#memokeeper

[kazuww00]

“They’re in love” - everyone in Amphoreus.

I made a Hsr oc because I was bored. She’s a Memokeeper like Black swan.

If anyone have a good name suggestion, please feel free to share because I’m awful at choosing names lmao.

I actually never played the game, but I love the designs a lot.

[kamiiayaka]

Is being attractive a must to become a memokeeper or smth

[eraenia-era]

Black Swan

[ghostofahuman]

Stupid little creature predictions

ignore this when/if mr reca becomes playable

Path is probably like preservation or smth but i personally want him nihility so he has detailed animations, and hes probably either imaginary or ice

cant think of anything abt the ult other than the name maybe smth like tales of the unknown

his atk idle is him looking directly into the camera

(quick Sketch)

I hope hes a dps but hes probably gonna be very similar to black swan

ooo i just know hes gonna have the MOST dramatic downed pose

[vivianne-is-tired]

heyyy

so, it's been a hot minute since i last posted on here(not that i really need to but anyways!)

ya girl got into hsr a while ago and got addicted(FEIXIAO COME HOME PLSS) nd while in was doing the trailblazer quest where we meet sunday again, something he said struck me in an odd way.

now a pointed disclaimer, i'm not a professional theory crafter but this gen couldn't leave my mind so i had to share it :3

so! you all know march, right? pretty familiar with our in game companion and bestie.

and we all know that her past is pretty....lacking, in the sense that we know nothing about it apart from the fact that she was encased in ice when she was found by the express and had her memory erased and kept by a memokeeper.

now, back to something sunday said, and bear with me cuz this is relevant: where a place like Penacony harbors memoria(or sum along those lines), and due to the laughing prank by the Pepeshi, Tingyun's psych splintering off into different beings as well, it got me thinking(never a good thing btw).

did march become affected in a similar way as a possible punishment for something her original self did and have the memokeeper split her different personalities and then erase their collective memory so it can't be traced back?? as like a way for her not to be chased down again?

idk, march is js happy go lucky energy most of the time and has this air about her(at least to me) where it seems like there's something about her that we just can't see or conceive. because in such a narrative, esp like hsr, where the characters are always hiding something until the very end, it wouldn't be surprising for march to have such a....dark past abt her.

also, isn't it weird that she has a new skin, and more than 1 path to choose from? as a 4*, she's getting some vip treatment. and that's not js me ragging on her or anything(i truly do love march, she's so sweet)but i just think that the developers are trying their hardest to keep her relevant with a permanent event and all that jazz, so it might not be too far fetched that we might get a dazzling reveal.

at some point, when we do get a reveal, i wouldn't be surprised if there are other marches in existence just like the one we know, just with different personalities and backstories.

maybe the quest where we explored her mind with the matrix of prescience allowed us to witness the connection between the fractured personalities before the memokeeper felt that connection and severed it??

im grasping for straws here, but i think it's a silly theory that might be plausible, idk tbh.

[phaexie]

Hahaaiiii king! Can i request Black Swan (hsr) graphics? Specifically purple? Thank you :3 /nf

ofcourse, friendie! one order of black swan graphics coming right up!

˙ᵕ˙ BLACK SWAN GRAPHICS / PFPS

requested by @tiger-poet

f2u w credit!

dividers f2u

[jijunbzz]

Question about memokeepers HSR

As someone who doesn't have time to play at all (thus consuming plot through video and wiki) can someone please explain memokeepers??? I heard and read that they don't have physical form (or give it up?) to exist in the realm of memories or mind? So as someone who's interested in mr Reca I need to know if he can be met outside of Penacony. And like... Are those people immortal??? (Since they don't exist physically) I need to know if I missed some crutual detail here help!

[spectrolitha]

And the phase continues still. My HSR OC named Kettung. He's a Memokeeper, and they lack physical form, so I like to think that they break hnk style if hurt, since Fuli is so crystallic.

Another OC, some more pics and lore under the cut.

Here is first picture of Etio Krieger, my doctor of chaos. She's travelling all over the galaxy searching for universal method to help people find their meaning of life. During her wandering she's stolen quite a few rare materials here and there in order to create some medicine, for which doctors of chaos are famous and some more, so she actually has a bounty. Though not very high, since she does her best not to kill anyone.

Here are some more pictures of me trying to figure out what Kriger and Kettung look like.

