Al Haitham - Blog Posts

These types of stickers>>>>>>>>>

kaveh and alhaitham are really nice characters and I like how their designs complement each other along with how they interact with the back story's and personality's

kaveh: *eating goldfish while dipping them in nuttela* *alhaiham walking by*: do I even have to ask? *kaveh muffled*: no..

and that racoon was sayu we have no idea how he got to inzuma

Kaveh: I think it's time i get my life in order.

Alhaitham, narrating: But he did not get he's life in order. In fact, he got drunk last night and fought a raccoon.

I tried my new markers and it didnt work out how I wanted, definitely not my best work. But I'm still happy with it!!

Me coming across kavetham fics on ao3 before the leaks: hmm nice, hope we get introduced to him

Me after the leaks: DAYUMMMMM

And they were roommates

📖.

3.1

Giggled and cried and giggled again

when you sleep on the couch after an argument 

alhaitham x fem!reader

2.5k words | zhongli + diluc

warnings: hurt/comfort

some would say it was inevitable that alhaithams cold and arrogant personality would catch up to your relationship. how someone as sweet and loving as you could be with someone as robotic and logical as him, people didn’t understand. but it never mattered to either of you what others thought or assumed about your relationship. you knew how you felt and how he felt in return, you didn’t need anything else. 

you also knew that even if what others said did come true, even if you were on the receiving end of cold calculating words and intimidating eyes it wouldn’t sway how you felt about him. and as you stood before him, with unshed tears clinging to your lashes, under the gaze of his indifference to what he said that caused your chest to contract painfully, you know it really didn’t change how you felt about him but that still didn’t prepare you for how much it hurt to hear him talk to you in such a way, how small it would make you feel in comparison to the genius grand scribe. 

he hadn’t yelled, hadn’t used his title to undermine you, he had hardly even blinked when the words came out and pierced your heart with daggers of ice. and yet he may as well have screamed to the whole library around you that you were fighting, that you were beneath him. those feelings wrapped around you, curling around your spine like tight tendrils oozing with black smoke that echo with his hurtful words as he towers over you with folded arms and his usual unbothered expression.

your mouth felt dry, your heart beating to a rhythm that hurt; each deep thump sending an uncomfortable ache throughout your whole body. you didn’t know how to reply, there was clearly nothing you could say that would make him understand where you were coming from right now and with every passing second you were becoming weaker to the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. being this upset you didn’t want to cry in front of him or what felt like the whole akademiya but you couldn’t stand to have him speak to you like this for another minute without breaking down and you hardly had the will to talk back to him.

all you can manage is a choked out and quiet ‘okay’ as you turn away from him and start to head for the door leading out of the house of dena. you don’t make it far before a powerful hand from your ‘feeble’ scholar wraps around your wrist and stops you. it’s gentle enough not to hurt you but still with enough strength that you’re forced to do as he willed even if you didn’t want to.

biting the inside of your cheek, trying your damnedest to not break down and cry right here and now, you look up to meet his eyes but only get a glimpse of his stern features, those seafoam orbs with amber fire, before your vision blurs and wet warmth travels down your cheek. pushing your hand against his, you pull away from his grip and quickly wipe the few tears from your face with the back of your hand before practically running from the house of dena and out the doors of akademiya. you needed to get out of here.. try to calm down and finally catch your breath, not succumb to the suffocating unease sewing between you because if you did you swore you would drown in it.

you don’t hear him following but you don’t dare to look back to check. 

with his sharp eyes and pink lips drawn in a thin line you’d never see through the express he wore that alhaithams heart was dropping into the pit of his stomach, dragging his lungs down with it. the hurt painted all over your face, the shake of your body under his touch and as you pushed him away, the tears you tried so hard to hide from him escaping and cleansing the veil of his arrogance from his eyes.

