Harlot Of Sentimentality

(Edit: You can find me on Insta now too! I’m lunie.emoonie)

Hello to all the wonderful goblins of Tumblr, the digital land of hyper-fixations and cults (fandoms).

I’m lunar-muse but you can call me Lunie. My pronouns are she/her.

Like your esteemed selves I’m yet another goblin hunched over my phone lost in the archives of Tumblr and I like yapping about things I love but have no one to bore with in my dry, boring reality.

I suspect this blog will soon be full of mini fanfics or just me blabbering about Kaeya* or which other fandom or media catches my interest.

*A note: I’m not currently that involved in Genshin, my knowledge is mostly localised with Kaeya and any lore surrounding him. I don’t mind spoilers.

If you have anything to share about Kaeya, a request for a fic or an interest of your own, please don’t feel shy (although I hope you won’t mind if I take some time to respond) to drop an ask. I don’t think I’ll be entertaining any extremely explicit NSFW asks about the characters, but I don’t mind writing something slightly suggestive.

With that being said, I hope I can entertain all of you with my yapping and thank you for checking out my blog!

Masterlist:

Matters Most Unpleasant

Description: (Name) comes home from a night of revelry to find their mother brutally murdered.

Kaeya, the one competent investigative unit aside from the Acting Grandmaster, is on the case.

But what happens when there is more to the matter than what meets the eye?

Contents: Slow burn, graphic violence, allusions or use of substances.

I : The Murder and The Captain

II: Rumpelstiltskin and The True Enemy

Linguistic Capabilities

Description: A Kaeya-centric standalone fic (and the first fic I've ever posted!)

Contents: Torture, hinted drugging, minor swearing (like, one f - bomb)

Kaeya Relationship Headcanons

Description: A list of headcanons of Kaeya in a platonic/romantic relationship.

Kaeya Headcanons

Description: A list of headcanons of Kaeya as a person.

Kaeya and Diluc Headcanons

Description: A look into the (platonic!) relationship between Kaeya and Diluc

Ubi amo, ibi patria

Description: Headcanons of Kaeya in a romantic relationship

The Sun In His Smile

Description: What makes Kaeya happy in a relationship?

Midsummer Night's Dream (in development)

Description: A fan - made visual novel with Kaeya. Help him face his demons!

Update 1: https://www.tumblr.com/lunar-muse/798501297246601216/game-update-i?source=share

Update 2: https://www.tumblr.com/lunar-muse/800324059983429632/game-update-ii?source=share

Update 3: https://www.tumblr.com/lunar-muse/803553312997818368/game-update?source=share

Devlogs:

#1 : https://www.tumblr.com/lunar-muse/805904029706289152/devlog-1?source=share

#2

Le Bel Homme Sans Merci

Description: Mondstadt has fallen. This is not the Teyvat you know. Will the Fae you free prove your salvation? Or your damnation?

(Yandere!Kaeya x reader)

I. The Knight and the Faery

Just thought this would be a good chance to really get my thoughts together? Considering this blog is really an autopsy of my brain, I don’t think this post is too out of place.

So… I have not been feeling well these past couple of months.

Physically I’m alright enough, but not so good mentally. I’m unsure if it’s the effect of the month long exams or if this has been piling up for a while now.

I don’t want to vent too much here, but it’s a strange feeling of living on autopilot, looking at everything through a smokescreen, nodding and smiling when you’re not really there. It wasn’t this bad before, though I had always felt detached, but being pushed into college in a crowd that I definitely am not compatible with has just worsened the alienation.

It’s easy to think you don’t need people, that you’ll make it on your own, but you’ll still feel miserable watching others sit in groups, be normal with each other. At least for me it is, then again I am the Harlot of Sentimentality.

These days I’ve considered some awful things. I’m sure I won’t act on them, but the thoughts surprised me. I don’t what I’d expected of my “first taste of adulthood”, but it certainly wasn’t this. And I’m unsure exactly how I’m taking it.

It’s also why I’ve been struggling answering the lighter asks. It’s difficult to put myself in the light-hearted and fun mood required for them, and I strictly believe that if you don’t feel like it at the moment, you shouldn’t write it. It’s unfair to both the reader and the author. That’s also why I take time to post, I think.

