[hi. you can call me eve. i'm the sort of person, who have passing interests in many different things, but my most profound love will always lie within media, which are tigtly connected to horror genre. poppy playtime is the first mascot horror game, which had managed to catch my attention. so here we are.]
this blog will contain the following subjects:
R18+ writing.
ocasionally [arts] + [sketches]
top!male!player x bottom!harley sawyer content on main. bc i love finest things in life.
possible typos and errors in grammer, bc i'm not super attentive person and i'm also not a native english speaker, so yeah lol. pls bear with me.
this blog is also FUB free (follow / unfollow / block). i take no offence with either of last two actions.
p.s feel free to use my ask box, if a fancy will strike you. i'm always glad to chit-chat with folks, who have similiar interests to my own.
curious to see how a securityangel sickfic would go in your opinion,, how would harley deal with being sick?
welp, i did the angel’s part, so why not harley’s?
…
Harley Sawyer was above most men, when it came to certain natural ‘developments’ of one’s body and mind. Where some people had to be enslaved by their worst qualities, be it genetic or not, Harley had prevailed, watching all of it with detached boredom of someone, who knew that he was better than this.
So truly, he didn’t have all that many ‘weak points’. Not that the majority of people would have dared to exploit them, regardless if they got a chance to learn about any of it, but it didn’t mean, that he was untouchable per say.
For one, he had allowed Angel to stay close, and this wasn’t something that he could swallow easily. This bizarre attachment that he formed toward the younger man. He had never foreseen this being possible in the past. People rarely interested him and quite frankly, no one had managed to ensnare his attention for so long.
Yet, the mechanic did just that somehow.
At first, it was accidental, and then, it slowly progressed from there. To the point, where Sawyer didn’t truly picture his life without the employee around anymore. He became something natural and guaranteed; kept and owned. It was like catching a sunray inside a glass bottle. Once you have your hands on something like this, you can’t really picture yourself ever losing your sight on it.
But what he was going on about before didn’t quite have much to do with Angel and wants of the ‘heart’, no. What he was referring to was illness and sickness.
Despite Harley’s bony and undernourished form, he didn’t get sick often. Some of it could have been by virtue of the fact, that he had a fairly good immune system, spending his early childhood next to the seaside, as his hometown was known to be something of a ‘fishing village’.
And then, later on, when they moved to America, he went on the camping trips with his classmates and despite his parents having no actual interest in him as a person whatsoever, they still fed him properly and healthy. It was just that Sawyer never quite got to the point of ‘appropriate’ weight for his age, not as a lanky teen and not as an adult male.
His mother once said, that he had inherited this aristocratic stance from his grandfather. And the pride inside her voice had made him feel like this was a good thing, even if his sharp cheekbones made him look older than he was, even during his youth.
But yes, as it goes, Harley very rarely got sick.
However, at times, when he did get unlucky enough to be mowed down by something like this, it was positively vicious. It was as if his body was beginning to rebel against him.
It always started with sniffling – as if something was stuck inside his nose and made it itch — and light headaches, until he felt like he was both cold and burning up at the same time. Or rather, like he was cold, but the sweat was somehow managing to cling to his collar. And then, came other symptoms. Hot on its metaphorical heels. Starting from rolling nausea and weakness inside his limbs. And ending up with his thoughts growing sluggish and messy, like someone had stuffed a wet cotton inside his skull.
Sawyer had never taken to this kindly.
And neither did Pierre.
“Yea’, you are not going anywhere near me.” Leith told him, watching Harley with a critical eye, like he was some sort of sickly stray animal, which suddenly came across his path. “Not with all of —” he gestured at him loosely, “that.”
Harley’s eyelid twitched, as he stared at Pierre through tired, puffy eyes. His whole face felt odd, tingly and lax. He had to drink his fourth cup of coffee not so long ago and even for him, this was a bit much, but energy was literally sipping away from him. Even the simple tasks felt like a chore, and he couldn’t focus on most basic things for the life of him, but —
“What happens to be the problem?” he asked, as if not recognizing the problem would somehow make it go away. But his sore throat made his voice come out low and scratchy, pretty much mocking his already failed efforts to play it off like a mere inconvenience and not a noticeable notion, that he could barely function at this point. And —
Leith had none of it. “This is the problem, Sawyer. You look sick, you sound sick and I don’t want your germs anywhere near me! For all I know you could get half of the facility infected with whatever you have!”
