Can You Write For Black Swan As A Yandre?

Can you write for black swan as a yandre?

Lovers Forever, Until The World Falls Down.

Yan Black Swan x F Reader.

Synopsis: Her tarot cards are just as well used to predict the past as they are to predict the future.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, manipulation, major spoilers for Honkai: Star Rail 2.0 and 2.1 Updates, implied stalking, and mentions of violence/character deaths.

Word Count: 1.3k.

*~*~*~*

When Black Swan’s eyes first lay upon you, she has multiple impressions of you.

The Remembrance has caused her to have manifolds of judgments, some lapses and others more thorough. But never once did the Remembrance ever cause her to be so deeply enveloped in someone that she would proudly showcase what Fuli has blessed her with.

She knows what you are, all of you. Your past, present, and future… all of it is seen within the eyes of the Garden of Recollection.

It is only natural for her to want you to know her as much as she knows you. With social creatures comes the need to connect. When it comes to Black Swan, her wants and her needs are equally important, and thus she has no need to separate them.

“What brings you to me, fair maiden? What ails you?”

The only sounds that arise from you are slight grumbles, and the only fresh sights she has of you are fading tear stains on your cheeks. As a response, she repeats her words softer this time, crosses one of her legs over the other, and rests her head on one of her gloved hands.

“I want…” You start, clenching your nails into your palms so deep they almost bleed. “To know the… thing that killed my friend, Memokeeper.”

In her other hand are a few of her beloved tarot cards, tucked so lovingly between her pointer and middle fingers. 

“Ah,” Black Swan lets out a sigh so gentle you do not hear it. “I presume you are speaking of Miss Robin?”

You nod, looking down at your lap as she lays out the cards in a simple, singular motion on the table.

“Who else would I be talking about?” Your tone is that of an angry hiss, but she knows it is not directed at her. For you, you two had only just met. But to her, with the powers that come with the followers of the Remembrance, it feels like she has known you your entire life.

Black Swan’s gaze is all-seeing, and nothing that is not in the dark can be unseen once she has seen it–even when she wishes it were otherwise, like that dance she had with that Galaxy Ranger.

She wishes now that perhaps she was dancing with you instead.

“Pick a card,” The Memokeeper requests, her now free hand gesturing towards the sight she had just made. “We’ll continue from there.”

“Why?”

She shakes her head slightly as she closes her eyes for a moment. From that expression on your face, she can tell that you have to stop yourself from scoffing at her. “Just trust me; I don’t mean any ill will towards you… and nor will I harbor any.”

“I’ve heard odd things like this about you, Miss Black Swan, but I didn’t think they would have been true.” She knows the comment is not an insult, but it is not a compliment either. “Do people blessed by the Remembrance always act like this? I’m… just curious is all.”

When you point to the card on the center’s right. “Are you planning to replace me already? I thought we were getting along quite well…” 

She turns over the card as her palm faces you, and that causes you to loudly gasp. 

“The Eternal Freeze… Jarillo-VI.”

She turns over the card on the center’s left without asking you to pick another. She stifled a chuckle.

 “Cocolia Rand. A Silvermane Guard trapped in what looks to be a block of ice…”

One after the other, things are revealed. It is faster than either of you could catch your breath. It is faster than what you wanted it to go. It is not faster than the realization that hits when Black Swan connects all your memories into a perfectly completed puzzle.

“Stop it-”

“You have lost someone before, haven’t you?” She can imagine… no, presume, the suffocating atmosphere surrounding you, as you appear on the verge of gasping for air. “You couldn’t save them either… Am I right, Miss [First]?”

You don’t answer, but you don’t look angry anymore. Despite the venomous nature of her words, her tone manages to grow even gentler as she utters them.

“Despite everything you tried to do, you couldn’t save them… Who were they, if you don’t mind me asking such a thing, oh dear citizen of Belobog?”

You avert your gaze from her, once again opting not to respond. Black Swan patiently waits, arranging the cards in her hand to create a semi-circle. As a Memokeeper, she has acquired numerous lessons from the Remembrance, but the most valuable one is knowing the significance of patience.

The fingers that wrap around your own are both warm and freezing cold.

“My… partner.”

