#RLBAU

[tev-the-random]

He expected to bolt upright immediately, like the rash man he was. Instead, Jimmy opened his eyes and sat up slowly — very slowly, at the pace of someone who couldn’t quite grasp their bearings. Like he needed time to process something as simple as the universal joke that he just experienced. Truth is, Jimmy had had a lifetime to understand that.

He should have known better. He should have learned not to be so naive by now, not to feed false hopes like they were a starving dog.

But he hadn’t learned. Maybe he never would.

And that was, perhaps, what hurt the most: that he allowed them in. That he wanted them by his side. That every time, without fail, he hoped for things to change. Just this once! Just this once they would get it, they would drop the blade instead of using it against him!

But it always ended the same way. So maybe he was just stupid.

What did he expect, really? For his friends to be happy for him? To somehow justify the trust he put on them? To finally tell him he’s worthy?

What a joke. Everything in his life was a joke.

He sighed. Although he deeply wished to bury his face in his hat and scream for all eternity, the best he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. They had the hat, and it’s not like they would hand it back so easily. No, no, they didn’t respect him enough for that.

What even is respect, anyway? When Jimmy arrived at the mesa, he envisioned it as power: to be respected is to have authority, to dictate the rules. But as time went on, his expectations started to lower. In fact, some would say his bar had hit the floor.

To be respected is to be taken seriously.

To be respected is to be listened to.

To be respected is to not be antagonised and humiliated.

To be respected is to be seen as a person.

With the sensation that he would fall apart if he didn’t hold onto something, Jimmy grasped his bedsheets.

He wasn’t even a person to them, was he?

The ones he so innocently, so desperately called “friends” had clearly latched onto the idea that he was, for the lack of a better term, a plaything. Look at the tiny Sheriff and his tiny empire! Watch him get mad! Watch him try and fail to defend himself! Point and laugh at this pathetic thing!

Within only a few minutes, he had already embraced the idea that having someone else — someone as important as a real sheriff — tell him that he deserved legitimacy would be enough to earn him some dignity. All he really hoped for was a place amongst his peers, who only looked down on him, both literally and metaphorically.

But it was worthless, in the end.

His vision blurred at about the same time his lungs decided they were too upset to take in air properly. It took him a second to realise why: Jimmy had gotten used to the fact that, as a living doll, he just couldn’t function the same as he had before; surely, amongst other things, he had become incapable of shedding tears?

But here he was: breathlessly, shakily, undeniably crying. And now that it had started, it was hard to stop.

It was a well-known fact that Jimmy got angry much easier than he got sad. Screaming matches, hand hasty to the blade, petty plots that he would never manage to fulfil; it all helped push down his sense of self-awareness, this powerlessness clawing at his gut.

Right now, he felt as if a wave had crashed down on him.

He hated this fake body he was trapped in. Hated that he was smaller and more fragile than a child, that nothing felt real anymore, that he didn’t even have it in himself to bleed.

Breathing is such a basic task, why can’t he do it? Is it that he doesn’t actually have lungs or that he isn’t supposed to breathe in the first place?

He hated his own incompetence. No matter how hard he tried, he would always fall behind, crash and burn into the most pathetic of explosions. He had nothing to offer and he couldn’t take, no wonder he wasn’t allowed to have anything.

His entire body hurts. He hasn’t even done anything today, why does it hurt?

He hated that he could be so arrogant and selfish and that no one ever hesitated to point it out.

Heck, maybe they had a reason to bash him all the time after all! Maybe he missed all the shots he had. Maybe he deserved it, that had to be it!

He hated the way he always made a fool of himself and couldn’t even cover it up half-decently.

Oh, he hated this empty town, hated the mighty empires, hated his friends, those toys, the gunpowder, the bandits, the stupid Law and even stupider Lore! He hated and hated until he crumbled and there was nothing left of him.

