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Wings were a private and personal issue. Anybody who had so much as interacted with an avian (or any winged hybrid really) could tell you that much.
They were vulnerable, sensitive if somebody actually got under the feathers, and a careless injury could mean that you were never flying again. Trust was required to even touch them, much less actually preen them.
Preening was for family. First, it was for the people who raised you and fed you, and when you got older, for the family you chose and trusted to your very last breath. And if you didn’t have anybody that close, you did it by yourself.
Grian had certainly done so before Hermitcraft. It wasn’t the same, much harder and more uncomfortable as instincts screamed for somebody to be there with you. For family, for flock.
Grian had always been bad at preening himself too, preferring the put it off to the last minute. There was always things to be done and builds to be worked on.
Nowadays, preening was mostly done by Mumbo when he commented on the state of dishevelment Grians wings were in, or the occasional Scar. Wings were personal, but he didn’t mind them near them.
Because Mumbo and Scar, as well as the rest of Hermitcraft, were family. Sure, there might be the occasional prank-war or light-hearted feud, but when it really came to it, Grian would trust each and every one of them with his life.
He never told them so explicitly, but Grian was no stranger to lovingly hitting someone with a mouthful of feathers whenever he was feeling bored or pushing someone over with his extra body parts.
The hermits never commented on the unusualness of it, or the fact he trusted them with his wings while actively being a nuisance with them.
The hermits would never hurt him, Grian knew it deep in his bones. It was why the occasional push against the wings, or touch done by gentle hands didn’t bother him. They were all family, flock, and so they were permitted to touch his wings.
Grian never really thought about it much, though he knew that he was probably causing some of the hermits to have some slight skewed perspectives on avians and wings. Deep down he delighted in the potential for chaos it invited.
Doc was a curious man. More like a mad scientist kind of crazy really, but curious none the less. He was also one scary man whenever wronged, but never outright dangerous. Not to the hermits at least.
That curiosity, and its subsequent inventions, always peaked Grians interest just as much as it slightly terrified him. Now, the focus of Docs slightly mad mind had turned to hybrids, with the current focus of avians.
Especially their wings, and how they worked and how they were structured. Grian supposed he could understand the other hermit’s keen interest, given he had hollow bones that still were stronger than solid ones.
Incidentally, Grian had accidentally broken some redstone in Docs base somewhere that looked important not too long ago and was trying his best to get on the mans good side before Doc noticed anything amiss.
Besides, it wasn’t like Grian had anything against Docs hands in his wings, methodically sifting through feathers while Grians brain slowly melted out of his head.
The air was cool against his feathers as Grian soared high above the ground, feeling the air chilling as he made it closer to Docs base in the ice-biome. The feeling of freedom beat nothing as Grian let himself drop towards the cold, unfeeling ground, just to catch himself at the last second possible.
Docs base was cold and lifeless, but Grian could still appreciate the way snow sparkled in the faint sunlight. It almost reminded him a little of the area around Elsas castle in Frozen. The first film that was.
The man himself was waiting on Grian, looking almost peaceful as he stared out on his icy domain. Diving down towards the mad scientist, Grian caught himself the second before he hit the ground, sending fistfuls of powdered snow in Docs direction.
Seemingly prepared for that exact scenario, Doc simply pulled up his shield, completely destroying all of Grians fun.
“There you are pesky bird,” Doc unfazed voice greeted him, clearly having expected Grians antics. “If you could just follow me.”
Grian grinned up at the man, mischievous smile showing just how much Grian would have enjoyed the prank had Doc not reacted fast enough. Doc simply shook his head fondly, walking Grian to a warm house and into a room.
The room held exactly the kind of décor Grian expected from their resident mad scientist. Bookshelves stacked with books of all color and shapes, with contraptions Grian couldn’t begin to guess what for, hanging on the walls or simply laying haphazardly around.
In the middle sat a big bed, with some open journals laying dotted around, as well as blankets. If Grian was taking a guess, it was probably where Doc intended them both to sit during his “experiments”.
The atmosphere changed as Doc closed the door behind him. Heavier somehow, like Doc suddenly became in control of whatever happened there. Grian didn’t freeze.