A bit of their shared backstory: Krieger and Kettung come from the same planet, which was destroyed by its own people in a very destructive plant-scale civil war. Krieger and Kettung are the only survivors, and Kettung has survived only because he got into Krieger's ship to assassinate her, since they were on the different sides of the war. Then the planet went boom, and both Krieger and Kettung were so shocked by momentary destruction of everything they've known, that they just sat down and drank themselves to sleep in silence. When they awoke the next morning, realising that wasn't just a bad dream, they reluctantly decided to stick together. Because fun fact (no), they weren't aware that other people on other planets existed. So in their eyes, they were the last people, the last living things in the whole existence.

Thankfully that wasn't the case, and they were rescued by folk from other plants sometime later. And then they learned about true scale of the universe, and Krieger went on to become a doctor of chaos out of desire to find meaning herself and help others do the same, and Kettung became a memokeeper out of desire to preserve what little stuff was left of their planet (mostly memories, yeah) and to preserve information about this tragedy as a warning for other planets.

[void-dreaming]

Been working on and off on a HSR OC! Despite its updated and downs I do enjoy HSR ^^

Don't mind the colors, here I'm just highlighting each section so I can see what I'm doing xD

Anyways this is supposed to be a Memokeeper, I'm still looking up info about how the Memokeepers function though!

[imsoluckyluckyx3]

𝘉𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘸𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 ! ! ! Feel free to use!

[121231212i]

Honkai: Star rail | Mr. Reca

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine, Sunday and Ratio w/ a Memokeeper...? 👀

“Memory is the diary that we all carry about with us”

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Memokeeper!Reader, Character Study, Existential Themes, Introspection, Emotional Growth, Intellectual Tension, Mysticism, Loss, Haunted Past, Unresolved Regret, Journey of Self-Discovery, Temporal Manipulation

Warnings: Existential Crisis, Trauma, Philosophical Discomfort, Emotional Weight Vulnerability in Characters, Mature Themes (regret, guilt, and self-worth).

Ratio, with his signature plaster sculpture concealing his face and his wavy hair cascading just past his shoulders, was a figure both revered and feared within the Intelligentsia Guild. His sharp eyes, the color of fading twilight with a ring of yellow at their core, saw everything and everyone, evaluating, analyzing, dissecting.

It was here that you, a Memokeeper from the Garden of Recollection, first encountered him.

You had come to this world, as you did with every other, to preserve memories, to seek out moments that spoke of the lives lived, the forgotten faces, and the stars that fell into oblivion. In the endless cycle of existence, you had learned that the only thing that truly mattered was memory. To think, to feel, to exist—those were not just ephemeral things, but imprints on the fabric of reality itself.

But when you met Ratio, it was as if all the weight of time had been condensed into a single moment. He, too, had an unyielding belief in the importance of knowledge, in the idea that ideas, too, were immortal. He understood the power of remembrance, but to him, it was intellect, not memory, that was the truest form of immortality. A fascinating paradox.

"You're a Memokeeper, aren't you?" His voice was smooth, like velvet over steel, his eyes locking onto yours, seeing straight through to your very essence.

You nodded, concealing your true form beneath your disguise, as was customary for those like you. In this world, you were just another scholar, another wanderer with a collection of knowledge to trade. But unlike the others, your knowledge wasn’t of facts or figures. It was of memories, of moments suspended in time, of people long gone and forgotten.

"You believe that memory is everything, don’t you?" Ratio's gaze never wavered, as if he was testing you. "You think that by preserving memory, you preserve the soul of a person. But memories are subjective, fleeting. They are not absolute. Ideas, facts, theories—these are what endure. These are what define existence."

His words were confident, dismissive even. But you knew there was more behind them, a deeper yearning to understand what lay beyond the limits of mortal comprehension. You could see it in the way his hands gestured as he spoke, the sharpness of his thoughts revealing a man who, despite all his brilliance, was searching for something more.

"You misunderstand," you said, your voice calm but full of a quiet intensity. "Memories are the only things that cannot be erased, not by time, not by entropy. They are the proof of existence. Without them, what are we but ghosts, vanishing without a trace?"

Ratio's eyes glinted with something unreadable—was it interest? Curiosity? You couldn’t tell, but it was enough to pique his attention. "And how do you preserve them? What makes your memories so… important?"

You smiled faintly, an ethereal expression. "I don’t just remember, Dr. Ratio. I preserve. Through the Garden of Recollection, I collect and store memories, not just from the world I come from, but from all worlds. I can live through them, feel what they felt, see what they saw. I can carry the memories of thousands, and in doing so, they live on."

