"Don't Cry Because It's Over, Smile Because It Happened."

Scar: "I like breaking things. It's a passion of mine."

Me: "Whelp. Time to hide all the angst fics."

I know Scar was talking about builds when telling Joe this during one of his episodes but I can't help but think this man could break us if he did some crazy/sad lore. Just imagine guys.

[Joe Hill ep: https://youtu.be/G822MztQyUM ]

(Also how we feeling with the Grian lore *smirk*)

Scar has such a nice voice, like I would love to hear him voice something even if its something small. I think his voice would fit well in lots of stuff. 

Do you guys think Ramon is scared of death. And not in sense of dying himself, since he's very adamant about protecting those he cares about even if he'll get hurt. He even told Fit that he wanted him to aleast having someone just in case he is no longer there. Now I'm not saying Ramon wants to die or isn't scared of dying, but if it meant either him or a loved one, he'd chose the loved one over himself.

Like the eggs only have two lives, and we've seen them die. Which is way Ramon is very protective of Sunny and Empanada since he doesn't want them to meet the same fate as his siblings. His even seen what death does to a person, like how Slime went crazy and started attacking the eggs. And how quick he was to shoot Slime to protect the others. And how Quackity wanted to make a deal with Fit to have Ramon be the only egg standing so him and Fit can split the reward.

Fit was very hesitant about it and even said he wasn't going to do it. Ramon had made Fit promise that he'll protect all the eggs, and if he does die, that Fit doesn't go crazy like Slime.

Now Ramon's first time hearing a player/islander die was when Fit told him about Spreen, which Ramon was very happy that Fit was widowed and that means Fit can find another partner and one that'll actually care and love Fit.

But do you think later on when his left to his thoughts, he realizes that players/islander can be killed permanently. And Fit is very adamant about not dying mainly because he thought he hadn't died yet. Like the only times he knew his dad had died is when Fit himself tells Ramon.

And the prison would be the first time Ramon has seen his dad die. Do you think Ramon sighs in relief when he sees that his dad has respawned. Do you think every time an officer killed his dad, he feared that Fit wasn't going to respawn and that he'll die permanently?

Do you think Tubbo dying made this fear even worse. And when Sunny was able to find a way to bring Tubbo back, do you think Ramon wanted to ask her how she did it, so just in case it happens to Fit, he can bring him back or anyone he cared about.

Look at him!

He is in baby jail

So true about the miscommunication / no communication with green team. Which was evident on the first day. I was watching Fits POV and man literally had to yell at the team saying here are my cords get your asses to me because everyone wasn't listening and everyone was talking over each other it was a fucking mess dude. Like if you watch Fits POV you can see how frustrated he gets over the constant being talked over, people changing what they want to do when they had a set plan but others want to do another thing, at one point at Etoile wants to do an entirely different thing, forever is far away doing food and like the others are like trailing after Fit but Fit it's getting ahead of them and it's a fucking mess, Antoine gets stuck at one point since he has no water and Roier goes to help him out.

Okay, time to understand why tf this teams are crumbling:

I think that what the other teams desperately need right now is some good bonding time. Some quality time u know?

Lets see

Green (Gay) Ninjas:

Cellbit mentioned to Etoiles himself about how he knows the people in his team doesn't really listen to him. And who is on the team: Bagi, Forever, Antoine, Fit, El Quackity.

Such great great minds, such good assets, but they do lack the team work agenda. They are lone wolves. Etoiles included, he has mentioned that previously.

And these lone wolves need to learn how to become a pack. Communicate. Becoma a Team. And Tungsten Rat herself might be a great answer to that. Mrouse is good on bringing people together. Maybe she could convince them to howl at the moon together for one night, I don't know.

And blue team. Or soulfire, but idk man, everyone just call them blues. Because, honestly? That seems to be their constant state.

They need to find refuge in eachother. Whenever I watch one their povs they always seen.. disheartened. They desperately need to find ways to de-stress. Sing some songs around the campfire, build cute things, idk. They are a bunch of builders and farmers and engineers, bundled together with a frickin lord of the hells amidst them. They are miserable! Lol poor Pac died so many times without a single block to add to his name. And? Oh Tina, driven mad by how many times people have destroyed and raided her beautiful farm. Also, from trying to be Bad's moral compass and not succeeding much hahaha.

