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?”

The Chauffeur.

Yan Aventurine x F Reader.

Synopsis: Life has always made losers out of people like you. You dream even now that that could be changed. But can it really?

Warnings: Yandere themes, manipulation, kidnapping, stalking, drugging, misogyny, abuse of power, and mentions of violence.

Word Count: 3.2k.

*~*~*~*

When thrust into a world filled with illusions of chance, one can only hope that change will soon arise.

The company, the appearances, the losers, the winners; nothing ever changes, not even the dreams that things will.

How you are treated is a gamble all on its own too, despite you wishing it were not so. Lady Luck has yet to smile upon you, but instead of gifting you with snake eyes, she gives you the utmost displeasure of being slapped, being threatened, or having your salary lowered. You sometimes wish she would just give you the lowest score on a physical die instead of an invisible one.

You wish she would have made you less appealing to unwanted stares, would have made you have a burned face that would scare off anyone as soon as they looked at you. Hell, even make you be an old woman begging for spare change. That would be a better existence than to live in this body, where you are forced to wave and smile and conceal the bruises and slap marks whenever they appear in a place not covered by your dress. Not that your dress covers anything.

You have three jobs in this casino. Your first one is to spin the wheel or make the letters visible after all the bets are placed and the speaker gives you the signal to do so. Your second one is to always look presentable, your boss’s definition of “best”. Appearances will bring in more onlookers, he said. Just get yourself all dolled up. Okay, toots?

You conform every time your clothes change in color, size, and pattern because after all, they could just replace you with someone more willing.

After all, you have your mouth to feed and your own back to clothe.

So, you endure not all of it, but most of it. You endure the times your assigned makeup artist has called you a whore for not letting him stay in your room during his breaks, the times the suited mascot of this place squeezed you a bit too tight when you were told to take a few photos with him. You pretend not to notice things like that, because if you start a conflict who knows what will happen?

The applause of onlookers is always paired up with lewd comments about your body instead of congratulations to the winner.

The heels you are paid to wear always manage to make you trip onto someone, or rely on some flirty stranger to help you walk to and fro. Your manager told you to grow your hair out when you first started working here, and when it finally reached the desired length he gave you very few options when it came to which hairstyle you wanted. If you remember correctly, it couldn’t have been more than four. All of them had curtain bangs and waves. There was even one, you think, that had something to do with bleaching.

You opted for the one that let you keep the most of your natural hair pattern, not that that was a lot. 

Your dresses always come with a slit to see one of your legs. Temptations bring in more dreams, and with dreams come people wanting to be big shots. That is what your boss said to you after you questioned your given work wardrobe. You did not want his glare and mocking laugh to be aimed at you any longer, so you nodded and went to change. He praised you for it later, but your brain protected itself by not remembering what he said.

All you can recall is the way you shuttered at him wrapping an arm around your bare shoulders,  a lit cigarette in his hand.

You don’t shutter as often anymore after he scowled and threatened to place it on your palm.

Your world is simpler than it was before when you were sleeping on the streets and given just barely enough to scrape by. You only have three jobs to do, but the third one holds the most importance. Sabotage the gamble. Never let them win unless they hold enough power that your boss permits you to stand back.

There have been very few instances of that happening, but they happen nonetheless. They are this casino’s equivalent of a blue moon. There are telltale signs before you are told of their status. Their clothes are always glittering like an invisible spotlight is on them. They always have guards, and people sticking to their arms like glue just itching for a taste. It is an even rarer sight to see one of them being chosen to be their partner for the night. You can tell when a person can buy you off with their proportion of pocket change. Not that anyone has, much to your gratitude.

This man is just like them. You can sense the ego dripping off of him, and can sense how much all those rings on his fingers cost.

This is the real deal. You can tell. That earring of his is probably worth twice that of all of your organs. That is being generous with the price you would most likely hold on the black market. In reality, perhaps thrice. That is not even going into his pink sunglasses, which have tiny gems stuck on the sides. 

He has a gun holster, you think, but the gun itself is nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps one of his men is holding it for him. Perhaps.

From the corner of your eye, you see your boss amongst the crowd, nodding slowly at you. He is sitting in a booth a bit more distanced from the others, three women on either side of him. Every time he sits there, it is your first signal that something is surely going to happen. Good or bad. This time it is good, and you will end the night with nothing less than a few thousand credits for playing your part well. Last time it was bad, and you ended up having so much more than a simple slap on the wrist.

He has three dice between his pointer and middle fingers. One green, one teal, and one dark blue. They are each twelve-sided from what you can see, but the sigils remain unseen by you. Maybe for the best, you think, you don’t want him to take up as much memory space as he already has.

All you want is for this shift to be over, but with this unplanned patron skipping the line of gamblers to gamble himself, who knows how long until the dice stops rolling?

Your fellow staff members look happier, displaying genuine smiles on their faces. Not that you can blame them though, most of them are new hires because your boss tends to fire people on the daily.

“Hold on a sec, please. Madam, I would like to use my lucky charms before you spin the wheel. If you don’t mind, that is.” The man requests. It is not a sincere question, you note, because he clasps onto the dice in his palm so lightly like they are gravity-resistant.