For a moment, there was silence. Ratio’s gaze remained fixed on you, his expression unreadable. "And what of your own memories?" he asked, his voice softer now, though still brimming with intensity. "Do you ever remember yourself? Or are you too lost in the memories of others to even recall your own?"

It was a question that struck deeper than you had anticipated. You, who had shed your mortal form long ago to live as a memetic entity, could not remember the life you once lived. The body you had was but a vessel, an illusion of the past. Yet you held the memories of countless lives, each one a thread in the grand tapestry of existence.

"I remember," you said quietly, your voice distant, as if recalling a long-forgotten dream. "But only fragments. I carry the memories of all those I've encountered, of all the lives I've touched. And in that, I live."

Ratio stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes—a momentary crack in his armor. "Fascinating," he murmured, as if the concept of your existence challenged everything he had ever known. "You are a paradox, then. A being of memory, yet unable to fully grasp your own existence. How… tragic."

You tilted your head slightly. "Perhaps. But in some ways, it’s beautiful. Every life I encounter becomes a part of me, and in that, I become part of them. A perpetual exchange, a never-ending cycle of remembrance."

Ratio’s lips quirked upward slightly, a rare and almost imperceptible smile. "Perhaps," he echoed, his voice tinged with something akin to admiration. "You might be right, after all. Memory is the only true form of immortality. But don’t forget, my Memokeeper, that intellect and knowledge are what shape the universe. Without them, memory would be meaningless."

You met his gaze, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "And without memory, even the greatest intellects would fade into obscurity, leaving nothing behind."

For a moment, you both stood there, two beings of immense knowledge and power, staring at one another in the midst of a universe that seemed both infinite and fleeting. In that fleeting moment, there was no need for words. You understood each other, in a way that few could.

As you turned to leave, your final words lingered in the air, like a soft melody, echoing across time itself.

"Remember me, Dr. Ratio. After all, that is the only way I can truly exist."

He watched you disappear into the endless flow of time, his mind racing with questions, with curiosity. The Memokeeper had left an impression, a memory etched into his mind. And though Ratio would continue his work, seeking to change the world through intellect and knowledge, something had shifted within him.

Perhaps, in the end, the preservation of memory and the pursuit of knowledge were not so different after all.

The Astral Express hummed with the faint rhythm of its journey through the stars, its steady pulse a stark contrast to the turbulent thoughts that swirled within Sunday’s mind. He stood by the window, watching the unending expanse of the cosmos pass by, his eyes reflecting distant stars. His thoughts were as fractured as ever—an unyielding dissonance between his ideals and the weight of his past. Yet, there was something different now, something new stirring in him, as if the winds of change were gently sweeping through his world.

You, the Memokeeper, stood just a few steps away from him, an enigmatic presence, yet somehow, your existence felt more real than anything else. Your presence was like an anchor in a sea of uncertainty, a testament to a truth he had not yet fully grasped.

To think is to exist.

He had never truly questioned his existence in this way before. For all his lofty ideals about dreams, suffering, and the balance between them, there was something about you—your quiet, eternal purpose—that made him reconsider his place in the universe.

You had explained, on occasion, the nature of your kind. A Memokeeper’s task was to collect memories, to preserve them as proof of existence in a world where everything, even stars, would eventually fade. Unlike most, who viewed reality and imagination as distinct, Memokeepers saw them as one. It was a perspective that intrigued Sunday deeply, yet he struggled to fully comprehend it. Perhaps because, in the end, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

"How do you hold on to something so... fleeting?" he asked softly, his voice carrying a weight that betrayed the many layers of his thoughts.

You turned toward him, your expression serene, but there was a flicker of something deeper in your eyes, an understanding of the burden he carried. "We don't hold on to it. We let it flow through us, and in doing so, we become it."

Sunday looked at you, his gaze lingering on the delicate curve of your cheek, the ethereal quality of your being, and how it seemed as though you were made of light itself. "Do you ever feel... trapped by your memories?" His voice faltered at the question, as though he were reaching for something he couldn’t quite touch.

For a moment, there was silence, save for the distant hum of the train and the occasional flicker of stars outside. You took a step closer, your fingers brushing lightly against the air as you spoke, your voice gentle and calm.

"Trapped?" you mused. "No. We are the keepers, not the prisoners. Memories are not chains. They are bridges."

His brow furrowed slightly. "But what if the memories are of things you can never change? Things that haunt you?" His words were quieter now, as if he were speaking more to himself than to you. The weight of his past—of the choices he had made, of the lives he had shaped, for better or worse—pressed down on him once more.