And another thing, they are leaning way too much on specific people. That is not great. Once they realize they are all pretty capable, with all having really good skills to give, they will be huge (I'm looking at you Tinza). And they have been expending a lot of their energy following q!BBH or trying to hold him back, but like.. that man is gone. He's a force of nature now. They need to stop leaning on him so much so the team, and him, can focus on their purpose. Let the devil unleash hell, take care of him as ur team yes, but don't rely on him as much because for now? He is definitely not as reliable anymore. And he is going to get worse (and oh I want to watch it).

They just won a kitty, so that might boost their moral up tho And I'm not just talking about Missa. He's so wholesome, I love that guy.

In conclusion: the power of friendship is real

🕯🕯🕯goodtimeswithscar is going to make it to dodgebolt through chicanery AND seduction 🕯🕯🕯

A/N: idea from @goodtimeswithluigi thanks for the flangst fuel ^^

-/-

The thing that sucked about having memories erased and then coming back is that only some of them decided to be polite and slowly trickle in. Waddles, the kids, those memories poured in like the gentle trickle of water from a watering can. More immediate memories like Soos and Wendy slowly flowed in and filled the small pond in Stan's mind that was probably labelled 'family-' not that he'd ever admit it outloud.

Then there were the older memories. The ones that made it feel like Stan had just rammed his head in a brick wall for hours on end. Older memories usually. Stuff like high school, Glass Shard Beach, Ma's perfume, and Pa's suffocating cologne that even the memory of made Stan's head hurt.

Then...then there were the memories that made Stan want to curl up in bed all day. Those...those were usually memories of his grifter days. Or the science fair incident. The combination of having to live through the worst moments of his life, feeling all the hurt and pain and heartache and having to go through the emotional rollercoaster that was his late teens to early 30s over and over and over again. The late nights, the portal, the journals, slapping on a fake smile as Stanlely desperately tried to keep a con going long enough to pay off the house and loans because he'd be damned if his brother didn't have a house to come back to.

This morning was a memories that made Stan want to rot in bed kind of day.

His oh so wonderful brain decided to wake Stan up with the phantom feeling of gaping wounds where wings were supposed to be.

And here Stan had thought he was just born without them. An anomoly type thing, like his brothers fingers.

The searing phantom pain in his back said otherwise.

Stan tried to ignore it. Bit the pillow and tried to will himself back to sleep.

The pain pulsed again.

Stan huffed an irritated sigh and slowly pushed himself up, rolling onto his side with some difficulty and managing to sit up.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," Stan hissed to himself as he slowly got to his feet. "Sweet Moses, phantom pains a bitch," he murmered, slowly making his way downstairs to either the kitchen or the living room. He'd decide later whether the phantom pain required a t.v distraction or a food distraction.

"Stanley?"

"Ford?" Huh. Guess tonight was gonna be a brother distraction. Stanley ambled his way over to where Ford was hunched over the kitchen table, a mug gripped tightly in his hands.

Stan's back twinged again. He tried to hide it, grit his teeth, hid the pained gasp with a groan as he sat. Ford raised an eyebrow.

"And you're up because?"

"Hey, back at ya, Si- Poindexter," Stan replied, taking mind to avoid using the name the isoceles bastard had tainted- and how dare he, how DARE he! That was Stan's name first, that was the name Stan gave his brother to keep away the bullies and the bad thoughts that thought having one extra finger made someone an unlovable freak- if Stan had another chance to deck the discount dorito he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"You first," Ford grumbled, sipping what better not be coffee cause the last thing Ford needed on top of the stress of everything was more caffiene. Stanely narrowed his eyes at his twin.

"I asked first."

"Respect your elders."

"By fifteen minutes-ack!" Where Stan had been aiming for playful banter, his back decided now would be a good time to remember having muscle and sinew twisted, ripped, cut, then for the hell of it, tied into various knots. All while past Stan's screams were ringing into current Stan's ears.

A chair scraped, a cup clattered onto the table. Six fingered hands settled themselves on Stan's shoulder and were he caught up any further in the flashback Stan would have pushed the hands away.

Thankfully his phantom pain addled brain was in the present enough to recognize the six fingered hand was his brother and brother meant safe.

Stan violently squashed down the part of him that remembered holding up a hand for a high six only to get the curtains closed on him.

"Stan? Stanley?"