Instead of looking at him, you look at your boss first. He doesn’t seem to be paying attention to you any longer with what looks like one of the women being straddled on his left thigh. Hmm. It’s your call then, you suppose. 

“Sure,” You answer, trying to put on your best polite grin. “Who am I to deny such an… experienced gambler?”

“Thank you for the praise,” He replies, his free arm bending as he scratches the back of his head. “But you… misunderstand, I am just a simple bettor, nothing more.”

The positioned desk with a microphone attached has just become this casino’s newest playing ground. Faster than you can blink, the dice are let out of his hand and roll. When they stop, you can hear cheers and praises, as if they are all meant for him. 

A spotlight is focused on him too, a color more dazzling than the brightest glittering gold.

“I’m going to choose the peach.”

You nod and spin the wheel, all of the colors blurring together, slowly but surely soon coming to a stop.

The pink area with the same peach is on the pointer, and the crowd all clap their hands and dance.

*~*~*~*

During your breaks, you are allowed to go to your recovery room to do whatever limited array of activities your bookshelf and dusty boxes under your bed had in store for you. The breaks are always nothing more than half an hour, but you earned the right to have your breaks’ minimal times be nothing less than ten minutes.

“I just… noticed you never play the games you so often assist, that’s all.” The blond stranger continues to follow as you speedily walk down the hallway to the backrooms. Little by little, the golden paint that coats the walls turns into a dull beige, a sure sign that your treasured little hiding place is near.

“I wish I could but right now I have my lunch break, sir.”

His speed is nowhere near diminishing, no, if anything it is getting more profound.

If you did not have unwanted company, if you did not have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, if you did not have this job you hate to your very core, you would have torn the high heels off of your blistered feet.

But you cannot because you do have unwanted company, you do have to worry about the security cameras in every corner of this part of the casino, you do have this job you hate to your very core. So, the high heels stay on and make sounds with every step you take.

“Come on, Miss [First]. I know you want to.” You have been unable to get him off your back for the past ten minutes. Even when you attempted to walk around the less crowded parts of this casino in circles, he was there. “[First]. A lovely name, if I say so myself. [First], [First], [First].”

It takes everything in you not to frown or cross your arms. That could be considered rude, especially to someone as high standing as this man. “Utmost sincere apologies, sir, but I really-”

“Aventurine.” He interrupts. “It’s Aventurine, Miss. You don’t have to call me sir, you know. We’re alone here in this stank hallway. Without my money, I’m just like you, and I’m sure we can become great friends.”

“In my opinion, I believe that there are better people than me to form connections with, Mister Aventurine.” You try not to huff in frustration, but you could have sworn that one was let out.

In the distance, you see your recovery room, the number two on it turning off and on every few seconds.

It has always been that way. The only one who often gets renovations to their living quarters is your boss. The rest of you are nothing more than cow fodder to him, even his assistants.

“You should head back, Mister Aventurine.” You say, the smile on your face trying its hardest not to fade as you turn to look at him. “I don’t want your seat at the pinball machine to be taken from you.”

“And who do you think would have the guts to steal from me?” Aventurine smirks, one of his hands lowering his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. “No one is that suicidal, that’s the hard truth.”

He winks at you faster than you can get a grip on your door’s handle. 

“Just think about it, m’kay?”

In a flash, he starts walking off, leaving you all alone.

*~*~*~*

“Ah, you’re back!”

Aventurine is at the start of the hallway, the part where the gold paint is the most pronounced.

“My break ended.” You say your answer quickly and simply as you walk past him. Instead of your high heels, you are wearing black flats.

Your feet were bleeding much more than usual when you finally made it to your room. Yeah. That is the excuse you will give to your boss if he asks. He seems drunk and is still at his little booth, not to mention it is dark in the casino at the moment, so there is quite a low chance he will.

“You don’t look so good.” Aventurine nearly shouts, causing you to walk even faster to make it to the wheel of fortune. “Did something happen?”

His voice is soon drowned out by the crowds of people talking. Just a few more seconds. A few more seconds, and he won’t be able to bother you much longer and he will head back to that pinball machine he has been hoarding for the past hour. 

You move past the ogling eyes of drunk consumers and move past the guards, who always let you behind the stage without a hassle. Your flats don’t make nearly as much noise as the heels as you walk up the five steps.

You only have three minutes before the curtains withdraw from their positions, so you pull on your bun to make it tighter and put the stray baby hairs behind your ears. You brush any dust off your dress and then brush off any dust that is on the gambling wheel. The cleaners only work after all the shows are done and all the guests go home, so it is up to you to make sure the show is always looking its best.

You hear the countdown from the electric speakers and the onlookers.

“Five! Four!”

You take a few deep breaths.

“Three!”

You hear the confetti cannons turn on.

You close your eyes and think about the best possible future, one where you can be happy. Where you can be yourself. Where your smiles are real. Where your happiness is real. Reading for as much as your heart desires. Trying all the delicious-looking food no matter how strange it may look. 

“Two!”

Instead of hearing the number one, you just hear more cheers.

