#haze anonymous agony

[vurlient]

this fucking edgelord speaks to me!!!

TW: eye strain/flashing colors!!

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he’s so aroace energy :33 new fixation I think mwaa

[couldtransitionsaveher]

HAZE STRATOS from ANONYMOUS AGONY

JUSTIFICATION:

"It’s not even worth trying to justify this" - Anonymous

Reminder: Submissions are always open! Submit here!

Did you make your daily click today?

[cavalrycat]

[lonesomejester]

There was a vision here somewhere

[moreaulover]

Had to draw the lips here as haze. For the people and all that. (Original by mitzubao on Twitter ^_^)

[asasei-art]

The silly

[echowrld]

i love how when you apply death of the author to anonymous agony, and assume the writer is competent and is also in on how much of a lil loser haze is, every scene where haze is supposed to read someone in a too long monlouge so hard he essentially writes the author's characters for them, becomes a scene of haze being sad and making it everyone else's problem

[luminously-v]

my fault forgetting to post here too 😭 i have to catch up now, please dont mind me posting a bunch.....

[lesbianpegbar]

i love finding out about the horrifying low budget shit voice actors worked on at the beginning of their careers its so fun to me

[toskarin]

the thing about anonymous agony is that it's fully voiced, but even if it wasn't, you'd read every one of haze's lines in the correct voice somehow

[vurlient]

LOL XD *fucking breaks in your house with a bat

[ask-shava]

Can you do me a solid? I need to to beat the shit out of a guy named Haze from Anonymous Agony.

what a fuckin' edgelord.

[alexanderlightweight]

hi! I love your writing <3 your dark malec is my favorite and i like how much detailed they are (i'm obsessed with notes to this eldritch delight)

thank you for your works!

prompt for writing wensday: what happens if alec got into alternative universe were he isn't exist yet, so magnus not know him. but magnus know that alec his when sees him and didn't want to give him back to his magnus.

(I sorry for if there is mistake, english not my first language)

you're great anon! and it was a delight to write this and i can't wait to share the notes that i'm going to have when i post to ao3 cause it brought up a lot of notes on how different the two worlds are because they are very different ones. your prompt is absolutely fine! i hope you enjoy

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Anonymous:

hi! I love your writing <3 your dark malec is my favorite and i like how much detailed they are (i'm obsessed with notes to this eldritch delight)

thank you for your works!

prompt for writing wensday: what happens if alec got into alternative universe where he isn't exist yet, so magnus not know him. but magnus know that alec his when sees him and didn't want to give him back to his magnus.

(I sorry for if there is mistake, english not my first language)

—

“Magnus!”

His name breaks through the pain, the haze, the horror that is engulfing him.

Magnus wonders who it is that has found him, has managed to come to his aid and he hisses, flinching away when he cracks open his eyes and sees a broad figure covered with runes.

Nephilim.

Magnus is about to use the last of his strength to attack but it’s too late and then warm, calloused hands are cupping his face and the icy rain stops hitting him.

Magnus thinks he’s dying.

That the nephilim has already stabbed their blade through his chest. For what else could explain the gorgeous eyes brimming with concern and fear for him, rather than of him.  Magnus knows his glamor is down but there is nothing like disgust in the shadowhunters eyes and then a flash of lightning and Magnus realizes that what he thought were a part of the sky are actually dark, spread-out wings.

The nephilim is covering Magnus, shielding them both from the storm and Magnus marvels at such a defense behind shared with him, even if it is in death.

“Magnus no, Magnus you can’t do this too me.” And those strong hands are pulling him up and chapped, lips are pressing urgently to his own. Magnus doesn’t mind, he’ll take the end with a kiss, he’s greedy enough for it but then he taste hoarfrost and a sliver of chill and he finds himself kissing back greedily, strength ftastesg to him with every touch of lips and tongue.

His arms come up, intending to chase and demand more but the nephilim is pliant and unresisting and folds to Magnus’ touch.

Magnus curls his fingers in feathers he’s only ever touched on a corpse, his skin sparking with magic the longer they kiss, and he wonders what kind of a dream this is.

“Magnus what happened?” He’s being asked when he finally lets the nephilim pull away, Magnus’ head is tucked to a neck that he knows is lined with a rune and then protective — softer than Magnus could have imagined — wings are wrapped around him. “One minute you were almost done sealing the rift and then something exploded. I thought maybe the leylines ruptured again but this isn’t where we were. I don’t recognize anything.” There’s a moment and then a grumble of, “I can’t believe you changed your outfit before you tried to heal yourself. We’re having a talk about priorities again, okay? Because you can’t say you have better survival skills than I do and then care more about your outfit than your health.” And then there is a little sniffle and Magnus realizes the little drops on his head aren’t rain slipping through, they’re tears.

Tears being shared out of worry, out of agony and out of love for him and Magnus marvels.

“I think it was an accident.” Magnus says slowly, trying to work out how to keep the man in his arms pliable until he figures out this mess — until he figures out how to keep him, where he’s from — because Magnus has never felt trust and adoration directed to him like he did when he was drinking pure energy from the nephilim holding him. “I don’t really remember what happened, darling.”