If I had to summarise whatever I’m going through— I feel hopelessly inadequate, though there are plenty of people here and irl who assure me I’m far from it. Every moment of joy is fleeting, leaving this … decaying miserableness in its place. A dramatic way to put it I know, but it’s the best description I can think of.

I know there’s no point in moping, but sometimes I feel like a snail born without a shell. Or maybe I didn’t eat enough of my egg’s shell to make it strong.

It’s difficult to make sense of a world that moves so quickly, with such brutal precision, when I’m registering all of it at once. Maybe I can’t deal with it because my shell is fragile. Or maybe there’s just something fundamentally wrong with how I see and feel things, this strange dichotomy of being unattached yet deeply invested with a mind that paints half the picture before reality does.

It starts to weigh on my bones, then on my mind, and though my trainer is excellent, no amount of exercise seems to help either. I only noticed the weight of it a couple of days back.

My hair is greying prematurely. I’m sure that’s insomnia or genetics. My mother seems to think I’m neglecting myself, which isn’t too wrong I suppose. Even things like bathing and applying conditioner take too much effort these days. Though I like to think I’m still pretty, despite it. I think there’s some charm to grey hairs that’s often unappreciated.

There’s a strange frustration that has seeped into me. Makes me want to grab the people around me and scream “I’m here! Can’t you see me? I’m right here! Don’t you care that I am? Don’t you see me?” Even when I’m unsure if I’m here at all.

I’m not sure what the point of this post is. I guess these are just some things I wanted to get off my chest, or maybe, if someone out there is feeling the same, I want you to know you’re not alone. I feel like it too. I’m sure hundreds of others do. We’re just too deeply buried in our shells to be noticed.

Not everyone will care. Most won’t. Some will try to understand, but their help may not be of the right kind. But what I’m trying to say is, just keep your head above the water. It’s not fun. It’s isolating, especially when no one sees you struggling. But I see you, and you probably see me. Even if it’s through this post I’m typing, hunched over the basin after a good cry at four in the morning.

It’s tough being a Harlot of Sentimentality, but you’ve got to keep going. Got to stay. Got to grit your teeth and thrash around in the pit even when you want to stay down. It’s easier said than done. I don’t always win either — some days my room is a mess, some days I don’t bother changing out of my pyjamas, and some days I lie in bed when I should be in college knowing well my class-in-charge is going to scream bloody murder at me when I do show up.

But some days I write and draw. Some days I show up to college and manage a decent gpa. Some days I’m very humorous and I take good care of my appearance.

I’m not sure if the bad days will ever leave or if they’re here to stay a while, but I know I’ll have to tough them out till the good days come. If not for myself, then for the people around me at least.

So I see you and I think I’d like you to stay. We’ve made our mistakes, but we can’t go anywhere else but forward and hope for the best. Then that’s what we’ll do.

May your pillows always be at your preferred temperature!

Hello Anon (• w •)

I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed the fic this much! It was very fun to write, especially the tension in the “hurt” section of the fic.

And yes, chemistry is awesome! I love understanding how reactions work… but not memorising all the chemical structures (@ w @ ;).

Still, it was fun to apply some of that knowledge in the fic.

I've been thinking a lot about Kaeya either dating or with a crush on a Sumeru academia researcher reader who was researching alchemy and mechanics which lead them to take a big interest in Khaenri'ah, since in these topics everything leads to Khaenri'ah. I'm curious about your opinion on how he would react to reader digging all they can about Khaenri'ah and sharing knowledge with him, because they're so excited about research they can't really hold it in.

I guess is this is very hurt/comfort coded with how I imagine it. But I can't really choose which promt fits best. I'm leaning into the 「"I made your tea the way you like it." - "You remembered." - "I remember everything about you."」 one, because for researchers there's no bigger way of loving something than remembering and learning everything about their object of love/interest.

Thanks for all the writing you do, your Kaeya thoughts and writings are always new thinking material, I love that! I wish you a nice summer!!

A/N: Oh, what an interesting ask! You gave me a lot to work with so my brain went a bit wild hehe, still , I hope it’s to your liking!

Kaeya x Reader : Hurt/Comfort fic prompts— [“I made your tea the way you like it.” — “You remembered.” — “I remember everything about you.”]

Kaeya had to admit, he had a thing for scholars.

So earnest. So serious. So lost in their own worlds.