"Phantom pains a bitch," Stan mumbled, breath hitching and stifling down another pained groan. Without needing to be asked, cautious hands slowly made their way to where the base of where Stan's wings used to be and pressed down a bit. Stan shuddered.

"Hurts?"

"God no, do that again," Stan sighed as his twin began to chase away the pain and exhaustion radiating out of his back with nimble fingers. He hissed a few times.

Silence. Fabric rustling as Ford rubbed firm circles on Stan's back.

Ticking of the grandfather clock.

The sink dripping, Soos said he's fix it tomorrow.

Stan's exhales as Ford worked the tension out of his muscles.

It would've been nice, plesant even if it weren't for the worry nibbling at the corner of Stan's mind.

Ford was going to ask, wasn't he.

He was going to ask about the wings, moreso Stan's lack of wings, and then Stan was going to have to remember that memory and the spots where his wings seemed to be just would not stop throbbing! Ford's fingers were doing a good job of easing some of the pain the scars still screamed.

"Hey...Stan..." his twin began. Stan internally braced himself. He didn't want to talk about it but if Ford asked...

"Yeah?

"Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

Ford was always a shit liar.

And with the silence that followed Stan almost wished his twin had just asked instead of trying to spare his feelings.

-/-

""Ah, it's...nothing. I forgot what I was going to say." Ford clumsily lied, returning his focus to easing some of his twins pain.

He managed to distrsct himself for 5 seconds before his brain finally latched onto the issue bothering him.

His brother didn't have wings.

Ford's brother didn't.

Have.

Wings.

Now, that wasn't to say that being wingless never happened. Similar to his own polydactyly, some people just weren't born with wings.

Stan wasn't one of those people.

Ford remembered feathers brushing up against his own, large, proud wings curled protectively around him as Stanley told Crampelter and his gang to go suck an egg.

He remembered gentle hands going through his feathers, fixing them up and getting rid of old ones.

Ford remembered flapping his wings happily then instructing his twin to turn around, it was Stan's turn for preening.

Ford remembered how big Stanley's wings would puff up when he was angry or defending Ford from bullies.

And Ford remembered Stan's wings wrapping around himself whenever he accidentally caught their father on a bad day.

Stanley had wings, Ford knew Stanley had wings.

When Stanley was kicked out left he still had his his wings, Ford remembered them shaking, then drooping, and then puffing up again in hurt and anger.

And now Stan's wings were gone. He didn't have them anymore.

At first Ford had thought Stan was hiding them, similar to what Ford did with his own wings. He had thought his twin was just keeping his wings tucked away and safe beneath his clothes.

Then the fearymid happened.

And the clothing switch.

If Stan still had his wings Ford should've still been able to see them in his periphery when he reached behind his back to hand Stan his sweater, coat, and gloves. But he didn't.

And Ford had hoped that it was just because his brother was keeping his wings tucked close to him. He hoped he just couldn't see his brothers wings and tried to ignore the persistent voice asking what if Stan didn't have wings anymore? What if something happened to him?

Stan should have been fine, he was the personality, the free spirit.

Stan was supposed to be fine.

He wasn't.

And when Ford had switched clothes back with his now empty of all memories twin he was met with a cold, painful truth he could no longer deny.

Stan no longer had wings.

Ford's baby brother, his younger twin, had no wings.

Long, angry, jagged scars were all that was left of where large, dark brown, thick feathered wings should have been.

Someone or something had taken his brothers wings. And with how the skin looked Ford could only assume whoever or whatever had taken Stanley's wings yanked them out the same way a person would pull out a weed from a garden.

Where he was rubbing circles on Stan's back told an even more horrific story, one that made bile rise up in his throat and forcing Ford to swallow harshly so it wouldn't come out.

He truly did not like the story the raised ridges and bumped on his brothers skin told.

"Ford, ForFordFord ease up!" Stan yelped, squirming under Ford's hands.

"Sorry! Sorry," Ford said, taking his hands off Stan's back as if he had burned him (and he tried not to think of the brand just behind Stanley's right shoulder-)

"I didn't say stop, just ease up," Stan grumbled with no real heat or annoyance. Ford flexed his fingers, tried to ignore the feeling of old nerves and muscle knotted like string, and returned to easing up his twins phantom pain.

He had to ask.

He needed to ask.

But he didn't know how and the silence that started out comfortable was turning oppressive and it would just be awkward at this point, what with Ford starting to say something and then saying he forgot.