It was almost strange that, after years of only letting the people he trusted the most in the whole world near his wings, Grian had walked into a room with a man who he made his life-mission to annoy with explicit plan of letting him do whatever he wanted to Grians wings and he didn’t freeze.
Because there was nothing to be afraid of. Because Grian trusted Doc, trusted all the hermits as easily as breathing, and knew to his bones that he was safe. That nothing bad would come out of the encounter.
The room was warm, and ditching the warm hoodie to sit in a t-shirt was done without a second thought. So was climbing on top of the bed, and sitting with his legs crossed and wings spread out behind him. Looking expectedly at Doc.
Doc rewarded him with a smile, before following suit, settling behind Grian with only slightly less grace then the avian had done.
“What was it you wanted to do, again?” Grian asked. Because keeping up with Doc quickly got far too technical for Grian to follow suit and the scientist often changed up his plans anyways, because he had gotten a better idea after talking to Grian.
Doc hummed behind him, thinking the question over. “I was mostly curious about your wings for now. So maybe touching them, or doing some preening for my research? After than I’m not entirely sure. It will depend on my results.”
Of course, because while Grian was handing over all his vulnerabilities on a silver platter, Doc was still doing research. Grian didn’t really mind, because he knew Doc would be careful no matter what he did.
That was all that really mattered in the end. “That sounds like a plan to me then” he replied, because Doc could have told him nothing at all, and still Grian would let him do it.
“Are you sure?” Doc asked, double-checking, even as they had talked about it when the whole thing had been arranged. “I know that wings are quite delicate thing for avians.”
“I trust you Doc” Grian replied instead. “Whatever you want to do, I trust you with my wings.”
“Oh” Docs voice was subdued behind him. “I will tell you about what I am doing anyways. So you know what is happening.” Grian smiled fondly at nobody, before saying, “Thank you”.
“Can I touch them?” Doc asked, and Grian could feel hands hovering over the feathers, close but not touching. “Go ahead” he replied.
Then large hands were in his wings, not grabbing or pulling, but simply staying there, fingers gently feeling their way around frizzy feathers as Doc
It wasn’t preening, where Mumbo knew every spot that made Grian melt, and sifted through uneven feathers at a speed that turned Grians brain into a mush of instincts.
No, Doc simply felt his way around the feathers, exploring the way they were put together, tugging gently at feathers and following their direction unevenly. Still, the action wasn’t detached in any way, and Grian enjoyed the rough texture of Docs palms against his wings.
Then, a hand slipped a little deeper, now feeling its way against the muscle of Grians wing. The reaction was immediate, Grians whole body shuddering against the feeling.
The hand went still as Doc paused. “Is this ok?” he asked, probably feeling a little concerned over Grians rather over the top reaction. Sue him, getting preened felt really nice. Especially when it was by flock.
Grian nodded, wings already itching for the sensation to come back. “All good” he replied. “It felt nice is all. Please just ignore me.”
“If you say so” Grian could hear Doc respond, and then the overwhelming pleasant feeling was back. Grian had another body shudder, and this time Doc didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down.
Scratching and feeling over the sensitive muscle, hands still methodically running through feathers as Doc was getting the hang of Grians wings. Soon, Grian could feel the way dirty and broken feathers got discarded.
Doc was preening him. The coo Grian made in response was soft, carrying a thousand meaning that Doc had no way of deciphering. The hands stopped again, before returning to their task.
It was scratching the itch that Grian had been building up all week, as Doc corrected misaligned feathers, and pulled out broken ones. Another coo slipped past Grians lips.
Flock. Flock was preening him. Doc was doing such a good job of it too, hands relentless and yet he was never rough or harsh. There was no yanking on feathers that belonged, no hint of impatience or annoyance.
Just curiosity and endless patience. Whatever happened, Grian was completely and totally safe. Maybe that was what pulled him over in the end. The safeness over it all.
It wasn’t unusual for an avian to fall into instincts while preening, Mumbo could attest to that fact. He was usually the one who ended up stuck with a Grian that cooed and thrilled, and demanded closeness and cuddles until he felt more like himself again.