The curtains move to the designated sides of the stage, and the near-blinding spotlight shines at you. You smile, waving at the crowds of people, until you see something that nearly causes your facade to crumble down.

Aventurine stands there at the start of the line, holding his three dice just like before.

*~*~*~*

You avoid Aventurine just long enough for the casino to close for the night. It was not an easy task by any means, but somehow retreating to the bar on the job and making simple conversations with other patrons and fellow staff members was enough to repel him.

Since it is after hours, the bartender has gone back to his room to sleep after downing five shots of Spade. He will be hungover tomorrow, that much is certain.

Ah, to only work when it is far past dusk. A dream only for your boss’s most favored employees. Aside from the bartender, there is his guard, who has been seen for the past few months being so drunk that he cannot even stand; he has to sit on the floor.

There is no room for you in that little club. But your gut tells you that it is better this way, for no one unfavored can see what goes on inside.

It is only you in this bar now, spinning around on the stool closest to the gates that lead to the other side. It’s you. Despite this job, despite everything, you are still you. All you ever have to be is you. Only you.

The glass in front of you is half full. Half full with Melancholy. It is only slightly bitter, the rest of the flavor profile being floral and refreshing. This type of shot glass is only reserved for people as high standing as Aventurine due to the little scattering of gold at the rim. 

They are stuck there so they won’t choke whoever is drinking from the cup. For once, your boss put his resources into something partially useful. If only he would do the same with your salary and put some more credits into it.

The door’s chiming bell rings. You hear the front door then close. Did the bartender forget to lock the door?

Should you say something? You don’t want to get in trouble with your boss tomorrow, and his hangover will certainly make his wrath ten times worse than it already was.

The sound of footsteps doesn't fade, and another sound accompanies it soon enough; Aventurine’s voice.

“Hey. Just wanted to drop by. See what you’re doing this late all alone, you know?” 

Before you can turn around and politely ask him to leave, he sits on the stool beside you. Vibrant eyes make contact with yours.

A hand goes on your shoulder, squeezing with a purpose; to keep you quiet.

“Are you drunk? You smell like Blossom Dew and Soothing Soda. Heavily.” 

He's exaggerating, you know this. You've barely had a sip. It's not nearly enough to get you intoxicated. Not at this early into the after-hours. You still need to have a few more beverages before heading to your room for the night.

“Mister Aventurine, I am going to have to ask you to leave.” As he chuckles, your body instinctively reacts, possibly as a protective response. You wouldn’t blame it for acting this way, even under ordinary circumstances.

“I don’t think you’re in the right place to be making orders like that. Maybe if you worked for the IPC, but you’d have to work at the speed of light to get anything close to my ranking.” His hands slither from his sides to your glass, tilting it so he can see the dark yellow liquid within it. “Hmm. Do you not have a high alcohol tolerance, Miss [First]?”

“I do.” You rebuke. He shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t think I should believe you, honestly.” With one of his hands, he takes off his pink sunglasses, putting them beside your cup. “Maybe if you drank the rest of it in one gulp.” With a slam, he puts a stack of credits on the table. “Go on, do it and I’ll give you enough credits to leave Penacony forever. I promise.”

Who are you to decline such an enticing proposition, despite your distaste for the man's company? This employment, with all its hardships, can vanish if you are simply granted the funds. Thus, you hastily consume the remainder of your beverage without deliberation.

You’re too focused on the bet at hand to notice the unusual saltiness.

With a wide grin, he applauds enthusiastically, his cheers echoing through the stillness. However, his clapping abruptly ceases, leaving behind an unexpected emptiness. In its place, a throbbing headache emerges, surpassing the intensity of any typical morning-after discomfort.

The fall into a state of unconsciousness is far from effortless; it feels more like a sudden, jarring blow to the face, sharp and agonizing. 

“I’ll keep my word, that is a gambler's responsibility after all."

Can we have a little sneak peek of your WIPs if you don’t mind sharing it?👀

MAJOR GASP!

honestly nothing fills me with more joy than sharing previews of my works with people, so sure!

life has been very busy lately (my research papers and i got another dog. she's a lot but she's my newest baby so i have to take care of her.), but i am slowly but surely getting back into writing longer pieces. too bad my brain is also all over the place, leading to a... lot of unfinished projects. thankfully though my planner is helping me get back into a less stressed-out mindset. :)

the main thing i am writing right now is a continuation of the chauffeur fic with yan aventurine. ratio will be making some appearances in the story, but sadly his presence won't be enough to save poor reader.

there is also another fic in the works for yan geto and a cursed spirit reader. reader will sort of be a similar type of curse to rika, where she is someone who has died but cannot exactly pass on.

finally, there is a yan gojo and yan geto fic in the works, and i'm hoping it will be sort of similar to scream (1996), in the aspect that the audience suspects one yan of the murders, and then the other one later on. very ambiguous stuff. it's very long so that's why i haven't posted it yet, despite working on it for like three weeks.

here is the posting schedule for these fics in particular most likely to happen (but not absolute):

blue silver (yan aventurine) -> 4/22/24

faith (yan geto) -> 4/25/24

more than words (yan gojo + yan geto) -> 5/4/24

thanks for the request, anon! <333

swordmaster fashion

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

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