He couldn’t decide if it was envy or fondness that made his heart flutter when he heard the rustle of your academia robes on his blind side, when he saw you hunched over fat books in some empty corner of the Favonius library, your finger tracing the ancient texts while you scrawled your notes in shorthand.

Celestia could crash on Mondstadt, but even then Kaeya doubted you’d spare the burning world a glance.

 “Khaenri'ah, huh? You sure know a lot! The legacy of Khaenri'ah is long gone. The sinners  are all that's left, and they're not worth mentioning.”

He’d hoped the words, though offered amiably enough while his fingers ran over the grooves of your latest miniature replica, would dissuade your interest with the little sting that had remained.

It wasn’t pleasant, seeing your excitement falter, but delving into the catacombs of Khaenri’ah’s past — and there were many catacombs — was a cursed task.

But you seemed downright obsessed with ruining yourself, weren’t you? Fine, then. Kaeya supposed even ruin needed company; besides, he preferred yours over most.

So, he nodded along, looked forward to your sermons on Khaenri’ah’s obsession with biomimetics and its influence on their constructs, or the calculations and energy required to make bulky Ruin Hunters airborne.

By the fifth principle of mechanics that flew over his head, Kaeya found himself wondering why he listened at all.

His gaze drifted to his drink for only a moment.

The tavern was not the place for physics or energy conversion.

But looking up at you again, seeing the expectation and doubt lingering in your eagerness— painfully earnest— he smiled, raised his glass.

Ah, he was smitten wasn’t he? How could he not be, when you spoke with such animation, gestured with such enthusiasm?

‘Then a toast; to collision theory and turboprop engines!’

‘You’re Khaenri’ahn, aren’t you?’

He didn’t look up immediately, but the fine whetstone halted its screeching.

Kaeya’s back was to you, bare and damp after the duels on training grounds. His shoulders— the right marred till the elbow with mottling scars— were still. But not for long.

He hummed noncommittally and the fine stone screeched along his blade again. ‘Isn’t that curious of you to say?’

‘The eye.’ You point to your own, hand trembling almost imperceptibly. ‘It fits. All of it. The star, the … the symbol! That’s why they have it— the Ruin Guards. They have one eye. And they look like yours!’

‘Ah, so you’ve been paying that much attention to me?’ His laugh, though smooth, was sharp. ‘You know how to flatter a man, (Name).’

The whetstone screeched louder.

‘I know who you are.’ You declare firmly, risking a step forward. ‘Is that why you listened? That’s why you knew all about the Sinners and Rhinedottir’s alchemy, isn’t it? Are you… are you really from Khaenri’ah? Then you know— then you can help me!’

Your laugh is incredulous, your trembling fingers brushing your brow, head reeling with the sheer implications. The sheer opportunities. The sheer knowledge teasing the fraying nerves of your sleepless mind.

‘The texts I found, the ones I had to beg Lisa for, they’re written in Khaenri’ahn. Ella tried to decipher them but she couldn’t— it doesn’t matter, but you can help me read them, can’t you? Won’t you?’

He rose to his feet suddenly, facing you with a piercing smile so quickly that for a moment you doubted if he’d been seated at all. His sword smoothly slid into the scabbard at his hip, the whetstone lay abandoned on the low bench.

‘It’s kind of you to drop in for a chat, but I’m afraid the Knights’ have me for today.’

He brushed past you brusquely, pulling his shirt on as he did.

By the time you’d called out to him, he’d already turned the corner.

Four days without you.

He’d considered it, every time he passed by the library. Lingered at the door. Imagined it, you beaming at him, diving into transmutation or whatever else you’d uncovered.

“You’re Khaenri’ahn, aren’t you?”

Then he’d let out a breath, rolled his shoulders back, and continued on his way. Four days now.

So much for being Mr. Cool.

He blinked, shook his head, and leaned forward to scrutinise the board. The words were familiar. He’d strung them up himself, had written every single one of them, but his attention refused to cling to them. Funny, wasn’t it?

In fact, he was just considering a walk in the gardens when the knock rang clearly.

He glanced at the great clock hanging over his desk. It was late into the evening. Scrambling through the clutter in his head, he couldn’t recall any appointments or meetings.

The knock came again, more hesitant, stopping abruptly.

Heaving a quiet sigh, he made for his desk and sat back on his chair, interlacing his fingers and resting his elbows on the desk. The familiar pose he’d worn through countless board meetings. ‘Yes?’