She tilts her head to the side, her lips pursing up into a kind smile. “Ah… I see… I didn’t know.” She lies. “I’m sorry for your loss. But… my apologies for saying this… if you couldn’t even save your partner from the blizzard, I believe you cannot avenge Miss Robin’s death.”

Your eyebrows simply furrow like she expected them to.

“For Peniconians, death is a grand illusion, a state of falsehood, something that is not supposed to exist within the Dreamscape… thus, something much more powerful than you or I or even the Family had to break the rules of the Harmony and become… well… Death.”

When Black Swan’s eyes look at new tears as they start to fall, she has only two impressions of you, the others fading away like an amnesiac’s memories.

“I don’t mean any harm when I tell you this. It is the truth, plain and simple.”

Her hand squeezes slightly against yours. Once again, you do not respond.

“You do not have to fight something you cannot defeat.” She scoots her chair slightly closer to your side of the table.

She is met by a few more moments of quietness before you ultimately choose to break the silence. “Her death will be in vain then. Just like theirs. I do not want to be a coward anymore.”

Another sigh escapes her lips, and once again it is not out of exhaustion but rather curiosity.

Her grin remains unwavering, just as she had taught herself to. “You were never a coward in the first place, dear.”

Black Swan continues to move her chair quietly, but not at all subtly, until your thighs touch hers.

“I really won’t be able to… at least help the Family?” You ask. “I am really not… useful?”

“You’re useful in other ways to the people you love and trust, and those who reciprocate.” Her initial judgment is that you require safeguarding from the dangers of the world. It is in your best interest, her best interest, to remain inside a safe and small space, as there is a risk of you inadvertently harming yourself while attempting to assist others.

“Am I?” You mutter, clasping your hands together. “Am I… really? People… really like me?”

She affirms with a slight movement of her head.

Black Swan's second opinion of you is that you pose too great of a risk to be released, as it would result in her being left alone without any chance of ever seeing you again.

It is selfishness that prevents her from showing the two remaining cards, both hidden elsewhere. One of which has the depiction of you dead, and the other has you smiling proudly as she watches from afar in hiding.

The Remembrance has taught Black Swan how to be many things, but it is Black Swan who has taught herself how to be selfish.

Old Friend.

Yan Kenjaku x F Reader x Yan Geto.

Synopsis: The stranger looks all too familiar, aside from three peculiar mannerisms. How his fingers creep along the table’s edge. How his voice is too soft, too kind, and not at all cruel. How there are black stitches on his forehead.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, misogyny, use of the word monkey, and descriptions of past physical/mental abuse.

Word Count: 900.

*~*~*~*

Flattery comes out from Suguru’s mouth one sentence at a time, the words themselves soothing but the tone not so. After being dressed in clothes you picked out, after being presented with food you loved before captivity, you feel as though you were just revived… reborn. This feeling is foreign and isn’t let into your heart all at once, but little bit by little bit, because you know that Suguru’s gifts are often never superficial, but you also know how fast Suguru’s temper can spew once he has had enough of your antics.

On your knees, that demand is always accompanied by Suguru’s pointer finger facing down to the floor, monkey.

Somehow that collar consistently finds its way into Suguru’s right hand, even without one of his servants giving it to him.

But yet, here and now, you don’t feel the same ominous aura. It’s something darker. Something that for once isn’t directed at you, but the servants Suguru always treated well. So, would that make his aura lighter? You’re not sure. Similar to when it comes to Suguru’s moods and false smiles and truthful lies, you don’t know what to think.

“Master Geto?” You ask, looking past him to the balcony exit behind him. With all the candles put on the table, his face looks nearly fully illuminated, but the shadow covering his eyes is still there regardless. 

“Yes, pet?” Suguru responds, his hands cupping his face as he looks at you. 

“I…” You start, your thumbs caressing one another underneath the long white tablecloth. “Just wanted to thank you… that’s all.”

Suguru chuckles at that. No. Not a chuckle per se. Some sound unknown to you, or perhaps the identity of such was forgotten by you after so many years of being here kneeling at his feet on the floor like a trained mutt. 

Speak.

I’m sorry, Master Geto.

Make it more desperate so I know you won’t make false vows unbefitting of my precious varmint. I’ll even help you. What happens when a dog attempts to hurt its owner?