.. had you looked this hurt the whole time? he had hardly looked up from the book he was working on until his patience snapping, wanting nothing more than silence and for you to not worry, brought him from the pages but even then he hadn’t truly seen you. at least not until you turned away and he reached for you, went to tell you that this discussion was not over but the words died on his tongue quickly because as soon as he saw you, actually saw you and heard not just the words he spewed to prove a point, to be right, he found he could hardly speak at all.

how others felt about his words or tone was hardly of his concern but when it came to you..

you’re suddenly too far away for his liking and he somehow feels like the distance you put between you was not just physical but a distance of the heart as well and he felt it growing vaster with each quick step you took. but by the time his body actually moves to go after you, a few long strides in, his voice returning to call your name, a strong grip on his cloak pulls him back and keeps him in place. 

“let her go,” kaveh voice is as annoyed with the scribe as it always is but there's an air of unusual authority around him at this very moment.

kaveh hadn’t really meant to eavesdrop or step in, it was more that he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time but it was a scene that was hard to look away from and he was full of his own dejection after watching what unfolded before him. he had never heard alhaitham speak to you like that, with cold indifference as the scribe had with many but never you. it had once baffled kaveh to see the scribe being sweet, truly and genuinely loving, towards you but this.. this threw him off even more so.

why did he stop alhaitham though? he chalks it up to being such a sucker for love and well, if he’s being honest, he quite likes what you’ve done to his roommates bad personality. he didn’t need this romantic fledgling only making things worse for himself.

“this doesn’t concern you.” alhaitham can hardly contain the sneer pulling at his lips as he forces himself out of his roommate's grasp and turns back in the direction you ran but you were nowhere to be seen now. he swallows the lump in his throat to try to calm his racing nerves, clenches his fist to keep him grounded, from losing the last bit of rationality because with every erratic pulse through his veins he feels it slipping further and further from him.

he hadn’t known the absence of you could make him so.. frantic.

“maybe not,” kaveh sneers right back. “but did you ever think that when you’re being an insufferable jerk not even y/n would want to be around you? give her some space.”

give you space.. crescent shapes dig their way into his half gloved hands the tighter he clenches his fists thanks to how much he hates that yes it makes sense that he should indeed do just that. you had left to get away from him after all, even if he detests the validity of that truth. but maybe that's what he needed too. yeah, maybe logically.. but he can’t get his heart to agree, not when it’s still sitting like a boulder at the bottom of his stomach, growing heavier by the minute at the remembrance of the hurt in your eyes and the way you ran from him-

he should go after you..

as if kaveh heard his thoughts, which is both absurd and annoying, he attempts to stop alhaitham again. “i’m sure she’ll find her way to the house once she’s ready and then you can attempt to apologize for being such a royal ass.”

it wasn’t until after he had tried to settle back into his book that he actually started to see what happened leading up to this  moment. the way he spoke to you, both his tone and his choice of words, the way your own voice wavered so many times but he still didn’t stop, as if this was some kind of debate with another scholar - and this time he turned out to be the losing fool. how he had made you cry.. the fact that for all he knows you were still crying..

he tries to swallow down the unease, running his hand through his hair, readjusting and trying to find a comfortable position in his chair, rereads the same paragraph over and over because he can’t seem to retain the information with the lingering thoughts of you in his mind but it all does nothing to help quell the storm that uncomfortably knocks against his rib cage and keeps a slight bounce to his leg. 

not a single bit of his work got done from the moment you left. he tried to brush it off like he had so many other arguments with so many others but you were not others and they had never felt like this, never had someone he cares about this much hurting from his words. 

unable to focus on anything but you, he gives up on his book and heads home early but home isn’t much better. 

while you didn’t officially live here, still having your own place in the city, you slept here every night, had drawers that alhaitham cleaned out in his dresser for your things that slowly made their way here or that he had simply bought you so you could have them no matter whose place you were at. little reminders of you lay throughout the whole house and he could hardly take his eyes off of them; your tea cup sitting on the table from when you left this morning while in a hurry, your extra pair of shoes neatly placed at the front door, your favorite fruit resting in the basket on the kitchen counter waiting to be cut up and eaten, your soft blanket and fantasy books near the couch you usually sit at. and though it wasn’t what he normally read, he couldn’t stop himself from opening up one as he waited for you to come home.