But it wasn’t a dignitary or messenger who stepped inside.

‘(Name)…’ Your name left him in a disbelieving murmur, though he wasn’t sure what was more shocking— that you’d bothered showing up at all, or that you came bearing a tea-set.

You say your greetings, but he didn’t miss your vice-like grip on the tray. By the time you’re halfway to his desk, he’s already hastily swiping away documents and paperweights, setting the candelabra to the side.

You set the tray squarely in the centre of his desk, your head bowed.

For a moment you both just stared at the cups. They were pretty, delicate things — Lisa’s.

The scent wafting from the teapot was unmistakable: Minty Fruity Tea. How could he forget it? The sweet-sour burst was far from the elegant burn of wine, yet he’d drained half the teapot the last time you’d brewed it.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, hands shoved deep into your pockets.

‘I made your tea the way you like it.’ The words tumble out quickly, like they’d spent enough time fermenting on your tongue.

He nodded, though in all honesty the words only registered when you reached for the pot, dipping the spout over his cup.

‘Sit,’ he gestured to the chair across from him once the tea was poured. You nodded, though sat back perhaps a bit too rigidly.

It would have been sweet, if he hadn’t been rattling his brain for the right words. It turned out he didn’t need them anyway, because the first sip was a cool palm pressed over his aching head.

He sighed once more, though this one was deeper and he felt lighter after. ‘You remembered.’ He smiled faintly, looking up at you.

Earnest. With your faults and your virtues.

You nod. Once. ‘I remember everything about you.’

You raised your hand when he began to reply.

‘I wanted … to apologise. I got excited but… this is sensitive stuff. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I like talking to you.’

Kaeya’s fingers brushed his lips, he leaned forward. You looked straight at the candles, the words spilling.

‘A reaction requires the appropriate activation energy to form products.’

Kaeya’s lips twitched but he didn’t interrupt.

‘Most people I’ve met don’t have that.’ Your knee bounced. ‘There’s no… catalyst in the conversation. No product. I used to hate that, it made me feel… odd. I thought I’d gotten used to it.’ You risk a glance at him. ‘But then I met you.’

Kaeya didn’t touch his tea. His eye solely remained on you, his hand resting over the lower half of his face.

You continue— ‘You’re the catalyst. You… lower the activation energy. There’s … product, a conversation, a… ‘ You swallow. ‘You make it easy … to get the product. I don’t feel odd when I’m with you.’

For a long moment you stare at each other. The clock ticks from above, outside the shuffle of boots against wood comes and goes.

Kaeya stared down at the cup, his head bowed and the back of his hand rubbing his cheek.

Just as you were considering diving from the window, his shoulders began to shake.

He pressed his knuckles against his lips, taking in a sharp breath of air.

Then Kaeya laughed, loud and sudden. Not airy or smooth, boisterous and poorly restrained.

Heat rushed to your cheeks and you rose quickly, but his hand on your wrist stopped you.

‘(Name)—‘ he grinned, his lopsided smile dimpling his cheeks, ‘— I missed you too.’

You stared.

He stared right back at you.

Your lips rose into a smile, quiet and unsure, but happy. Or at least that’s what you thought of the warmth spreading through your chest.

His face softened, his eye lingering on your lips.

Slowly, his fingers slipped from your wrist.

He stepped away, sitting back on his chair, gesturing for you to do the same.

The flames jittered when he arranged the candles between you two, setting the now empty cups all proper again.

This time, he poured the tea.

‘So,’ he began conversationally, clinking his cup against yours, ‘What’s this… activation energy again?’

CW: Diluc is traumatised, gore, character death(Crepus), reference to intercourse but nothing happens here, Kaeya appears

A/N: Wanted to write Diluc so… presto?

When they put a sword in your hands, bark at you to swing it right, rap the back of your calves with the cane till you’re standing right, you start to think there’s an order to battle.

He was good at it, or so he was told back when he’d sent the snot-faced Lawrence brat arse-first in the mud.

His triumph hadn’t lasted long when Crepus’ shadow fell over him, Kaeya stepping between them and stammering his bad Mondstadtian. He’d only kept saying the word “please” over and over. Diluc would have laughed at the choppy way he’d said it, if his heart wasn’t pounding in his ears.

Crepus had looked at the wooden blade in his grubby hands, then the mud that caked his burning cheeks. But he didn’t get a night without dinner.