“Don’t worry about it, [First] dear. You deserve a dinner such as this, for you deserve to celebrate too.” He has never said your name other than when he is displeased with you, so him doing such makes you wince. Suguru takes another sip of his sake, not paying much mind to your innate actions.

They get hit back, Master Geto.

Then what will happen to them next time, if they do it again?

Something will break.

“You look quite divine tonight,” He says, using his knife to split his remaining steak into quarters. He stabs one of the pieces with his fork and chews on it without making much noise.

“Uh…”

“Everything about you is quite beautiful… I can see you becoming my wife one day after all of this is over. That is, if you continue to be so cute and defenseless, it’s your place after all.”

What kind of thing? Speak up.

Anything. A bone… Something they like… Their spirit…

Correct… and what is that thing covering your hand?

“You’re not really eating, dearest… Is something the matter?” He asks. You find yourself questioning if Suguru's concern is genuine. After all, he has faked empathy towards you before, so this wouldn't be the first time.

“No, no… It’s good.” In order to avoid his anger, you proceed to fill your mouth with sake and sesame rice. This amuses him. Does he find your desperation endearing? That would be in character for him, now that you think about it.

A cast, Master Geto.

And what did you do to earn such a thing?

You… broke my hand, after I tried to use the pieces of that broken bedroom window to stab you.

“I’m happy you’re enjoying it.” He grins, leaning in closer. “I have an offer for you. How about we go outside for a walk after this? It has been quite some time since you have seen the full moon, hasn’t it?”

Finally, you can envision a vast expanse of twinkling stars right before your eyes. In the realm of dreams, they reside so near, immune to fading or descending. But you ponder if reality holds the same allure. It has been an eternity since you were last allowed to venture outdoors. Oh, how you yearn for a glimpse of the sky once more.

Tell me, do you think you earned such a thing?

…Yes.

Good. It seems you’re learning.

But the temptation stopped as fast as it came. Dread replaces it in an instant. 

This man isn’t Suguru. You know that much for certain. With every hell he has put you through, you have come to know him and his mannerisms. Those mannerisms are nothing like this man. The thought scares you. Is this man a curse, the same kind Suguru uses against you after every escape attempt? Or is he just a normal man who is acting like him as a placeholder of some sort?

Where… is Suguru?

“...Why are there stitches on your forehead?”

Bye Sweet Carole is a hand-animated horror game inspired by classic Disney movies.

Wishlist Bye Sweet Carole on Steam

Eschaton.

Yan Aventurine x F Reader.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, Aventurine's self-critical thinking, implied not SFW. Word count: 2.5k.

Aventurine stares down the final barrier separating him from his long-sought prize; a measly door.  

There’s no outward indication of its significance. Everything about it is unassuming and ordinary, emphasizing practicality over design. The way it contradicts his ostentatious nature has him wondering if this was an intentional choice, some silent slight. It’s unlikely — a testament to his ego, more than anything — but he’s just sane enough to know that he isn’t. 

Despite his outward veneer of calm, he’s ravished by anxiety; the same anxiety that haunts him throughout any high-stakes gamble. He’s intimately familiar with this hypersensitive state. Everything becomes heightened, from his senses to his emotions. The click of a revolver loaded with one round, the spin of a roulette wheel crawling to a stop. In each instance, he secretly dreads the worst, a final laugh for the universe to have at his expense. 

The end of his uncanny luck would make for quite the knee-slapper, he reckons. 

Well, he always told himself, it hasn’t happened yet. 

That final word echoes like the screams of a soul mistakenly sealed inside their tomb.

Aventurine shakes his head, his lips twisting into a sardonic smile. Why is he prolonging his torture when he possesses the means to end it? The master keycard obtained by the building’s landlord glides between his fingers. The ease with which it was relinquished proves the IPC’s reputation demands universal respect, even on a planet like Yiivern. This planet is one of the precious few using a currency other than credits. However, this illusion of independence relies on the IPC’s indifference. If the corporation ever wanted something from Yiivern, they’d bend the knee, as thousands had before them.

This unspoken acknowledgment guaranteed they’d turn a blind eye to his endeavors. 

He raises the card. It hovers mere inches from the door’s terminal, where, ostensibly, he’d be granted easy access. 