Those were realistic concerns, of course, but Harley couldn’t just let this go and step onto his pride, and most of all, lose even more time, that he could have spent working inside the labs. “I still can…run the tests tonight.”
“Oh, for God’s —” Leith hissed, taking a step back from him, “Just let White do that. It’s not like we're anywhere close to the deadline yet. Your little pet project can wait a bit longer.”
Pet Project?
Tch. The nerve of that man, he swore. “But I insist, Leith. I —”
“Just go home, Sawyer. Or I will have to call Elliot and ask him personally to send you there.”
“Seriously?” Harley’s eyes narrowed, “Are you seriously daring to blackmail me with something like THIS?”
“Blackmail you? Please, I didn’t even start doing anything of the sort yet. If I did, you’d know.” Leith said, leaning onto his table with a face of a man, who knew that he had won, even if he looked rather tired himself, “But I mean it. Go home. I have some business, I need to deal with and you are in the way.”
Sawyer wanted to say something snarky back, but at this moment, his body betrayed him and he sneezed instead. Then again and again, making Leith hastily relocate even further away from him like he was a biohazard.
(Being a latent germophobe must have been quite a challenge in this situation.)
“That’s what I’m fucking talking about!” Pierre said from a ‘safe’ distance, “Home, Sawyer!”
Despite, the anger at what kind of tone the other used with him — it was the same one, you’d tell a dog to heel with — he had to admit, that there was a merrit in this idea. And he hated this almost more, than the lightheadedness and growing trembling inside his legs.
“I still have two hours left of my shift.”
“Great, then go and sit them out somewhere. But preferably, far away from me.”
It was a real pity, that he couldn’t spit inside Leith’s mug. Getting the bastard sick too sounded like a rather pleasant idea, but as it goes, Harley had to leave Pierrer’s office in an even fouler mood, than before.
The hallway swirled around him lazily, as he walked, fighting a desire to take a short nap on the nearest softer surface he could find.
This day was officially ruined.
Or perhaps, a whole week, if he won’t somehow find a fast way to cure himself from the humiliatingly common bane of humanity : flu.
…
“What is this?”
It took a lot of effort for Harley to crane his neck to steal a look at what Angel was holding on a tray.
The younger man naturally couldn’t really answer him, not when both of his hands were busy, so he had to make an educated guess. Based on those small clues he had so far.
“Is this soup?”
A light smile and a nod.
“I don’t want it.” Harley said instantly, having no energy to move from his warmed up spot on the couch. Embarrassingly enough, putting on his home-wear and shredding his working clothes seemed to be the limit of his current abilities. Angel had to do the rest, making sure that Sawyer was tucked into a cashmere blanket, — which the employee had somehow found inside his closet, — while he cooked and tended to things inside the kitchen.
Overall, this might have been a cozy set up for anyone else, but he for his part, felt nothing but humiliation. The last five hours were literally spent with Angel hoovering over him like a mother hen or like he was a senile patient inside an old folks home. And that last association unsettled him more than anything else.
He really hated recalling the times, when he had to visit his demented father there.
But Angel acted like it was no big deal, as he seemed to even gather some enjoyment from watching Harley blow his nose inside a paper tissue, and cough his lungs out, when a fit would strike him.
Some would say, that the employee must have enjoyed his undignified misery, but he knew better than this. It wasn’t like Angel didn’t have a mean bone inside his body, since oh no, he did. But it was more so the novelty of this, which did it for the younger man, he was certain.
Harley let him drive him home and even let him stay with him, despite part of him demanding that he’d send the other away as soon as they crossed the threshold of his apartments. But he didn’t. Instead, he let him stay and use his kitchen, and now, he was being forced to eat what looked like chicken soup with some veggies floating in between chunks of cooked meat.
To be fair, the soap looked fairly good. Even for someone like Sawyer, who never ate chicken, if he had a choice in the matter.
‘My dad taught me how to cook it.’ the employee wrote to him, after setting the tray onto Harley’s laps. ‘It always helped me to get back onto my feet faster.’
“Hm…”Sawyer blinked, taking a spoon with wooden, weak fingers, “You got sick a lot as a kid?”
‘When we lived in Nebraska, yeah, I’d say pretty often.’