And there really was nothing left. No one to fight for him or see the mess he’d made of himself. Not even Tango or Scar would stay by his side in the end, and the Old Sheriff was bound to follow, wasn’t he?

He was alone.

Jimmy cried until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He screamed into his hands until his voice was gone and clung to himself as a sorry excuse for comfort. And then he just laid there, drained and numb.

The sun was setting outside, its orange light peeking through his window lazily. He could just stay here, not get up; it’s not like he had anything important to do. But as much as he would like to disappear under his covers until his bones turned to dust, the idea only made him feel worse. Then again, someone once told him that it was good to breathe some fresh air when you’re upset, so maybe he should do that instead.

Dragging his feet, Jimmy left his bed and stepped outside, where a warm breeze awaited him. It wasn’t particularly refreshing; the sight of the blue walls surrounding Tumble Town gave him an ill feeling. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. It was replaced by confusion, for the horrible melody of a disjointed piano ringed across the valley.

“What in the world—”

Oh. Right.

If only for a moment, the thought of having a tavern bustling with people made him feel... less terrible. And although he knew that it wasn’t the case, that his town currently only had one citizen apart from himself, that was enough to pull him from his melancholic haze and towards the saloon.

He walked into the establishment to find the Old Sheriff predictably sat at the piano in the corner. His hat rested on top of the instrument, like the dear damsel to whom he was dedicating a song.

“Oh, there you are.” The old cowboy stopped his cacophony once he noticed the small figure by the door. “I was starting to wonder when you were coming back. Did you...” He eyed Jimmy up and down, “wrestle with your friends or something?”

All the tiny man could do, once again, was sigh. His face was probably still puffy from crying, and he guessed his wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair didn’t help giving off the most pristine of impressions.

“Or something,” he half-answered.

Without bothering to elaborate, he walked around the bar and opened one of the cabinets underneath. Behind a dozen or so empty bottles, there was still one with about three quarters of liquid left. Jimmy wasn’t one to drink often; he’d been keeping this last one around for special occasions, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

The bottle was nearly as tall as he was. He dragged it all the way to one of the tables, which he climbed on top of before fighting to pour himself a shot glass. A few instants later, a larger cup tentatively appeared in front of him.

“Care to share?” The Old Sheriff asked, leaning against his table.

He nodded.

The two men drank next to each other without exchanging a word. The silence held a thin mental thread Jimmy was struggling not to snap. He didn’t know whether or not he was thankful when the Old Sheriff interrupted it:

“Your piano is out of tune.”

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?” Jimmy’s intonation was flat, too tired to sort out any emotion to put into it. He tried not to think of a voice box. “Is there a second T in ‘respect’ now? For ‘tune’?”

“No, I mean literally. The piano’s out of tune.” The man gestured towards the instrument he had been playing.

“Oh.” The young sheriff awkwardly cleared his throat at that. “Um... I don’t really know how to tune it.”

“That’s fair enough, I don’t really know how to play it.”

With a shrug, the old man downed the rest of his drink, and was already pouring a new dose by the time Jimmy realised the corner of his mouth had raised the smallest amount. But that mild amusement quickly vanished, giving way to quietness once more. This one felt a bit too uncomfortable, staring at him as his mind continued to reel.

“It didn’t work out,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“Your tips, the whole respect thing? Actually, I think they might respect me less now!” The tiny sheriff huffed, resting his head against the window behind him. Not that he thought it was possible for people to degrade him any more than they already did, but here they are.

“Huh. I dunno, maybe you just did it wrong. The R.E.S.P.E.C.T tactic has never failed me.” The Old Sheriff chuckled.

Jimmy couldn’t help but sigh yet again. He didn’t shout, didn’t splutter, didn’t even try to defend himself. You see, he wasn’t exactly angry. No, he had mellowed out for today. Staring down at his distorted reflection on the amber drink, he searched for a word that could describe this numbness; this burning sensation in his chest that made him look at the world around him with such disgust.