Instead, an inexplicable urge to investigate further freezes him in place. 

It’s faint. So imperceptible, that even the most keen eye would struggle to notice. A light flicker distorts the terminal’s rightmost edge. It could be a trick of the light, or his visual cortex misinterpreting stimuli, but the discovery instills caution. There’s too much on the line here. He pulls away and hums, contemplating. Upon further inspection, he identifies the anomaly as a dead pixel. The level of depth around the terminal rules out the use of a screen. No monitor could portray three dimensions with this degree of accuracy.

A hologram, then? 

In his experience, holograms are a multipurpose tool. Cosmetics, backdrops, advertisements with embellished products; though the specifics differ, the main intent doesn’t. 

Holograms hide what another wishes to remain unseen. 

He taps the end piece of his glasses, activating a scan. 

His lenses go from displaying what the naked eye sees to depicting wavelengths outside the visible light spectrum. Sure enough, there’s a thin sheen atop the terminal, denoting an active hologram. Beneath this sheen sits a simple biometric lock. If he had to guess, anyone who tried accessing the apartment via the terminal would trigger an alarm. Whoever set up this contraption could then have adequate time to flee or confront the intruder. 

Fondness flutters about like butterflies in his stomach. 

That’s my girl, he thinks, positively smitten. You wouldn’t make it easy, would you?

Fortunately for him, he’s not one to play nice either. 

The newly revealed lock is an easy fix. A rectangular device inside his coat recreates your fingerprint and iris, applying the falsehoods to immediate success. 

The door obediently sweeps aside. 

Aventurine conducts a quick sweep for any other surprises you might’ve hidden. He isn’t disappointed — red warnings accompanied by the software’s disabling procedure rush before him. Among the list of disabled products, most malicious, he spots a random cosmetic hologram. As nothing’s visibly changed in the living quarters, he assumes it must’ve been on in the bedroom. 

What a paranoid thing you are, he muses. For good reason, I guess. 

Content in knowing no silenced bullet will be piercing through his skull anytime soon, he turns the program off. 

Aventurine examines the little home you’ve made for yourself. It’s a one-bedroom one-bathroom apartment, just as the reports claimed. It doesn’t feel very lived in. The walls are a sterile silver, devoid of any pictures or personal memorabilia. Curtains cover a window overlooking Yiivern’s third most populated city. He runs his gloved fingers along your kitchen countertop. Atop the granite sits a coffee machine, a frog mug, and a deactivated cooking companion. He makes a mental note to update the one in your shared starship above Pier Point. It’s been gathering dust in your absence. 

While considering this, he finds an item that steals his breath. 

Baby bottles. 

He lifts one, eyeing it like an alien species. 

So it’s true, he observes, drawing his lips into a thin line. 

His grip tightens and the material warps. 

“...” 

A shaky breath escapes him. 

He’s aware the next few hours won’t be very pleasant for you. And, if finding you dried up the remainder of his luck, they won’t be enjoyable for him either. It all comes down to probability. like most vital instances in his life tend to. Few individuals in this universe weigh probability as often as he does. From the fifty-fifty of a coin toss to the odds of drawing an ace in blackjack, it’s a constant, an unhealthy fixation. Certain variables raise or lower the desirable outcome’s entry into reality. While he can’t always make exact calculations on the spot, this was different. He had ample preparation for this decisive moment.

A trusted team, equipped with knowledge ranging from your cycle to the brand of birth control you were on, ran the numbers. 

“One in a million,” a visibly nervous man had reported. “I-If the baby your fiancée was spotted with is indeed hers—” 

Aventurine interrupted him before he’d be subjected to any further sycophancy.

A one in a million chance that the child resting soundly in your room is his. 

Or, alternatively, a far more realistic chance that he’ll have to make some difficult decisions. 

His footsteps remain inaudible as he creeps closer. By disabling your alarms, he’s deprived you of any recourse. Finally, he’ll be putting an end to this. You’ve made a valiant effort — the resources he’d poured into tracking you surpassed the wealth of entire star systems. For months, it’d been a high-risk investment that netted him underwhelming returns. An infinite universe offers infinite places to hide. You were frustratingly clever at playing this to your advantage. 