but as the sun set and not even kaveh returned, it was as though he saw every calculating chance of how he could make this up to you when you finally did come back, fall to the ground and shatter at his feet. he looks into those shards of possibility, calculating his next strategy, refusing to let them piece themselves into a prospect he didn’t want to see; one where you never called this place your home again. he was left with his head in his hands, staring at the ground beneath his feet and wanting nothing more than to kiss your forehead, remind you how precious you are to him, have your head rest against his chest and remind you that he can be aloof, even cold, but he loves you so much.

they were words he rarely shared but right now he wanted to say them to you more than ever.

he had never actually used the key that you gave him to your place. there was no need when he found you beside him always, but, knowing there is nowhere else you likely are, it now felt like a life line that reeled him into you, guiding him through the dark streets of sumeru until he was standing outside your door, the first few drops of relief finally washing over him at the light coming from your living room window.  

he swiftly unlocks your door and steps inside, headed straight for the room with the light on, where you were bound to be, your name falling from his lips only to be cut off when he finds you on the couch, sleeping as unpeacefully as he’s ever seen you. he feels the regret of not coming earlier bubbling in his stomach but pushes it down because it didn’t matter, he was here now and he was going to make it right.

with quiet steps he takes long strides towards your sleeping figure, feeling somehow better and worse than he had before. to see you, reach out and touch you, delicate touches as he moves stray hairs from your face, revealing to him all the evidence of your tearful state until you had fallen asleep here. by looks of it you hadn’t meant to, with no blanket to keep you warm and the lights still on, in an old shirt he hadn’t known you took from his closet, curled into yourself, a book long forgotten on the tea table.

he hadn’t been able to part from your skin, even when your tired eyes blink slowly, finally seeing who was in front of you and the emotions held behind those lovely blue eyes, emotions he normally didn’t feel or show to anyone.

“h-‘haitham?” 

“habibti,” he replies with such tenderness.

“what’re-”

“you didn’t come home.” 

your chest feels heavy at his words and you hide your face from him, feeling like you might cry at the way he said that, not wanting to say that this was your home too. you knew it was a lie, your apartment hadn’t felt like home for a long time, not when he wasn’t here with you but how you shy away doesn’t stop him from scooping you into his arms, cradling you in his warm and strong embrace. for a moment he just stands there, holding you, his lips on the crown of your head, his nose buried in your hair, his grip around you growing comfortably tighter. you can hear the heavy beating of a heart but in this proximity, when the whole world around you was nothing but alhaitham, you didn’t know if it was his or yours. 

“i love you.”

his words break the silence between you. spoken against your skin, their truth seeping into your very being and down your spine until you are encompassed by it, by him.

you reply in earnest, clinging to him, placing soft and gentle kisses against his collarbone as he carries you to the bedroom you hadn’t slept in for so long, that felt too big without him in it but tonight, you wouldn’t be without him for another moment.

as if you were made of glass he places you into the sheets and follows immediately after you, never letting you get far from his grasp and as you drift back to sleep against his chest, a peaceful one this time around, he whispers his apologies, his promise to do better and more confessions of his unending love for you.

genshin impact masterlist | main masterlist

🌱🏛️ Our silent promise

[something’s changed in the year the traveler was away]

unstoppable force, meet immovable object

what's with these IQ 500 characters and their "weak"/"feeble" talk

🌱🏛️ sketches

silly and messy sketchbook spread with kavehtham morning routine

omg ykw what, i need a cyno-centric ff where he and al-haitham are dating but they aren’t public and then cyno hears a few things about kaveh and al-haitham from ppl in the city such as how ‘they’re made for eachother’ and ‘how they argue like a married couple’ and some people make a rumour that haikaveh are even dating.

and so with all of these things going around he gets insecure and starts to believe how haikaveh are meant to be so he distances himself from al-haitham and ends up breaking up with him.

blah blah blah miscommunication happens ans idk wether it should be a good ending or bad ending. who knows i just want angst but anyways if there’s a ff like that or someone writes something like this then please gimme the link🙏🙏

and then they kiss

some edits of the new lads! im so glad yaoyao got let out of hoyoverses basement <3

3.0 is long over and so is Lantern Rite, but I suspect I'll stay here for a while

Relaxing Sumeru evenings

sunset

hewooo idk when i'll be posting that ff i am working on, tho the main story is on half now and i guess if i pull an all-nighters then maybe i can finish this till midnight or 1-2 am??? dunno TvT)//

-Su x Kevin Family HC-

3 kids

Anaxagoras (I mean look at him)

Al Haitham (literally based off of them)

Clara (girly pop how else could she be immune to the cold).