He got an instructor, and his first Favonia raiment.

There are many ways to become a man.

The staff’s children, who offered help at the winery, though thinking back on them made Diluc think they were more for him than the grapes, said it was your beard, your chest-hair. A bit older, then it was straddling a “fair-haired dame with cheeks like apples and breasts like grapes.”

His noble-blooded playmates insisted manhood was awarded when you were crowned the head of your clan, or when it was your name on the contracts.

But when he first kneeled before the Grandmaster in his ceremonial armour, felt the flat of the sword on his pauldrons as he was anointed a knight of Favonius — that was when Diluc first felt like a man.

But there was order in all that. There was practice and technique. Treasure Hoarders and monsters had neither. They had numbers and a violent desire for life.

They didn’t parry or thrust to a drillmaster’s command; they grabbed and scratched and stabbed and spat.

His hands held the sword dumbly, his eyes barely following the quick slashes of the bandit’s blade. The parry shook his bones, the metal screeched against each other. Something struck him from the side, but he’d only realised when his body crumpled and the earth slammed into his face. His sword clattered uselessly to the floor, his side assaulted with cruel and quick kicks.

They’d laughed. Spat. Stabbed at the metal and tried to get at the flesh.

Somewhere he heard Kaeya call for him, but it was drowned by the crash of metal somewhere behind him.

He remembered his hands trembling. Clammy with cold sweat. Then it got hot. Really hot.

He was screaming, his voice cracking, fire leaping through his palms.

The kicks faltered, then they were screaming too, flopping their arms and writhing, flames licking at their clothes.

His hands still shook, but he’d gripped the blade, still screaming, charging right at them.

There was no technique. There was no patience or honour. His arms followed the lessons, but his mind only caught the fire and the screaming, the sick crunch of bone against metal, how bodies still kept twitching while the heads rolled away and got trampled on.

He was still shaking when Adelinde scrubbed the bits of flesh off his hair.

Dinner was quiet that night.

Still, that had its own order. Violence for violence. You needed a rebellion to overthrow a god, you needed the brawn to stave off the bullies and you needed someone who could split a man in half to protect a nation. But it wasn’t what he’d thought honour would feel like.

The knights gave him a new rank after the fifth raid, for “exemplary bravery and resolve.”

At thirteen, he was Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius.

Crepus had wept after the ceremony. Not sobbed or cried, but Diluc remembered his misty eyes glinting in the firelight.

“I’m proud of you, my boy.” He’d said. Diluc’s heart had swelled. His own eyes stung, but he hoped it wasn’t too obvious to his father.

Kaeya had slapped his shoulder, grinning ear-to-ear. He said something about “bribing his new captain with wine”, but the exact words never came to him after.

Diluc’s lips moved and vaguely he heard himself reporting Ursa’s attack. The cold of Crepus’ dying body still clung to his fingers.

What had he expected? Thinking back on it— on the rare instances he allowed himself to— he still didn’t know. Sympathetic murmurs? A hand on his shoulder? A public memorial for Crepus’ sacrifice, a posthumous anointment to knighthood?

What he did know, that it wasn’t the order to cover up the circumstances of his father’s death.

Was this order? The direct command from the Inspector?

He’d gaped at Eroch while the words ruminated in his head. Then it got hot again. Very, very hot. He felt it in his veins. On his nape. His ears.

He felt himself moving forward. Saw Eroch tense and reach under the table.

The table rattled with the force of his palm. He’d half expected his Vision to shatter. It didn’t. Stared back at him, perfect and pristine.

The board members jolted.

“Then don’t consider me a knight,” he felt the words grind together in the back of his throat. “Not anymore.”

He didn’t remember the rest of the day. At least, not until the midnight rain, the knock on his study door and Kaeya slinking in like he’d murdered Crepus himself.

And everything after.

Order.

Hearing the knights boast of it now always got a scoff out of him. Their parades, the star-eyed recruits half his age. He almost pitied them.

But he still believed in it. That damned order.

He lost sleep over it, fought for it, got half his body mangled for it.

Crepus stared at him from the wall. It was a self-portrait, him with his boys. Kaeya was there too, but not like he’d seen him in … years.

Diluc stared back. Didn’t see the resemblance Adelinde gushed about.