Ultimately, it wasn’t the massive manhunt or his connections that gave you away. 

It’d been a stroke of luck — pure happenstance. Being at the right place at the right time.

At a VIP exclusive section of a casino, he noticed an opponent’s date wearing a brilliant necklace. The centerpiece was a teardrop-shaped pink diamond. The light refracted by its multiple surfaces had been sharp enough to almost slice through any onlooker’s iris. He mulled over the stone, as if it’d left a strange impression, like when a word’s just on the tip of your tongue.

This sentiment remained a thorn in his side the remainder of the night. Perturbed, he retired to his room, and ran the stone against photos in the IPC’s database. A few minutes later, there was a match. That pink diamond was a fragment taken from a larger stone. He had good reason to find it familiar. This gem served as your engagement ring’s crowning jewel. A gorgeous, one of a kind cut that set him back fifty million credits. 

The implications hit him in waves. 

Your disappearing act couldn’t have been carried out unaided. It required money — lots of money. However, you wisely refrained from accessing his accounts, since it’d give your location away. You hadn’t stolen any valuables either, you left with the clothes on your back and nothing else. Interstellar travel wasn’t cheap. Knowing this, Aventurine was confident you’d be returned to him soon enough. Then the days turned to weeks, which bled into months, finally capping out at almost a year since you’d fled. 

That night, everything finally made sense. You must’ve shattered the gem and pawned it off in pieces, to avoid unwanted attention. This lowered the risk of anyone recognizing the one-of-a-kind ring and alerting him. By selling it in different locations, you’d have enough money to live comfortably. The plan had its merits, although it wasn’t foolproof. If a shard came to his attention, he could follow the trail back to back to you. 

Which is exactly what he did. 

Aventurine approaches your bedside with the same reverence an acolyte holds toward their divine. 

Found you, he thinks. My little escape artist. 

This initial swell in his chest plummets, as a maelstrom of emotions churns his intestines. His shadow engulfs your slumbering form, staining your face in dark hues. Where your breathing is deep and gentle, his is shallow; painfully so. The burns left behind from your scorching rejection have yet to heal. The remaining ash sits heavy on his tongue, turning his mouth dry and scratching his throat. 

Hah! How serene you are! He longs to grab you by the shoulders and shake, demanding your attention, your nonexistent remorse. His hands twitch by his side as he wrestles with his base impulses. You’ve made a madman of him, trimming away his rationality until nothing but withering stems remain. 

You’re beautiful, he muses, his knuckles brushing against your cheek in a soft caress. Beautiful, cruel, and worth every cent. 

Aventurine exhales from his nose, parting from you with visible hesitation. 

It wouldn’t do to rouse you now. 

No, not when there’s a crib to investigate next. 

The crux of his concerns — a noose ready to be secured around his neck. 

One look confirms that the babe dozing within is unquestionably your offspring. What little hair they have is identical to yours in color and texture. Other than that, there isn’t much to go off of. The infant’s features are what anyone would expect. Chubby arms, full cheeks, and little balled-up hands. He frowns. Confirming their lineage will require more. Namely, a DNA sample. 

His heart slams violently against his ribcage as he reaches for the child. 

Ever since he learned of their existence, he languished over this moment. Questions swarmed in his mind. Did you let another man touch you? Place their vile seed inside you? Had you knowingly nurtured a life that never should’ve been? And if so, what would he do? The father was one thing. He’d hunt down the man responsible, see to it that the miscreant’s agony be prolonged by the latest developments in life support. Such was his right. 

The child, however… presented another issue entirely. 

Should it be leveraged for your continued compliance? Shipped off to some private school lightyears away? He wasn’t so callous as to off it, but letting you raise another man’s child was inconceivable. This decision would surely deepen the resentment you harbor toward him. Then, the depths of your loathing would be rendered untraversable. Eventually, he’d drown in the muck and mire. 

Rapid test at the ready, Aventurine braces himself. 

And then he sees two achingly familiar eyes, glazed over with drowsiness. 

Baby blue plunged inside a pool of pink. The colors of a soft sunset contrasted by the ocean, of a people he thought long extinguished. Time flows in a backward current, washing relics from the past ashore. He remembers pain and destitution, but he remembers warmth too. The crooning of his mother, who thought him the paragon of luck. His sister’s kind guidance. Sand dancing in the wind, reflecting the sun like glitter sprinkled from the heavens. A childhood steeped in blood with no rain to wash it away. 