You studied him with a knowing gaze, as though seeing through the veil of his facade. "Hauntings are but echoes of what was, Sunday. The question is not whether the memories are painful, but whether we let them define us." You paused, letting your words settle. "What you choose to do with them—that is what matters."

Sunday’s eyes flickered as if a distant thought had just emerged, one that had been buried beneath layers of rationality and philosophy. He had spent so long trying to change the world, trying to create a place free of suffering, that he had neglected the simplest truth: he could not change the past. He could only move forward.

"But how?" he asked, his voice filled with quiet desperation. "How can I move forward, when the past keeps whispering in my ears?"

You smiled softly, a knowing, almost maternal expression on your face. "You are already moving forward, Sunday. Your journey on the Astral Express is proof of that. The question is not if you will move forward, but how you will choose to remember."

There it was again: remember. It was a word he had often associated with pain, with the weight of regret and guilt, but somehow, in your presence, it felt lighter. It felt like a possibility, a way to reclaim something precious without being bound to it.

For the first time in a long while, Sunday allowed himself to truly look at you. Not just as a fellow traveler aboard the Express, but as someone who embodied a truth he had yet to accept.

"I... I think I understand," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Memories are not the end of us. They can be... a part of something greater."

You nodded, your eyes fluttering slightly as you gazed at him with an expression of quiet encouragement. "Exactly. And sometimes, the greatest gift you can give to the past is to let it go, while still carrying it with you."

Sunday fell silent, his mind now processing your words, considering their implications. Perhaps this was the true path to redemption—not the erasure of pain, but the acceptance of it, and the ability to carry it without letting it define him.

As the train continued its journey through the stars, Sunday found himself standing a little taller. He wasn’t sure where this journey would take him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt like he might finally be on the right path.

In the labyrinthine corridors of the IPC, where deals and schemes wove through the very fabric of power, Aventurine stood as an enigma, a master of manipulation with a heart haunted by the ghosts of his past. His smile, enigmatic and ever-present, was a mask that concealed the fractured man beneath. The ‘Aventurine of Stratagems,’ a name he wore with pride, was a title earned through unrelenting gambles and sacrifices, yet it was the one thing that kept him from truly losing himself.

But on this particular day, something—or rather, someone—was pulling at the threads of his carefully constructed world. Someone who didn’t need to gamble to see through the veil.

You. The Memokeeper.

A fleeting figure, a whisper of another existence, you moved through worlds unrestrained by physical boundaries. Memokeepers were creatures of memories—preservers of the immortal, the eternal. You had no flesh, no true form. Only the shifting remnants of memories you carried with you, the fragments of countless lives you had touched and stolen.

When Aventurine first encountered you, he had been intrigued. Memokeepers were not common, and your mysterious nature had piqued his interest. But it was your ability to navigate through time and space, your unflinching grasp of memory as a permanent artifact, that truly captivated him.

"You never forget, do you?" Aventurine's voice was smooth, laced with his signature mix of challenge and curiosity as you stood across from him in a darkened room, a flicker of memory flashing in your eyes.

You tilted your head slightly, a soft, almost imperceptible smile gracing your lips. "For a moment, I thought you would say 'never forgive.'" You said it with an air of knowing, your voice gentle yet profound. "But no... you are too familiar with your own regrets to seek forgiveness."

Aventurine’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. The hint of vulnerability did not go unnoticed. The last surviving member of a lost clan, haunted by survivor's guilt—those wounds ran deep. His facade was usually flawless, but before you, it felt fragile, a thin layer barely holding back a flood of emotions he hadn’t let surface in years.

"You speak as though you understand me," he remarked, his voice regaining its usual confidence. "But I’ve played this game for too long to be an open book."

"Yet, here you are," you countered, stepping closer, the air thick with the power of your words. "A man who wagers lives as easily as others breathe. Do you think I can't see the stakes you're playing for? The past you can never escape?"

There was a moment of silence, one where Aventurine’s usual bravado seemed to crack slightly, revealing the ever-present tension in his posture, the subtle guarding of his left hand behind his back. He wasn't ready to expose his fragility, not yet.

"You play with the illusion of luck," you continued, your voice almost hypnotic. "But I know what you really seek. You gamble because you fear being forgotten, because you fear that if you stop playing, your existence will cease to matter."

Aventurine’s eyes narrowed, gleaming with a mixture of challenge and intrigue. He tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating your words, but his tone remained steady. "And what of you, Memokeeper? Are you truly immortal, or just a collector of lies?"

You didn’t flinch. "Memory is the only true immortality. Everything fades—worlds, stars, even gods. But memories... memories last longer than anything else. They are what make us real. What make us matter."