There was the hair and the eyes, but if he stood next him now…

A quiet huff left him. He looked older than Crepus’ memory. A good clump of his hair came out with every brush and Adelinde had to dab at the dark circles under his eyes with powder before every wretched official appearance.

He rose from his chair, it needed some effort tonight. Tonight’s Abyss Herald had done a number on his leg. The singed skin protested with uncomfortable numbness when he’d bound it.

With effort, he limped to his bed, flopped down on the mattress face-first.

His eyes shut, burning with fatigue.

It was not a pleasant thing, to think in the early hours. It was easier when he left the logistics to others.

But he was order. Crepus’ order. His order. The order that chased shadows when they’d just crept in.

Order didn’t rest. And neither would he.

His hands reached for the covers blindly.

There was work to be done, and the sun was rising already.

Helloo @fidokekwo and thanks for the ask! I am resting yes, thank you for asking (^w^)

Alright, so for your scenario, let’s lay down a few of Kaeya’s major responses to vulnerability:

1) Deflection: Very obvious, but if the conversation demands his vulnerability, especially if it’s in response to a direct, probing question, he’ll change the subject or give you a detached answer.

2) Embarrassment (BSoD): Remember that one moment with Adelinde? Yes, that. It made me think that Kaeya is genuinely speechless, maybe even uncomfortable, if he knows the care he receives is completely selfless, or that he’s been seen through despite all bravado. He’s surprisingly docile in this instant, maybe because the reminder of “you matter to me as a person, not entertainment” leaves him dumbfounded, maybe because he’s so unused to accepting attention or affection without expectation.

3) Writing: Most of Kaeya’s vulnerability is actually written, rather than said. Take for example his letters to Diluc in Hidden Strife. Early-game Ragbros interactions were almost always snide or backhanded. In contrast, though there is some teasing in the letters, they are noticeably a lot more serious and he explicitly asks Diluc to take care of himself.

Another example is his latest birthday letter, where he confesses his worry for the Traveller and talks about sharing the wine he’s preparing once they return to Mondstadt.

Would Kaeya still say these things face to face? Yes, but the rawness of his sentiments will mostly be shielded by playfulness or snark (to deal with the incomprehensible sinking doom that accompanies being seen, perhaps?).

The Realisation

I do agree with you on his panic, especially about it being subtle.

The realisation that his feelings for Reader run deeper than they appear is not a pleasant one. To be very honest, he probably realises this when his attention naturally gravitates to them. Kaeya’s interest and affection is very “I don’t know how to be vulnerable so I’m going to observe you and catalogue your person in my head so I can be perfect for you” coded. The mask is hard to pry off when you’ve worn it for most of your life (this is exactly one of the major reasons why he struggles with vulnerability).

He may try to distance himself after the reveal. Or at least space out around Reader often. He’s used to complexities of strings attached to near everything, so something as simple as wanting to be near someone is weighed heavily in his mind. The implications, the repercussions, the aftermath… he’s a thinking man, for better or worse.

To be very honest with you, I think Reader will have to push him to start anything romantic. Kaeya will pretend he’s happy with just their friendship (he genuinely appreciates it definitely) and that all his yearning will pass (he literally freezes when their hand brushes against his, then carries on like he didn’t just imagine what a long embrace would feel like). This mostly stems from my headcanon that young Kaeya (roughly around eighteen or nineteen, barely an adult yet already Captain) sought connection from plenty emotionally unavailable people after moving out of the Ragnvindr household and he’s terrified prudent about it now (that’s how I interpret his “Let’s not make this a transaction relationship” line anyway, though it could of course strictly apply to a professional relationship).

I do also think some of the apprehension can come from past failed relationships. Kaeya’s interest can fizzle out with monotony or routine, and the end result isn’t pretty. The problem is, he’s quick to get attached but being attached to someone and being compatible with them isn’t the same, which sets the cycle of self-loathing in motion again. That being said, he still cares about his partner even after the end of the relationship, and it is possible to stay friends after. Kind of. But they can always depend on him in a moment of need.

The Gamble

Trust is like Russian (or Snezhnayan) Roulette. Especially for Kaeya, who’s been abandoned multiple times in his life. But how much he reveals to Reader also depends on the question. Direct confrontations about his past will be cooly deflected, just as he’s practiced multiple times. But if he’s in a sentimental mood, he’ll share some harmless excerpts of his childhood with you. That’s when you know Kaeya considers you trustworthy, because these memories are extremely dear to him.