Harley was aware, that Angel had been moving with his father from state to state fairly often, when he was a boy, even if he did not quite get the reason behind it. Angel said that it had something to do with his father’s work, but there seemed to be more to this.
(There always was more.)
But if there was one thing, that the younger man seemed to be very tight lipped about, both figuratively and literally, it was some specific pieces of his past. Harley knew, that Angel was born in Oregon, however. A pretty useless information, but he had collected those things like one would dead butterflies.
Hunger for knowledge was one of traits he was known for, after all.
And dissecting Angel in that gentle, slow way became one of those private activities, that he grew fond of.
He couldn’t feel the taste of the soup, numb as his taste receptors were due to illness, but when a seat dipped next to him and he finally looked up at the TV, which Angel turned on, while he was cooking, he paused with a spoon still stuck between his teeth.
“Salem’s witch trials?” he muttered, around the metal, allowing himself that slip of manners for once.
He honestly didn’t focus on what he was supposedly ‘watching’ until this moment. His mind was elsewhere. Still back at work, locked inside the labs with his surgeon tools and dead toys.
But this seemed to be oddly fitting somehow. The deception of blamed and weeping witches, and angry mod, who didn’t understand the craft of local ‘healers’.
Angel stared at the screen next to him, eyes lidded, and expression softly impassive as all the torture methods were listed by the narrator like would read their grocery list.
(Drowning. Hanging. Burning at the stake.)
“Are you from Salem?”
He doesn’t remember Angel ever specifying a town he was from. He was pretty sure, he had only ever told him the name of the state and ah —
A shake of the head. So, it’s a no.
Sawyer let himself stare at the younger man’s profile for a bit longer, — not even quite examining him, merely lagging mid-thought that he could do nothing with at the moment, anyways, — before his eyes trailed back onto the screen. The changing scenes of recreated trials were reflecting inside his glasses with slight distortion.
“They said, that witch hunts were happening largely due to lead poisoning. Some people saw things, which were never there and condemned their own neighbors to such a horrible death, all because they were hallucinating some unsustainable macabre. Or saw them heal someone’s itch with the help of a few herbs.” Harley said in a scratchy voice, devoid of any pity or sympathy as he took another spoonful of the soup, “History was never kind to those, who happened to be different from the rest.”
‘And rejected men didn’t take too kindly to maidens turning them down, either.’ Angel pointed out, no humor to be found inside his expression either, despite how that light smile was still itching in the corner of his mouth.
Sawyer wasn’t sure how or why his mind even went there, it was probably raising fever, since they had established that he indeed happened to have one, “Think, I would have burnt you too, luv?”
Angel shrugged one shoulder, looking at him sideways, a smile more visible now. ‘I don’t know. Would you, Harl?’
Sawyer let the thought sit for a moment in that void of weird possibility, that they both would have somehow been alive during those times. Picturing, that Angel happened to despite it all, not return his own yearning — silly, silly notion this is — and then thinking about a choice, that he would have been presented with after it all would have been said and done.
The answer was right on the tip of his tongue, uncomfortably honest for some. But for him, it felt natural.
“If you had spellbound me, then, maybe you deserved to be burnt.” Harley finally said, eyes trailing back on the screen, “But I have a feeling, like I would have ended up alongside you, but hanging from the neck. I doubt, that stupid, uneducated village folks would have taken kindly to my research. If they would have labeled you a wizard, I would have been the Devil himself.”
Angel chuckled, ‘You think, they’d hate progressive toys?’
Harley had sometimes nearly forgot, that the employee had no idea what he really did for PlayTime Co. From his limited perspective this was really the biggest offence, not all the children’s death and general, unpleasant gory process it included to restuff them into new bodies.
“They had stuffed fabric dolls with empty faces, because they were afraid that a demon from Hell would possess it otherwise, you tell me, if they would have taken kindly to my progressive ideas or not.” Sawyer said nasally, having to pull up a fresh paper tissue to blow his nose again, “But I must say, I’m glad that we are alive NOW. I don’t want to be judged by the hounds, if this can be helped.”
Angel nodded with a low hum, as if concluding something for himself, before writing his typical non-serious nonsense, ‘You know, you sound more British, when you are sick somehow.’
If Harley had any strength left inside his legs, he would have kicked the other in the shins, but as it goes, he had instead leaned back into the cushion, feeling more lethargic, than he did before. It could have been a combination of a tiresome day, fever and finally, a homemade warm meal. But he found it hard to keep his eyes open.