The pet name is a risk but Magnus doesn’t know his name and he wants a claim and from the way he’s held tighter and there is a little hitch of breathe, it’s not a misstep.

“You’ll need to portal us out of here.” He’s told and Magnus wants even more because he’d placed Charles Branwell under a geas that would never let the shadowhunter admit Magnus had worked with him. Then Magnus had admitted a shameful defeat and failure, sent Branwell off and completed the portal with the nephilim and the rest of the downworld none the wiser. Only Magnus’ closest companions, the Council of Elders and a few trusted warlocks were allowed to even know if it.

“I don’t have the energy.” Magnus admits and it’s a bitter admittance.

“I know, babe.” He’s soothed and a kiss is brushed against his forehead, “I’m just waiting to catch my breath. I know you hate doing it, but you’ll need to take more.”

Magnus is shocked and he can’t help saying “if I take anymore, you’ll faint.”

“I know.” He’s assured, like that helps make sense instead of making even less sense. “I know you hate making me that vulnerable but it’s fine. I know you’ll have me, kay? And you know I can’t get us both somewhere safe in this kind of weather. Especially when I don’t know where we are.”

“No, you’re right.” Magnus says because he is, but Magnus marvels at such a display of unhesitant faith and affection. “And I will, have you.”

He’s smiled out, Magnus can’t see it but he can feel it against his hair and then there is a soft content, sigh, “you always do.”

Magnus finds his nephilim leaving and then he’s being kissed again but this time it’s with passion, with the surrendering of a storm bowing to a crumbling mountain rather than tearing it apart. His — because how could Magnus give him up after tasting his love — nephilim gives himself to Magnus, the very soul of him offering itself up to be devoured.

Magnus takes more than he needs but his nephilim trusts him, his mouth getting softer as Magnus presses closer and then he’s slumping onto Magnus, unconscious and vulnerable and his.

Magnus opens a portal to the strongest and most protected of all his lairs, picking his nephilim up and marveling at how the wings have disappeared, as if to make it easier for him.

Magnus steps through and vows that he’ll find a way to keep this, to keep him.

[your-fave-gets-saw-trapped]

Please put Haze from the game Anonymous Agony in the shotgun collar

queued

[moreaulover]

My year long obsession which I hate

[fangirlerastour]

omg i just scrolled through the hayffie tag and found you (i am currently in my hayffie rabbit hole) buttttt please can u write an angsty fic im in the mood to cry haha

Hey, lovely! I hope you’re doing well. I’m still getting used to writing for these two, so this might not be brilliant but I hope this is okay, perhaps not extremely angsty but halfway there maybe x

XxX

‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

His question hangs in the air as he sees her in a cloud of smoke from cigarettes she claims not to touch. She takes one from him from time to time, on days when things have been particularly trying. Like today. 

‘No,’ she says, her voice quiet, tired and so unlike herself. ‘I…your insomnia must be rubbing off on me.’

‘Well, for that, I must apologise,’ he stands beside her, looking out at the city he wishes he could run from, he’s never liked talking but he feels he wants to talk to her. He needs to talk to her. But her eyes are trained on the horizon, the silence nearly kills him. ‘Maybe we should start a club, insomniacs anonymous, members might be lacking, but the meetings will be regular enough. We could get t-shirts.’ 

He’s rambling, willing her to say something, she usually fills silence the way an artist fills a canvas. But she doesn’t and he finds he hates the sound of his own voice. 

 He lights another cigarette, holding it between his lips and then he holds it out to her, an olive branch, or the best he can offer, because whilst he desperately wanted to hate her when they first met, he couldn’t. And who else will understand the agony of it all if not her? She loses them too. 

She takes it with shaking hands, her fingers lightly brushing his, perfectly manicured nails ghosting over his skin. She appears fragile and that isn’t a word he ever thinks of or wanted to think of when looking at her. She is his safe harbour because, despite their differences, he relies on her. He relies on her infallible nature, her optimism and her sureness in everything. She was his touchstone, whether he likes it or not, and in that moment he realises something that frightens him - perhaps it was all an act?

Like a china doll, so beautiful and admired, the cracks were appearing, hairline fractures being ripped apart at the seams and there was nothing he could do to stop it. She wasn’t unbreakable.  And she would be someone else he can’t save. 

He watches as she takes a drag and he finds himself hoping it helps, hopes it steadies her, calms her, brings her back to him. Perhaps it’s a selfish thought, he thinks those things because he needs her, but he thinks them all the same. He has his vices, they don’t always work, something has to work for her. She is enigmatic and complicated and he still knows so little about her, even after all this time, and somehow knows her completely at the same time. 

‘Those things will kill you,’ he jokes, a dark joke but it’s the closest thing to humour as he can muster. He watches as she blinks hard, her mask falling for a moment before she looks at him.

‘I’m half dead anyway,’ her words have a meaning he isn’t sober enough to catch, but there is something sobering to them too. 

She holds the cigarette back out to him and he takes it back wordlessly, wanting to say more but words have never been his strong suit. How can he tell her how hard it will be for him if she loses it? A tender understanding passes between them, in a haze of grief and rage and resignation. He needs to know more. 

 But he senses he never will.