Honorary Children:

Kosma and Griseo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anaxagoras: Mom, im gay.

Su: oh that’s great dear.

Al Haitham: I also like men.

Su: well that’s…lovely…god is there anyone in this how who likes girls?

Griseo (adult): I do!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Su: don’t worry, one day when you’re older. You’ll find a nice man like your father and settle down and maybe have children.

Anaxagoras: *sobs harder* but dad sucks!

Su: 😐 *facepalms*

MODEL

[read left to right]

hmm? 🌱

You inspired a fire of devotion (What kind of man loves like this?)

had the thought how funny it would be if the first dream he had would be about kaveh and he cant stop thinking about it whenever he looks at him or smth, so i doodled it (sorry for mess kajcbjk)

𝐝𝐫.𝐚𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ‧₊˚ (fluff)

╰┈➤ fem reader. reader is haitham’s patient (this may be a bit self indulgent hehe). mild flirting. fluff. attempt at comedy, just a drabble ig, i love alhaitham fr— just wanted to write something small before disappearing again ehe. masterlist

The first time you met Dr. Alhaitham, he walked in like a problem you weren’t ready to solve.

The door eased open with a soft click, and you barely had a second to breathe before he stepped through. And just like that, every rational thought in your head short-circuited.

He was tall—so tall—and built like the universe had carefully balanced strength and elegance just for him. His white coat hung open, effortlessly draped over broad shoulders, the fabric swaying slightly with each step like it knew how lucky it was. Underneath, his black button up shirt fit too well and his tie perfectly in place.

But it was his face that hit the hardest.

Angular jaw. Perfectly cut cheekbones. Lips set in a neutral line that looked like they’d never curve into anything as mundane as a smile. His hair—a soft grey, slightly tousled like he'd run a hand through it absentmindedly—framed his face with just enough dishevelment to be maddening.

And then his eyes met yours.

Cool, turquoise irises - pupils rimmed with amber. Focused. Sharp. Like a lens sliding into place. He looked at you—not through you, not past you, but at you—and your brain promptly melted into static.

You forgot how to sit properly.

You shifted on the exam table and winced at the ridiculously loud crinkle of the paper beneath you. Great. Smooth. Very dignified.

He glanced down at his tablet. “Name?”

You mumbled it. Or at least, you think you did. Your mouth moved, and he didn’t ask again, so that was something.

His gaze flicked up again, this time assessing. “Hm.”

Just hm.

You wanted to die. Or be swallowed whole by the earth. Or maybe just crawl under the table and never come out again.

He walked closer, writing a few things down, entirely unfazed. His presence filled the room with a kind of quiet intensity, like a thunderstorm just waiting to happen. He asked clinical questions in a deep, calm voice that was way too smooth for your current state of mind.

When he stepped beside you and reached for your wrist, you nearly levitated off the table.

His fingers were precise, cool, steady as they pressed against your skin. Meanwhile, you were vibrating at a frequency only small rodents could hear.

“Pulse is elevated,” he said absently, glancing at the numbers. “Unusual.”

You cleared your throat. “I’m—uh. Just—nervous.”

“I assumed,” he replied, flatly. “Though I haven’t done anything yet.”

Oh my god.

Was that deadpan sarcasm? Was that dry humour? From him?

Your face burned. You could feel the flush rising like a tidal wave, heat crawling up your neck and settling in your ears.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you again. Not with empathy. Not with judgment. Just that same unreadable curiosity, like you were a particularly odd research sample.

“Try to relax. You're only making it worse.”

You let out a high-pitched laugh that did not help your case.

He returned to his notes without another word, cool and methodical as he moved through the rest of the exam. Every brush of contact was maddening. He was so calm, so put-together, while you were over here trying not to pass out from sheer mortification.

Finally, he stepped back and moved to the door.