(Mini rant: you can put me in the chair if you don’t like it, but that reveal where he casually said he’s from Khaenriah? The one with Dainsleif? That had to be a ploy to get Dainsleif’s attention because I refuse to believe the man who said “Khaenriah, huh? You sure know a lot … they’re not worth mentioning” would sit there in PUBLIC and casually admit “Oh yeah, I have ties to a nation that fell ages ago and its inhabitants turned into monsters we slaughter for mora and exp 😇” like Hoyoverse TELL ME why you thought that was the best way to explore Kaeya’s near-direct relationship to the Abyss Order — especially since it DIRECTLY contradicts the “Kaeya will never discuss his past” thing you already established in his lore like COME ON, IS IT THAT HARD TO REFERENCE YOUR NOTES??? like I understand it’s subjective but we barely spent any vulnerable moments with him)

Naturally, it’ll be a long time before he actually trusts Reader with his past and trauma. Actually, I don’t think he’ll ever discuss his trauma directly, unless you ask the right questions.

‘… and that’s how Diluc got his penchant for black.’

‘But you were hurt.’

‘That’s sweet of you (Name), but we all have our troubles.’

‘Kaeya, you were hurt too. Badly hurt.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘I was badly hurt.’

Once Kaeya trusts you, he’s a surprisingly simple man. He’s still dramatic and teasing, but his jokes and words are a lot simpler compared to the practiced eloquence of his persona.

His coping mechanisms for the discomfort of vulnerability is mostly humour. Anything that will make the moment feel lighter than it is. I won’t say it’s wine because that’s more of a personal coping mechanism than one designed to evade emotional intimacy with someone. And since he’s hinted to be “less smooth” when he’s drunk (as Rosaria mentioned), I don’t think he’d want that either.

His thought process seems complicated, but at its core it’s “when will we hurt each other?” Kaeya knows it hurts when Reader realises they barely know him beyond his performance. Reader can hurt him through rejection. He’s expecting pain before he even initiates anything, which is why he’s more comfortable reaching out than pulling back before the warmth starts to burn. Ironically, most of his isolation is self-imposed.

Was doodling in college because I wasn’t having a great time, wonder what’ll become of her when I pick up the microns (it’s been a long time)

*(be they perceptive, affectionate, intelligent, adventurous, bit of a firebrand, and/or cunning yet deeply authentic with those they love.)

I do see him getting along well with the perceptive, intelligent and firebrand parts. Interestingly, this sweetheart is quite similar to him except they’re more open with their sensitivity than he is.

Kaeya is a sensitive man too. There’s sensitivity in the way memories shift with time, sensitivity in the precise inflections of tone that twist implications, sensitivity in observation and perception of what a person says without words. It’s says to think this sensitivity to mood and emotion only applies to his work, but since we’ve seen the parts of him that don’t shy from sentimentality (keeping old keepsakes, brewing wine for the Traveller’s return— interestingly I’ve noticed he’s more comfortable with writing emotionally open thoughts than actually speaking them aloud) so it’s not like he won’t understand this sweetheart’s sensitivity.

He’ll find it endearing definitely, but he’ll also worry. The world isn’t kind, especially to those who feel deeply. He knows that better than most. So if the time comes when expectations come tumbling down and emotions bleed into one muddy puddle of apathy — he’ll be there. He has this funny talent of shrinking troubles, even when you’re both aware enough to know you can’t run from them forever.

That doesn’t mean they’re exempt from his teasing, especially if they put in the effort not to show their sensitivity.

He’ll waggle his brows at the slightest slip, lean on their shoulder and confess he’d already suspected this “secret soft side” ages ago. In truth, he probably had.

But it’s not like they won’t fluster him either. It’s not often you find someone who pays attention to you. Someone who doesn’t decide your character through their lens alone. If the sweetheart is sensitive to Kaeya’s expressions, the way he speaks where the truth lies in implication more than at face value, it is possible to get to know Kaeya. To understand that though wine is nice, it’s the company that makes it all the more sweeter.

If Kaeya is faced with the sweetheart’s sensitivity to his cues, the things he says through lingering stares, tapping fingers and airy, practiced laughs… they’ll see him smile. Not sly or mischievous, the boyish one that dimples in one corner, lopsided and imperfect and true.

He won’t blush though. Or at least he insists he isn’t. It’s just the wine.