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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.
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Doc preens Grians wings (for science) and learns just how much trust the avain, as well as the rest of hermitcraft, really has in him.
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So cute!
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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
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“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.”
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Also, this has nothing to do with the actual story, but in my AU, there are exactly five people who actually understands how sensitive and personal wings actually are. Grian, who have them, Mumbo who knows Grian inside out, Skizz who recently joined and also has wings, Impulse because Skizz is his closest friend and Joe, because he just knows. This means the rest of the hermits have really no clue and is just going off of what Grian is comfortable with. Which, given the fact that they are all flock, is a lot. But hey, I am sure that this in no way could ever come back to bite them. Right? -
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Fic Info
Trust is not given, it's forged by Chaosandaroace (WorkID: 78493521)
Summary: 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.
or
Doc preens Grians wings (for science) and learns just how much trust the avain, as well as the rest of hermitcraft, really has in him.
-
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Soft doc my brloved
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ADORABLEEEEE. I really needed this fluff after the angst that was Flicker…..