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into that all-too-familiar grin. "I suppose you would say that. After all, you're in the business of making things last forever."

Aventurine’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and for a brief instant, he wondered what it would be like to have his memory preserved—not his reputation or his empire, but his very essence. Would someone like you, a Memokeeper, truly see him for who he was beneath the layers of strategy and artifice?

"I’ve seen countless memories," you said, your voice soft but heavy with meaning. "But there's something about you... You're not a mere gambler, not just someone who risks it all. There's something darker in you, a longing for connection, yet a fear of it."

He looked at you with raised eyebrows, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "You really think you can see all that from just a glance?"

"You show more than you think," you said, your gaze steady, your words unshaken. "And it's those little things—the way you hide your left hand, the pauses in your speech, the smile that never reaches your eyes—that tell me you are more than the games you play."

The silence stretched, an unspoken challenge between you. He couldn’t deny it. He had always thought of himself as untouchable, an orchestrator of every move. But you? You had no need for power or control. You simply existed, transcendent and free.

And yet, despite all that, Aventurine felt something strange stirring within him—a desire to be remembered, not just for his gambles, but for the man he truly was.

"Perhaps you're right," he finally said, his voice quieter, more contemplative. "Perhaps there is more to me than even I realize."

You smiled, a soft, knowing expression, and for the first time, Aventurine’s smile seemed a little less rehearsed, a little more genuine. The idea of someone, a Memokeeper no less, understanding the depths of his soul was an uncomfortable yet fascinating thought.

"I don’t need to gamble to know your worth, Aventurine," you said, your eyes twinkling with an almost imperceptible warmth. "But perhaps, just once, you might stop playing and let someone else remember you. For who you really are."

For the first time in a long while, Aventurine didn’t immediately respond with a quip or a strategy. He simply watched you, his mind turning, calculating the possibilities. What would it mean to be remembered? To be seen beyond the mask of the gambler, the strategist, the survivor?

In that moment, Aventurine felt the first stirrings of a gamble he had never before considered: the gamble of letting someone in.

Oh damn, this was long af... 🫣😨

Also I couldn't come up with a better title so yeah...🧍‍♀️

[cubtales]

"my rosie, looking for me?"

"it appears i'm being watched, beloved. this trial of idrila is proving to be difficult, i can't seem to pinpoint those fellows."

"need me to intervene?"

"rest assured, i shall dedicate this victory to you."

this wonderful, absolutely amazing comm by the sweetest @ moriannor on insta ♥︎ she's soo helpful & awesome to work with ! ! i can't stop admiring this 🥹💗 ! ! pls do check her out ! !

[cosmictea2]

been drawing more star rail characters oopsie daisy

[mrrecaswife]

In case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night.

(cw: mention of reader death, all in all general angst, presence of oc should you squint, talking about oc, do you guys want a full written character sheet about my two hsr ocs?? Also, did you get the reference? If you did, have a 🍪)

if the theory that Mr Reca is a cremator in the MemoKeepers is true, then he'd surely burn all the 'uninteresting' memories and only keep the 'good parts' for his works.

Except those including you. Especially those including you.

For some reason, especially if you have left him in any kind of way, he can't seem to even want to touch them, prefering to gaze solemnly at those fragments of your life. It's such a drastic change that his Assistant Director and everyone else around him cannot help but notice.

He can't touch them. It sickens him to his core to even think about it, as if he would have committed something unforgivable if he did.

So he doesn't. Instead, he puts those memories on repeat only for his eyes to see.

(He misses you. More than what anyone could imagine. Even that strange friend of yours, as much as he enjoys the company, cannot seem to tear him from them.

He sees the glimpse of an empathetic gaze, but doesn't comment on it nor budges. That girl probably considers this as part of her data to collect. (She doesn't, and he knows, but he can't get over the fact that you had to leave)

He really hates the fact that you had a mortal body that had to decay.)

[vmp3ater]

I want to fuck Black Swan from the back with a strap sooooo bad 🙏

subbot black swan x domtop afab reader

black swan would look so beautiful with her lavender hair fanned out on her back, ass up into the air while you thrust your strap into her. she would look back at you from behind while you thrust into her, watching her ass ripple every time your pelvis hits it.

fucking her into oblivion!!! you’ve already ripped a few orgasms from the memokeeper but you’re not satisfied yet, groaning slightly as you feel yourself throb under the strap in seeing her in such a state. she looks so cute, begging for you to slow down.. at least, maybe you will show some mercy on her <3