i just saw that ppl wrote stuff on their tumblrs so uh
brainrot igwberwe
below the cut a is sappy Eyes and Arms fic i wrote based off of 'dont yank my chain' around 1293 words
A dull thud was heard on the ground. Quieter were heavy pants and the rustling of leaves. The moon was on the way to rising, with the sun waving its final goodbyes.
Good. They would be seen less easily.
Handy sat on the forest floor, if not collapsing against it. He was absolutely exhausted. He was running from the law for a crime he was wrongly accused of, even the victim of. His trusty safety helmet was long gone, fur pulled and pricked, feet bruised, and some of his tail was bitten off.
Handy wasn’t even the one who was the worst off. Poor Mole had to carry the massive weight the entire journey. He ran into branches, pits, and nearly fell off of a cliff due to his lack of vision. His life was so used to being slow and steady, giving him enough time to get used to his surroundings and navigate them. But there, in a gruesome chase that had both of them in foreign places, must have the mole lost and confused.
For the night, the two hid in a bush, waiting for the baring of dogs and yelling of sheriffs. Once they were silent for a hot minute, the two decided it was safe to find proper shelter. They landed by a river loud enough to mask the sound and scent of them.
Handy curled his legs up to his chest. The night’s cold was setting in, and the beaver didn’t have a blanket or bed to lie in. The rushing water was driving his instincts up a wall, but he couldn’t be bothered to chew down even the tiniest of trees in his current state. Sleep would just have to come to him in the form of passing out, he guessed.
After some moments of Handy trying to ignore the pain and ache of his whole body, a certain sound caught the carpenter’s interest. It sounded similar to the crash of the river, but it was deeper, yet lighter. It had more volume, and more emotion.
It was crying.
Handy lowered his head to the nub of his arm. He didn’t feel his torn bandages dampen, and his fur along his cheeks felt fairly dry, if not wet with blood. The beaver turned his head.
Mole was sat on a log, arms crossed on his knees. He was facing down and his ruined sweater was shaking. He was shivering, even though he was wearing the most clothing out of the two of them. The shades covering his eyes were slid down slightly. A trail of dark lavender left his eyes into the fold of his turtleneck.
Oh. Mole was crying.
Handy was known for being sarcastic and grumpy. He grit his teeth at problems he faced, and would kick the shit out of anyone who mentioned the lack of his arms. But, despite being a downer most of the time, he did have a heart. Only few knew about that, though. One of which being his younger brother, Toothy. The little beaver would sometimes come home bawling, wailing about how he was made fun of for his features or the gruesome ways he died. Handy had done his fair share of poking fun at the kid, but when his brother was genuinely upset, the orange beaver knew when to be serious. He comforted Toothy like a mother would to her child.
Handy got up from the ground. The silent sobs reminded him too much of his family, and he felt his heart act before his mind. He sat beside Mole, and placed an arm behind the violet sweater. He circled the end, rubbing shapes into Mole’s back. Comforting words left his mouth, nonsensical gibberish cooed in a soothing way to get to Mole’s mind. When he caught the animal’s attention, he turned his head to face Handy. When the carpenter got the idea he had the other’s focus, his words turned into actual sentences. Various ‘it’s okay’s and ‘I’m here’s poured out his buck-toothed mouth, Mole visibly stopped shaking, but quiet sniffles could be heard.
The blind man curled into a ball. A common sign of helplessness. Handy’s auburn eyes softened, blurring with tears of sympathy.
“You’re scared because you don’t know where you are, dontchya?” he murmured, inching closer to give the mole something to lean on. His arm curled around the other’s waist for support. Mole nodded weakly, growing tense.
Handy placed his head on top of Mole’s. He clicked his tongue. “Aw, honey, it’s gon’ be okay. You’re safe. You’re safe with me.”
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have used the name ‘honey’. Instinct he picked up from Toothy. He rarely used pet names, but they’d slip out when he tucked Toothy into bed or let him fall asleep against his shoulder. Handy froze, but continued like nothing had happened, clearing his throat.
After some time, Mole gripped the beaver’s chest, mumbling into his neck. Handy lowered his head to hear him better.
“....forest. River….. Log…”
He was listing what he could hear or feel. His surroundings. He was trying to locate where he was.
Handy’s ears fell, and his grip tightened. He nuzzled his face into Mole’s, just like he would do with Toothy. It was a parental thing he would do… but it might have come off more affectionate than intended.
“Yeah, you’re in a forest,” he whispered into Mole’s ear. “We’re by a river. It’s night right now, and that damned sheriff ain’t here. We’re safe.”
“It’s night?” Mole’s surprisingly sharp hands dug into Handy’s fur. He nodded.
“Mhmm. We’re gonna go to sleep, okay? You’ll feel all better in the mornin’, ‘kay?”
Mole hesitated, but moved his head in agreement. The animal in his arms got heavier, and Handy realized he was going limp to lie down. He drifted the man as close to the ground as he could get, and let him plop onto the strands of grass. He was visibly more relaxed.
And Handy was visibly more cold. He was used to the shared body heat of Mole and his sweater. He curled into a ball.
“It’ll be okay. Everythin’ll be okay,” he cooed to himself.
A tap got the carpenter’s attention. He turned around to see Mole looking at him. He paused, and then raised his arms. There was an open spot next to his chest.
This was an invitation to snuggle. Mole wanted to snuggle with him. Probably to share body heat, but Handy was alight with blush. He stammered, and then looked back into the dark forest. It was cold, and he couldn’t tell what were fireflies and what were glowing eyes.
Handy looked back at Mole. It was parental, right? Something he would do with Toothy. Yeah, that’s why, the beaver told himself as he inched closer, feeling large hands close him in.
He was wide awake at first. He was being cuddled by Mole, and he couldn’t get his mind off of it no matter how it tried to phrase it. But, his sweater was nice and soft, and so was Mole’s fur, and the way he functioned as a living pillow…. just…
When Handy awoke that morning to see that he was completely entangled with Mole, and even fit into the same sweater the animal was wearing, he realized what he had done the night before. But… it felt nice. For both of them. The morning made them both feel better, and Handy couldn’t recall the last time he had physical affection.
Handy looked up at Mole, whose glasses were slightly askew, and his head was lifted just enough for Handy to burrow his in the crook of the mole’s neck. Maybe he could pretend to be asleep just a little bit longer...
i was in the middle of doing some doodles when i realied there were a lot of doodles that i hadnt shown y'all that i had planned on. so, uh here! ft. russell and splendid finally
Handy tried leaning against a wall with his hand to flirt with mole but he forgot he didnt have them and fell into the wall and thats when mole knew he was in LoveTM