Stan wasn't buying it. Out of the two of them Ford never got the hang of lying, at least not as well as Stan.

The questions sat in his throat, but Stan was so vulnerable with Ford at the moment, showing more trust in him now then he in the past weeks since Ford came back. Even while temporarily amnesic Stan was still fairly closed off and guarded, the fact that he hadn't told Ford to leave, that he was even letting Ford try and help with his pain?

Stan was like a wild animal when it came to his pain. He hated showing weakness, even to his own family and it only got worse as they grew older. Ford didn't want to break the delicate trust being placed in him at the moment by asking a boneheaded question or saying something that Stan would take the wrong way and causing him to march back upstairs, phantom pain be damned.

"Ford, I know you want to ask already so just say it." Ford jolted, hands momentarily stopping their movement. Stan leaned back, silently begging Ford to continue.

How much pain was Ford's twin in for him to be actively seeking out help? Stan hated asking for help.

He continued rubbing his twin's back when he felt Stan press up against his hand a second time.

"...How long?"

"You wanna be more specific?"

"I- when you- 30 years ago I thought you were just. Hiding them. Like I was." Stan's shoulders quaked with a low, humourless sounding chuckle.

"Nah, old things were gone long before that, si- poindexter." It was Ford's turn to wince.

That was always Stan's name for him. That name, only Stan was supposed to call him that yet Bill had to go and taint it and he didn't even come up with that nickname to begin with how dare he-

"You stopped again." Stan commented. Ford apologized but Stan just shrugged it off.

"S'fine now." Stan leaned away from Ford's hand's, rolled his shoulder's, then started back towards the stairs,

"Wait," Ford called, quickly grabbing Stan's wrist to stop him. His twin turned around and raised a brow in question.

"Are-whoever- you'd tell me if they were still alive, right?" Ford asked, the hand not holding Stan's wrist hovering over where wings used to be, where strong roots for strong wings were now just planes of ugly, angry, broken and mutilated skin.

Ford had never felt so angry in his life when he saw those scars. Not even with his perpetual motion machine broke.

"Even if they were, they're good at hiding."

"I'm good at seeking."

"Ford, drop it." The command lilted upwards at the end, sounding more like a question instead.

"Stanley. Your wings."

"Ack, they've been gone for more then 40 years now, what can ya do."

"Help with phantom pains apparently, and you will let me help you with in the future." When Stan opened his mouth to protest Ford added, "Either you let me help you with your phantom pains or I dig into your past, find everyone who had ever hurt you, and interrogate them until one of them confesses to taking your wings."

Stan stared at Ford for a solid three seconds before answering. "Jesus, okay, okay, I'll let you know when the phantom pain acts up again."

"I will know if you're hiding it."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Ford." Stan turned around again and went to head up the stairs but paused at the base of the steps for a moment.

"Hey uh..thanks, by the way. Not just for the back rub but for the uh. Memories and stuff, ya'know."

"You're stuck with me, knucklehead," Ford said, stepping closer to his twin and lightly tapping a fist against the younger mans shoulder. "If you get to spend 30 years bringing my stubborn ass back from various different dimensions I get to spend the next 30 years fussing over you."

"You can barely look after yourself."

"I'll learn." He opened his fist and squeezed Stan's shoulder, hoping it would convey what he didn't know how to say in words. Silent I love you's, thank you for not giving up on me, thank you for trusting me, and thank you for not giving up on me, he hoped that Stan got the message because if Ford even tried to say any of that at the moment he'd end up fumbling or choking in his words.

Stan reached up and squeezed Ford's hand back, understanding shining in his eyes.

His brother didn't have wings, and Ford could try to blame himself all he wanted to.

Guilt wouldn't bring Stan's wings back, feeling sorry for Stan wouldn't bring his wings back.

But Stan didn't seem to blame Ford so Ford wouldn't blame himself.

Stan trusted Ford with his pain. Ford would do his best to make sure his twins trust isn't misplaced.

They'd be okay.

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood: Nina as Scar and Alexander As Jellie. Doc or Cub as The father and Grian as Ed and Mumbo as Al.  I’m sorry, It was the first thing that popped up in my head rewatching the scene and I didn’t want to be the only one stuck with this image.

Your user name makes me think of super Mario bros staring Grian and Scar

Sorry that this is late, but dude that would be amazing! That sounds like a fun AU.