Not like the potato-loving man really hated that side-effect either, even if he complained about it a lot. What did him in was the way Mumbo would keep repeating old tricks, even when he knew the resulting Grian that would ensue.
Now, the trusted constant of Doc steady hands allowed Grian to relax fully, to let thoughts fade to nothing as Grian existed fully and wholly in the moment, nothing more than sensations filling him.
Another coo spilled from his lips, then a warble. Good, he communicated to his flock who was preening him, all gentle and careful, you are doing good.
The noises didn’t stop either, and a more present Grian would have felt embarrassed about it. Doc didn’t comment, other than words slipping that right past Grian. He was safe, flock would take care of him.
Time folded in on itself as Grian was in pure bliss, wings taken so wonderfully care of his flock. Another coo, now for encouragement. Continue, yes just like that.
Then, hands slipped from encased in now clean and aligned feathers, trailing both sides of Grians wingspan, until the full length was stretched out and held that way.
That was ok. Flock had been so good, Grian could let them do whatever they wanted as long as they kept touching his wings.
The hands disappeared, and there was the noise of scribbling behind Grian and then they were back again. Poking and prodding as Grian savored every point of contact. The words had returned, but they were of no importance to Grian.
A question, maybe, passed by Grian, and he did his best to nod at whatever flock had asked him. Then, there were hands on his back, tracing around where Grians wings connected with the rest of him.
Words again. Massage around the connecting points as the wonderous hands started tracing up his wings again. Another warble.
Grians thought became more mushy, his brain melting out of his skull by the sheer contentment in his bones. At least that was what Grian was pretty sure was happening.
Hands pulling Grian upper body back, hitting flocks chest as more words were spoken over him. Gentle now, like flock knew just how much of his thoughts were melted right out of his brain.
There was a hand on his face now, turning it so that blurry eyes were looking in their face. Flock had a nice face, they looked like they could protect him, no matter what happened.
Grian thrilled at them, making the thought known. Flock just laughed fondly and then Grian was turned around, now facing flock.
Then arms were wrapping themselves around him, and Grian was pulled into the gentle and safe grip of flock. His body slumped against the larger form. So similar to that of a predator, and yet Grian knew he was nothing but safe there.
Because it was flock, and flock would never ever hurt him. Another thrill, another laugh that Grian felt in his bones as flock’s chest vibrated. Hands in his hair, petting just like they had done for his wings.
A yawn. The feeling of sleep making itself known as Grians bones finally stopped buzzing with energy. Grian closed his eyes. Flock was there, now and when he would wake up, and nothing had ever felt that certain or that good.
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When Grian woke up, he was laying slightly smushed against a warm chest, hands still petting Grians head oh so wonderfully. He sighed in contentment.
“You back with me, little birdie?” came above him from Docs gruff voice. Grian nodded sleepily. The petting paused, and Grian winded from the loss of it.
Seemed like he was still pretty in his instincts, even if his head had cleared up remarkably. Doc chuckled above him but continued the motion regardless.
Flock, a sleepy part of his brain whispered. Grian didn’t correct it, Doc was flock, even if he now also had blackmail for years after this. It was never a good sign when Grians memory blurred around the edges, and all he could remember was the pleasant hum of preening.
Mumbo certainly always had a field-day afterwards whenever that happened.
“What was that, Grian?” Doc asked, his voice sounding curious, not carrying a hint of judgment. Grian smiled to himself, always the mad scientist, Doc. Always wanting to know everything.
“Instincts” Grian answered plainly, voice still sleepy, because he assumed that was what Doc was referring to. The scientist just hummed above him at the explanation.
“Interesting” he finally concluded with. “I knew avians had instincts, but this was more extreme than my sources seemed to indicate.”
Grian chuckled into Docs chest. “Chalk that up to a good preening. It always turns my brain into a special kind of mush. A thing which you were surprisingly good at actually, you are a real natural.”
“Interesting” the scientist said again, shuffling slightly to grab what had to be a book to document his findings, removing the hands in Grians hair in the process. “Well, I aim to please.”
Even moving Doc didn’t let go of Grian, whose instincts preened at him about that. Flock cared, they were holding him so gently and would never let go of him.