He paused there, one hand on the handle.

“You should drink more water,” he said, still not looking back. “And maybe avoid overly stimulating environments.”

Then, after a beat—so soft you almost missed it:

“Charismatic doctors included.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

You sat there, frozen, heart racing like you'd just run a marathon on zero sleep and five cups of coffee.

You buried your burning face in your hands.

You were so, so doomed.

The second time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you told yourself it was just a check-up. Just routine. Just to confirm you’re healthy. That’s all.

You definitely didn’t fix your hair twice in the waiting room. Or rehearse what you’d say if he asked anything personal. Or almost chicken out at the front desk.

And then… there he is again.

Same white coat. Same unreadable face. Clipboard in hand. He doesn’t smile. He nods. That’s it. Like you’re a piece of data.

“Still having the same symptoms?” he asks, setting his pen against paper, eyes flicking up for half a second.

“No,” you say too quickly. “I mean—yes. I mean—sort of?” You feel the shame rise like steam in your face. Be normal, you beg yourself silently. Be a normal human.

His brow furrows. “That’s… not very clear.” He’s not being rude. He’s just direct. His voice is so flat, so serious, it makes you squirm.

You try to say something coherent while he approaches with the stethoscope. And then it happens again—he touches your wrist to take your pulse.

Immediate panic.

He blinks. “Still elevated.”

“It’s warm in here,” you blurt.

He tilts his head slightly. “It’s… twenty-two degrees Celsius.”

You die. Right there. He probably thinks you’re about to pass out. Or lying. Or both. Meanwhile, he’s moving through the appointment like you’re not experiencing a romantic crisis every time he breathes near you.

“You’re giggling,” he says, suddenly.

You freeze. “I’m—not!”

He looks up. That same unreadable stare. “You are. It’s fine. Some patients get nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you say way too fast, your voice a squeak now.

He just nods again. “Hmm.”

Hmm.

That’s it. You’re never recovering from this.

Then, as he’s about to leave, he pauses. Flips through his notes.

“You drink enough water now?” he asks without looking at you.

Your stomach flips. He remembered.

You nod.

“Good,” he says. Still serious. Still calm. Still a walking paradox of soft hands and distant eyes. “You seem better. Maybe next time, you won’t giggle.”

And then he leaves.

And you sit there.

Absolutely gone.

The third time you met Dr. Alhaitham, you weren’t supposed to be here. You just needed toothpaste. That’s all. One boring little errand.

You’re in your softest hoodie, your least presentable state, and you’re standing in the pharmacy aisle, zoning out while debating between two brands of lip balm—because clearly, your life is thrilling.

And then, you hear it. That voice. Calm, low, quiet—but unmistakable.

“Excuse me.”

You turn.

It’s him.

Your doctor. In a black button-up and fitted trousers. No white coat. No clipboard. No clinical detachment to protect you.

Just… him. Hair slightly tousled. Glasses pushed up on his nose. Holding a box of vitamins like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

You nearly drop your chapstick.

“Oh,” you say. Too loudly. Too high-pitched. “Hi.”

His eyes land on you, calm as ever, and he nods like it’s perfectly normal that the man you’ve been lowkey fantasizing about is now standing three feet away by the travel-size shampoo.

“I remember you,” he says, flatly. Not unkind. Just observant.

You nearly ascend. “Uh—yeah. I’m… still hydrated.”

A pause. The corner of his mouth twitches. Twitches.

“That’s good,” he says, and somehow it sounds like a compliment.

You just stare. Like an idiot. Because he’s wearing a real person outfit. And his sleeves are rolled up. And his forearms exist. And he’s not doing anything wrong, but you’re actively malfunctioning.

He glances down at the item in his hand, then holds it up. “Do you know if these actually help? I’ve read mixed studies on the absorption rate.”

He’s asking you. For an opinion. On vitamins. And you’re trying to remember how to form a sentence.

“I—I mean, I just… get the gummies,” you say.

He actually blinks. “Gummies?”

You nod. “They’re easier to… chew?”

Another pause. And then, a quiet, rare sound: a soft huff of amusement. You don’t even think it’s a laugh. But it’s close enough to make your chest burst like a firework.