Hopelessness? Exhaustion?

“They killed me, you know?” He commented, then quietly added, “And they took my hat again.”

“Well, now that’s just rude!”

With a disappointed click of the tongue, his senior refilled Jimmy’s glass, despite it still being half full. He was already on this third cup himself; the bottle was significantly emptier.

Was that it? Disappointment? Disbelief?

“It’s not the first time, either.” Tim ran his hands through his hair in what could maybe be called exasperation. That still wasn’t it, though. “I’m really starting to think that I should... I don’t know, cut ties with them or— or maybe I should just leave. Find somewhere new to live. I can’t take this anymore, man.”

All he received in response was a soft hum. The past Sheriff stared at the wall somewhere above Jimmy, who wondered if he was even listening anymore.

“Tell you what,” the old man started a few moments later. “Why don’t you show me around them empires? I wanna see what’s changed. And if we happen to stumble upon any of those ‘friends’ of yours, we can show them what for, yeah?”

He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then he laughed, incredulous. His chest untightened the slightest amount.

“I— You— I mean, that— that sounds great, yeah! Sure!”

For the rest of the evening, Jimmy managed to push down the fog of that strange feeling by ranting to someone who would finally listen to him — more or less; he wasn’t sure the Old Sheriff was completely conscious by the time the moon was up. Something at the back of his mind told him not to get used to this by the time he went back home. It could always be a trick, a lie even. The irony of hoping that he could hope wasn’t lost on him.

And irony, much like everything else, would pull the rug from under him.

From the moment Fwhip saw the Old Sheriff and opened that cunning smile of his, he knew that the best of his bravado wouldn’t be enough. He would always fall back to bickering with his ex-deputy, whose verbal traps never failed to demean him. Oh, he tried so hard not to, but could he help it? Fwhip had the ease of pulling people in that Jimmy and his frantic arguments never would.

So maybe he should have listened to that thing at the back of his mind. At least he wouldn’t be surprised when his new partner got so quickly dissuaded from following him; wouldn’t bother going to Gobland or reminding them of his stance with Fwhip. It would certainly have spared him some heartache.

On the way to the goblin empire, the same jokes that had begun to cut so deep were laughed at. At the Drip, his inevitable boiling annoyance was taken advantage of. The slander went undefended and his call for assistance in the ensuing fight, unanswered. His possessions were teased out of his reach and given to a “real sheriff”. In the middle of all of this, his last ally, captured by Fwhip’s determination to take everything he could away from him, rubbed elbows with his enemies without giving him so much as a reassuring look. That’s when Jimmy finally realised what the feeling was.

Bitterness. Unrelenting, cold resentment.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t commanding or assertive, nor was he easy to live with. Yes, Jimmy had a lot to learn, and he would. But he couldn’t fathom what could possibly made anyone deserving of such a world-shattering emotion. It was all so clear now, he didn’t have to put up with any of this! They don't get to do this to him over and over again!

This is bullshit.

And he’s done.

He didn’t even bother going back for his stuff when Fwhip killed him the second time. His armour, his tools, all of it was tainted with weakness and ridicule — he didn’t even have a badge or a hat to hand in anymore. In the end, there were very little items he cared to take with him.

The very same caravan he arrived in Tumble Town with was loaded by the time night had fallen. Norman had already leaped into the back without Jimmy needing to call him, and Bullseye was harnessed and ready to go. He briefly considered waiting for the Old Sheriff to return, but he didn’t think he could bear looking at the man at this point. By far, the biggest lesson he learned was that it wasn’t worth it getting attached.

Without anyone to say goodbye to, he left the empty silence of Tumble Town behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the sheriff dream was gone — and so was Jimmy.

[tev-the-random]

So I may have come up with a whole Villain Jimmy AU...