These are the eyes of an Avgin. 

The eyes of his and your child.

The babe deliberates over Aventurine’s sentence. The wariness written over their soft features hints at their encroaching judgment — after all, to them, he’s a stranger. They knit their eyebrows together and inhale sharply, ready to flaunt their vocal chord’s full potential. A foreign parental instinct spurs Aventurine to soothe the many complaints they intend to raise. 

He slides his glasses off and tucks them away. 

In an instant, his child reconsiders their onslaught. They stare up at their father, their doe-like eyes perfectly mirroring his. This faint familiarity must be enough to content them for now. He breathes a sigh of relief. Little hands reach out, demanding he satiate their curiosity. He happily acquiesces, noting his offspring’s innate negotiation abilities with pride. His child latches onto his finger. The leather texture perplexes them at first, but after a few seconds, they accept the cool and smooth surface. 

Aventurine notices an interesting symbol interwoven into the crib’s safety rails. It denotes a hologram company that specializes in cosmetics. He recalls the unknown cosmetic hologram that was deactivated earlier. Curious, he turns it on. A white sheen envelops his child’s iris’ and an adjustable dial appears, a color wheel at the ready. 

He blinks. 

Shaking his head, he turns it off, allowing their eyes to revert to their usual presentation. 

What lengths you’ve gone to! You scrubbed away any hint of his existence, even in the child you created together. From experience, he knows the most effective tools of deceit are the simplest. Parlor tricks, when wielded correctly, outdo their flashier counterparts. All this time, you’ve been learning from the best. 

He smiles thinly. 

Although he’s won this gamble, he can’t picture himself as a father. He’s barely a proper lover — you’d told him as much. Screamed it, to be precise. He accepted your criticism, lied about doing better, and hoped you’d find the act believable enough to keep the pantomime going a while longer. By ignoring the script he dutifully laid out, you’d broken character. He couldn’t blame you, but that doesn’t mean he’ll forgive you. 

He’s a selfish man, asking for a selfless love no one could give, much less you. 

His child writhes about, seemingly as uncertain as he is on what comes next. 

The aftermath of a victorious gamble is like coming down from a high. The adrenaline subsides, his senses relax, and an ennui settles in. The relief (or, occasionally, disappointment) that he gets to live another day leaves him hollow. Winning you over satisfied this hunger, until he lost you. This interim taught him that the individual presenting him as Aventurine is nothing more than a specter.

Kakavasha is dead and the walking corpse he left behind drags you into the afterlife, piece by piece. 

He hears the faint rustling of bedsheets behind him. Sickening anxiety floods his system at the confrontation to come. He’ll be burying any remnants of care you once regarded him with into the soil, where it’ll draw its final, pitiful breath. 

A gasp resounds throughout the room. Before he turns to face you, the sight of his eyes staring back at him inspires a thought. 

I hope she raises you to be nothing like me, little one. 

wtf… 400+ followers??? thank you to everyone for their support!! i honestly thought i’d never get to this milestone, especially considering it has only been a few months.

requests are now open once again, and i promise i will finish the ones already in my inbox as well. currently our king miss arlecchino is taking over my brain with plenty of brainrots, along with mister aventurine, a certain antichrist who wears way too much grease on his head, another antichrist but this time with long hair, and a certain duo of dendro roommates, so expect more of them in the future.

once again, thank you all so much for everyone!! <3

requests will be taken until may 8th. please don’t miss it otherwise it will be done after the next event!

the six month anniversary is also coming soon so there may be something special in store for that (wink wink). the 500+ follower milestone may also have something special in store (double wink wink).

i appreciate everyone for their patience, life has currently not been so great but i promise you all i will continue to write to my little heart’s content. 💖

writers when they’re proofreading their works for the 34th time *find zero mistakes, there’s no typo, no grammatical error. everything looks good. hit the post button*

writers when they’re reading said works after they’ve been published like proud parents *find 52 mistakes at first glance, 38 typos and 14 grammatical errors with a bunch of inconsistencies and plot holes*