“You’re different outside the clinic,” he says simply.

You panic. “Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, adjusting his glasses. “Just… surprising.”

Your heartbeat is in your ears.

You manage a half-smile. “You’re different too.”

He tilts his head. “How so?”

“You… have forearms.”

His eyebrows go up. You want to eat the floor.

“I mean—not that I think about your forearms—I just—”

He’s watching you. Quiet. Sharp. Then he says, very calmly:

“You’re blushing again.”

You wish for lightning to strike you on the spot. He adjusts the box in his hand like this is all very standard and unremarkable.

And then, as casually as anything:

“I’ll remember the gummies next time.”

And he walks away.

Leaving you standing there like a disaster in a hoodie, holding two kinds of lip balm and a pounding heart.

The fouth time you met Dr. Alhaitham, the waiting room is cold again, or maybe you’re just more sensitive today. You clutch your jacket tighter, feeling that weird mix of dizzy and tired that’s been creeping up for days. You told yourself it was nothing—just stress, maybe. But now you’re here again.

The nurse calls your name, and your heart skips. Because you already know who’s going to be behind that door.

You step into the exam room and sit down, and sure enough—there he is. Doctor Serious. Doctor Calm. Doctor devastating.

Except this time, his eyes linger longer when he sees you.

“You don’t look well,” he says immediately.

You blink. “Gee, thanks.” why do you think I am here ? well it is also to stare at your gorgeous face but I am not going to disclose that to you.

His brow lifts. You didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic. But your voice is quieter than usual, and your usual panic feels dulled by how out-of-it you feel. He steps closer, watching you carefully.

“Dizzy spells?” he asks, sitting down across from you. “Headaches?”

You nod. “Yeah. And I feel kinda tired all the time. Like… weirdly tired.”

He watches you. Really watches you. “Have you been eating regularly?”

You hesitate. “Um. I mean. Mostly. Maybe not perfectly.”

“Have you fainted?”

“No,” you say. “I just… feel like a dying Victorian woman sometimes.”

That earns a real reaction: a soft exhale, not quite a laugh—but the closest you’ve ever gotten. He looks at you again, like he’s trying to read through your jokes.

“Victorian woman,” he echoes.

You shrug weakly. “I’d look really cute collapsing into someone’s arms.”

His lips twitch. “Let’s avoid collapsing for now.”

He runs a few tests, checking your pulse again—so gently—and this time when your heart spikes, he doesn’t even comment on it. He just looks at you, a bit more quietly than usual.

“Your iron might be low,” he says. “Have you been on your period recently?”

You blink. “Why would you—how’d you—?”

“You’ve been here before,” he says simply. “You were flushed and talkative. Now you’re pale and slow to respond.”

You stare. “So you… remember me that well?”

He doesn’t answer. Just writes something into his file.

And then, suddenly, he says:

“You were at the pharmacy the other day.”

Your stomach flips. “Yeah.”

“I bought the gummies,” he says.

You blink. “Did they change your life?”

“Not yet,” he murmurs, writing something down. Then: “I don’t usually see patients outside the clinic.”

You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, but his voice is… softer.

“I just mean,” he says slowly, “you’re different. Less anxious today. Or maybe just tired.”

He looks up, and for the first time, there’s something like concern in his eyes.

“I want you to get a blood test,” he says. “I’ll write a referral.”

You nod, barely processing, because all you can focus on is the way he’s not looking at you like you’re a puzzle anymore. He’s looking at you like he actually… cares - well he is a doctor it is his job to treat you, his patient and to care for you as his patient.

And when you stand up to leave, a little wobbly on your feet, he places a hand gently—so gently—at your elbow.

“Careful,” he says. “You’re still a little pale.”

You look up at him.

“Will you be there when I collapse dramatically?” you ask, trying to joke through the fog in your head.

He doesn’t smile. But his voice is quieter than ever when he replies:

“Always.”

And then he lets go.

part 2

usagii's note ‧₊˚

welp, ill write another part tmr when i come back from college, ugh i love haitham, i wish he was real ssksjkjskjs

mk s(creaming)