Grian batted the thoughts back, now was not the time to have a birdbrain about Doc. The scientist had questions, questions which Grian intended to answer. Mostly. He was still a pesky bird at heart after all.
There was the sound of pages being shuffled, and then Docs voice again, “Would you mind answering some questions do you think? This is all so very fascinating.”
“Sure” Grian answered cheerly. “As long as you don’t let go of me while the interrogation is ongoing. I might not be chirping at you anymore, but my instincts still have me in a bit of a chokehold.”
God, he chirped at Doc, didn’t he. Vague memories filled his head, that was embarrassing. At least there was the small mercy Doc had no idea what his instinct-riddled mind had been trying to communicate.
Grian didn’t know he would have recovered had that been the case.
“Yeah, you did make a lot of bird-noises at me,” Doc noted. “What was that all about?” Grian groaned, of course that would be Docs first question, because Grian could never just have nice things.
Still, Grian obliged and gave Doc his answer. “Being preened feels all good, in my head. So I’m am pretty sure I kept calling out for flock, like a little fledgling. Mumbo loves to poke fun at me for it.”
“Flock?” Doc questioned. “You know, its family for avians basically.” Grian explained.
“Huh” Doc vocalized. “So you kept calling for your family, or flock, while I was preening you?” he asked.
Grian shrugged. “Don’t ask me why. It wasn’t like you were exactly far away from me or anything. Sometimes instincts are a little silly.”
Above him, Grian felt Docs entire body pause. “Me?” he asked. “Yeah” Grian asked. “Like I said, instincts aren’t the most rational thing in the world.”
“No I meant, me as in I am flock?” Doc clarified. Grian nodded, “Yeah, why wouldn’t you be? Why else do you think I let you near my wings?” he asked.
To prove his point, Grian maneuvered his left wing to gently dab Doc in the face. Hands reached for it, and Grian made no effort to get out of the light hold.
“I mean, we might end up on slightly different sides at times. And you are indeed a very scary man, but if anything ever were to happen, I do trust you with my life.” Grian told him. “No matter the circumstances.”
“Huh” Doc audibilized. “I suppose that makes sense. I just didn’t figure I had earned such a trust from you. Thank you for that.”
Docs voice sounded unusually sincere in his declaration. It made Grians insides melt a little again. Flock cared for him. Flock was grateful for getting to be flock.
“No worries man” Grian responded, mostly keeping the quote-unquote ‘bird-noises’ at bay. “All in a days work, right? So, have any other questions you want to ask me while I am still stuck here?”
This got Docs undivided attention. “Where do I even start?”
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Docs POV
Finding Mumbo went relatively smooth, all things considered. The man was just around his base, building windmills when Doc arrived.
The talk with Grian had been very informative, and Doc could now proudly say he knew much more about avians and wing care than he had done before. Much more.
The hivemind was feeling very pleased about that fact.
Their talk had also left Doc with a few questions, of the kind that Grian didn’t seem to comprehend could be up for debate, but Mumbo might be able to shed some light on. He was Grians best friend after all.
“How can I help you mate?” Mumbo cheerful voice bounced out of one of the windmills. Then, black hair appeared from nowhere, and Doc was greeted with a slightly disheveled Mumbo.
“There you are, I was looking for you.” Doc replied, voice monotone. “Nothing bad I hope?” the redstoner replied, voice now sounding a little nervous.
The little hint of panic in his voice amused Doc. “Don’t worry, I just wanted to ask you a couple of questions about Grian.”
This didn’t seem to calm the man, rather it only seemed to heighten Mumbos alarm. “I have no idea what he did, and I took no part in it in any way whatsoever.” He replied quickly.
This apparent vague terror made Doc chuckle. It seemed like his reputation hadn’t taken a hit, despite how trusted Grian seemed to view him. The avian had always had a special kind of disrespect in his veins, so maybe that was the real reason behind Doc being flock. Being family.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. Unless you know something of course.” Doc voice turned gravelly at that, and Mumbo furiously shook his head. Yeah, still got it.