Angel, as if feeling or perhaps, seeing a shift, had carefully put away the tray and half-finished plate of chicken soup from Harley’s laps, allowing the other man to get into proper laying position. Well, more or less, his head was now pretty much resting against the mechanic's broad chest. His couch was a bit too modest and small for two grown men to fit in without any ‘complications’.
(This was the main reasoning, at least.)
The mechanic shifted a bit to settle in properly, jolting Harley in the process, who hissed, shooting him an annoyed look, but it was short lived, since Angel took off his glasses, making the older man squint up at him.
“You almost look like that yellow prop Elliot puts into all of the company's training videos from this angle.”
The insult was half-baked and lazy, — and not even close to the truth per say — but Angel chuckled, anyway, as if taking pity on him. His arm wound up around Harley, who didn’t fight it nor had any presence of mind to be bothered, that he was letting the younger man touch him even more, than he usually did.
It still came as a surprise to him, that he didn’t feel the usual disgust from tactical contact, when they were close like this. If anything, it felt strangely nice. Like a place carved up specifically for him to rest after what felt like forever and then some.
“You must really be…a bewitcher.” he muttered, already teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. Vision swimming as doubling in a strange, nearly hypnotizing way.
Angel stared down at him, face shadowed and well, —
Harley always had a certain thing for those eyes of his. Honeyed one moment, before turning into that golden, unnatural yellow the next.
Maybe, a fever was a decent enough price to pay to fall asleep to this.
Because if the witch must burn, then the heretic shall hang…
part of my reptilian brain will always stroll back to frollo from time to time, honestly. so i’m glad that you see the vision, since you are correct in saying this. my harley indeed has some remote correlations with that good ole horrible priest. both in appearance and in personality. it’s also funny to me how this ask came up right after i finished writing a tiny ficlet for the one, which was before it and well, there is literally a vague reference to frollo in it, since i just couldn't help myself. it's hard to think about 'intense old bastard beheviour' and not to think about frollo first of all, haha.
besides ….
looking at this really makes me want to draw harl dressed as frollo or a priest, and angel wearing an armour, being a mute captain, who is also in this scenario happens to be esmeralda too. a sin of even more ‘treacherous’ nature right here, i suppose.
however, all jeer aside, frollo is a very nicely written villain, esp because of how unsettling he is, and unlike most of other disney villains, there is that uncomfortable realistic flavour to him. harley seemingly lacks some of those qualities, but it doesn’t mean that he’s not capable of smth similar in specific circumstances. i mean, if angel wasn’t into him and didn’t reciprocate his ‘affection’, who knows what might have happened. like, he's already pretty damn intense about angel and it's when they are 'on the same page', just picture how much worse it would have been, if they weren't.
p.s we certanly need more songs like 'hellfire', though. that's like in top 20 of my most favorite songs ever.
how do you feel about works directly inspired from yours?
i have very mixed feelings about this most of the time if i’m to be quite frank. for one, i feel like a lot of people can’t see the difference between INSPIRATION and IMITATION, and then … well, just because someone likes something you did, it doesn’t mean that they like it in a way, you yourself can easily digest or get behind.
in short, for me being an inspiration for someone historically proven to be a double-edged sword in many cases and then, an actually rewarding experience in a few. and with stuff like securityangel, i will openly admit, that i’m rather overprotective of my own vision of them. their ship and dynamic is very close to my heart, so it’s rather naive to expect me to not turn my nose at something that comes off as incorporation of some bits and mechanics of my story mixed up with what authors themselves ‘wanted to see’ or to ‘happen’, and in the end, it barely have anything to do with what i was doing, you know? because if someone, for example, wants ‘my story, but where angel is a bottom’, i have nothing to say to them, realistically. the notion alone would have turned me off, no matter if said fic was inspired from mine or not.
