as he sought out his underlings. The Fatui skirmishers and researchers visibly paled, dropping to one knee, trembling beneath the weight of his shadowed gaze. They braced themselves for demands of lethal test subjects or impossible deadlines.

Instead, the Doctor leaned forward, his mask glinting under the harsh lab lights, and asked them... about women.

The underlings did not dare question his motives. They simply scrambled to answer, their voices shaking as they threw out whatever desperate descriptions they could conjure to satisfy the Harbinger. Dottore stood perfectly still, absorbing the frantic testimonies, idly translating their mundane observations into his mental ledger.

"Women are... soft, Lord Dottore, but fiercely protective..."

"Women are like... a delicate mechanism, sir, unpredictable if mishandled..."

"Women is—I mean, a woman is driven by an entirely different set of social and emotional responses..."

"Fascinating," Dottore murmured, cutting them off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

He returned to his lab, the heavy iron doors sealing out the rest of the world. He stepped up to the control panel, his fingers dancing across the keys as the amniotic fluid began to pump into the chamber, glowing with a faint, eerie luminescence.

He recalled the nervous babble of his subordinates, filtering their useless poetry into cold, workable parameters. Soft. Unpredictable. Fierce.

My hot wife got something to say 🫪

P-purple wifes 🫪

💰“If it bothers you so, Doctor, then it’s best to make scarce. Smoke or begone, your choice”

#dottalozhu #Dottore #Pantalone #Baizhu #dottalozhu_centric #Dottolone #Dottozhu

“ how blunt ~ “