“Nah, just messing around with you,” Doc reassured him. “I was just looking around for you since you know Grian pretty well.”
“That I do” Mumbo said. “More than one could ever need or want to. So, what about our beloved pesky bird are you wondering about today?”
“I was conducting experiments the other day, and Grian and I came to talking. I asked about his wings, which is how this whole thing started. You know a lot about avians right?” Doc asked.
Mumbo nodded. “Again, more than any sane person could ever want to or do something with in a lifetime.”
“He called me flock,” Doc said. “Like family, flock.” At that, Mumbos face softened. “And you weren’t expecting that, I’m guessing?” Mumbo asked.
“No, I mean, I thought since of my just and swift retribution, we might be little less tight is all. He said he trusted me with his life, Mumbo” Doc explained.
“Aww, Doc,” Mumbo was nearly cooing now. Doc was already regretting starting this conversation. “Of course he does. I certainly do, no matter how terrifying of a person you might be. If I was injured, I would have no qualms about finding your base and asking for help.”
Mumbos declaration felt strange in Docs chest. Logically, it made sense of course, but still, emotionally it made Doc feel all kinds of strange. Good kinds of strange.
He had come for an explanation for Grians strange behavior, but had seemingly just ended up with more complicated emotions and explanation for it.
“I am almost certain that most other hermits would feel the same way too. Just ask any one of us.” Mumbo continued. “You are scary, but you are ours, so I don’t think I could be ever truly scared of you, if that makes sense.”
“Oh” Doc said, words ever so eloquent and well-spoken.
“But you weren’t expecting that, were you? That’s why Grian took you by surprise, right?” Mumbo asked. “And yes, to answer the question you haven’t gotten around to asking yet, flock are often a lot closer than family. And yes, Grian was 100% sure when he told you that you were flock.”
The emotion in Docs chest felt far too soft for the (mad) scientist, far too much like unconditional love and trust no matter who Doc might be. He didn’t know how to deal with it.
“Well, back to building I go” Mumbo said. “You have fun digesting that.” True to his words, Mumbo walked back to his creation and returned to staring blankly at it, like the blocks would grant him some divine inspiration.
Well, no use just standing around, Doc thought to himself. Besides, I am so going to need to consult Ren for this one.
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Rens magical district was coming around nicely when Doc landed again, elytra folding against his back. The man himself was happily singing to himself, building a roof when he spotted Doc.
“How are ya doing, my old friend. Come to get yourself a piece of the magic?” Ren happily hollered at him, before jumping off of the roof to join Doc on the ground.
“People aren’t scared of me Ren,” Doc stated, voice sounding a little shaky now that he was alone with Ren. Completely skipping any form of small talk. Luckily, Ren was used to his antics by now.
“Explain” Ren prompted him.
“Grian said I was flock and that he would trust me with his life, and Mumbo said he agreed and that the same thing probably applied to all the other hermits as well. What am I meant to do with this information?” Doc asked, voice getting more distressed the longer he continued.
“Huh” Ren dwelled on the sound. “So, you mean you didn’t already know?” he asked.
Which, way to interrupt Doc languishing his anguish to Ren about the whole situation. “What do you mean, I didn’t already know?” he asked Ren. Because surely his friend had to be messing with him.
To this, Ren only chuckled to himself. “Well, under all the threats and unethical science, you are nothing but a softie. I know that, and I’m pretty sure most hermits do as well.”
Which, rude.
Doc had worked very hard for his reputation as the scariest member of the server. What did Ren mean, nothing but a softie? Doc made a disagreeing sound, getting ready to rip Rens argument to shreds when Ren laughed to himself again.
“Besides, how did you even get on the topic in the first place?” he asked. “Please tell me. And spare no detail. I’m making us popcorn.”
This shut any kind of argument up from Doc. Sue him, maybe he was a bit more of a softie than he liked to pretend. Besides, Doc was far more interested in the kind of clarity Ren could provide at the moment to pick a petty fight.
“Well, me casa es su casa, so step right in” Ren prompted Doc, gesturing to the half-finished roof. Doc followed Rens instruction and braced himself for the conversation that was to follow.
He had a feeling it would wind up being a long one.