so in simple terms, i will most likely always avoid works, which were inspired by me. for many various reasons. even if i have to admit, that it sucks that one of said ‘inspired’ works was written by a person, who made me uncomfortable and who made fun of my sentence structure and speech pattern in their bookmarks, hence where i can literally read it (the sheer fact that i saw them in the wild before and thought, that yup, that’s exactly one of those people i avoid online and there they were into my face a bit later, is funny in a very ironic and gut-punching way). yet, their works get branded as a good one, and maybe it is, idk, i didn’t touch it after seeing who wrote it, but …. that’s just a reminder of how little control one might have after their stuff is published. and i’m saying this as someone, who was stolen from before. my works translated without my permission. posted elsewhere. and then, when i was a teen and hanging out on roleplays blogs, a bunch of my writing / posts and my own characters were stolen too, so that’s just the reality of something made known to others. or well, one of its sides, at least.
you can’t truly control who loves your work or even how they’d interact with it. all you can do it to depersonalize some of it, and just continue doing what you’re doing. some things don't have a pretty solution, or the one, where everything is just how you want it to be. i mean, you can't quite comb the world and reality to your liking, can you now?
besides, if someone can have fun with a story, it's still good. in some sort of grand scheme of things or whatever. it's always about a silver lining in everything.
most of harley’s fetishes are not sexual, i think. the pleasure that he gets from let’s say, a medical kink is different from arousal. it runs deeper, than this.
however, when it comes to sexual fetishes all of them are centered or based on/around angel lol.
in other words, in this sense, when harley sees someone similar to angel for example, in body type or idk, personality trait, his way of thinking isn’t the typical ‘i love this body type, so i drawn to this person’, instead it’s ‘this body type is similar to angel, so i pay attention it’. out of all the obsessive men, who i wrote, harley’s obsession with angel is almost one of a kind. i can think about another example still, but so far, harley’s singular focus on angel is rather, well … it’s hilariously intense. and we aren’t even close to its bottom. at the moment, we are still on the peak of an iceberg. *sigh* angel just knows how to pick them.
regardless, i didn’t put a tag ‘objectification’ in both of my fics for lols. it belongs there, and already gives some pointers, considering that harley pays a lot of attention to angel’s body. he mentions fairly often that he’s handsome and that he’s well-fit, and harley doesn’t typically pay a lot of attention to other men like this. the fact, that angel triggers something inside his lizard brain is one of the problems, that sawyer encounters when he interacts with him. both as a human and as a robot. he just can’t help, but stare and examine.
i can’t say too much on the matter, though, since i’m in the process of writing the next chapter of DexM, and some of the things i want to try and show, not tell. and then, i also not 100% sure, what kinks characters might have until i actually write them. i mean, some stuff is kinda ‘given’, but the rest and most of all, the specifics, can vary and change around. certain kinks sound good as a concept with some pairs, until you try to apply them in practice and find out, that they don’t actually work.
like, i saw cat on her blog wondering if harley would like to suck a dick and honestly, i have no idea if my version of him would or not, haha. and i won’t know it, until i will put him into that position, which i will, but whichever he’d be really into it or nah, reminds to be seen. part of me thinks, that harley feels kinda iffy about body fluids lol. but if it’s angel’s body fluids, who knows, he might be very into having cum plastered all over his face.
out of two of them, angel have more clean-cut sexual directive, considering that he has more expirience and he's also not confused about his preferances like harley is. i mean, it will be later on implied, that angel literally always went only after older men, and never cared about guys around his own age. so this alone says smth about him vs harley, who never felt lust for anyone before.
however, i once pictured leith attempting to talk about 'bedroom activities' with harley, since he doesn't really know another men, who fucks other men and harley sits there like 'why the hell you ask me this'. and leith shrugs and says that he thought that harley might have liked 'to be chocked too'. harl blue screens for a moment, and then, asks 'what do you mean TOO???' despite harley noticing that eddie and pierre are close, he most likely fails to conect the dots and realize just how 'close' they eventually get. let alone to imagine what kind of stuff they'd get up to inside bedroom.
bad habbits (that you might pick up from your local mechanic)
.
[ this smth of an one off idea i had the other day.
basically, i can’t help, but picture that harl hates the smell of smoke. it irritates him and he only ‘endures it’, bc angel smokes sometimes and therefore he smells of it too. but then, he decides to try and sneak a pack from angel just to see why he says that it calms him. and what do you know, taking a smoke truly helps (an ex-smoker here) to calm nerves. so harl gets a tad too addicted to it too, for a few reasons. one of which is that smoking the brand angel smokes reminds sawyer of him. so now, he has a 'smoke break' too. the kind of situation, when 'you are like smoke in my lugs' is almost literal, i suppose lol. ]