Listen. I have way too many feelings about the events of Jimmy's Empires S2 Episode 31 and the immediate following stream. I also have way, way too many feelings about whatever the hell is happening in Sausage's and Shubble's lore and whatever is to come in Lizzie's, so I decided to only indulge one brainrot at a time and came up with... an interesting concept? I dunno, I'm easily entertained—

(There's a TLDR at the end if you don't want to read my insane and incessant ramblings o3o)

Ok so, after Walmart WRA kills Jimmy on the bridge for the kicks and giggles, Jimmy really starts questioning just what respect is and who his friends actually are. The conclusion? Dude has absolutely zero friends. Sure, he has this truce going on with Joel, and Katherine has been somewhat trustworthy so far. But actual friends? Nada. Closest thing he had were Scar and Tango, but they're gone now and he didn't even get a proper goodbye. His town is empty. He's alone.

Jimmy may be quick to anger, but this might be the first time he actually allows himself to be sad about it. There's something much more painful than rage crawling inside of him; be it guilt, self-hatred, loneliness, betrayal, there's just so much he's been burying under all the fighting that he can barely breathe through it all now. But once it's over, Jimmy's left with a strange feeling of clarity. This cold bitterness and complicated self-awareness that would turn into something far more sinister in the future.

The next day is really what decides his next course of action, though. He's touring the Old Sheriff around the server, kind of holding onto the last hope that someone might want him to stay after all. But then Fwhip comes along and decides that no, he doesn't get to have this, so they start bickering like the old divorced couple they are, like nothing's changed. Somehow, Fwhip manages to charm his way into the Old Sheriff's good books despite everything that Jimmy has said about his ex-deputy.

Martyn (that's what I'm calling him, he doesn't get his own name now) laughs at his jokes, makes little comments that... sound so familiar to Jimmy. This is how it all started: little comments — and this is how it's going to end. Maybe the Old Sheriff has good intentions. Maybe he does have the intention to stick with Jimmy and be a friend/mentor to him. But Jimmy, still raw from his most recent disillusionment, can't bear the thought of befriending someone only to have the rug pulled from under him again.

So Jimmy leaves Tumble Town in the dead of night.

Now, his first objective is to bring himself back to normal. He had to admit, no matter how hard he tried, it was hard to gather any respect from others when he was trapped in the body of a literal toy. He had already asked Joel to reverse this nonsense, but the god only offhandedly mentioned that this was Jimmy's true form and that it was how he was meant to look — which Jimmy took as "I have no idea how to, my name is Joel and I'm irresponsible with my powers and incompetent and also really short". So his next destination is the Witch Academy.

He had heard about the them from Shelby. She was a nice witch — or, well, nice enough. She was clearly going through some stuff at the moment, which is why he thought it would be better not to ask her for help to begin with — and was clearly able to change people's bodies, whether intentionally or not. So surely the people who taught her magic would be able to help him, right?

Little did Jimmy know that most witches do not, in fact, give a damn about helping other people. After travelling far and wide, he explained his curse to them, and all they did was close the door on his face.

Well, he's not having it! If the witches won't help him, he'll find someone else who will! This is when Jimmy starts travelling around in search of someone, anyone who could undo his curse so he may start his life anew. Through all the ensuing shenanigans, he gathers some... interesting allies.

It's not that he wants to ally himself with undead pirates; he may not be a sheriff anymore, but that doesn't mean he's about to become a criminal! But alas, when the boat he's travelling with is captured, it's not like he can do much else.

Jimmy is spared due to his... interesting predicament. Well, surely this tiny tiny man could be useful! Besides, didn't he use to live close to Pirate Joe? So in exchange for some information on Skeletron's rival and helping them get some treasure for a little while, Jimmy is dropped off at the next port with directions to a shady wizard who might be able to solve his problem.

When he gets to said wizard, they are already expecting him. You see, this is the same wizard who gave Scott his magic eye, and although I'm sure we'll get some actual canon explanation to it eventually, this is an AU in which the wizard may have some... ulterior motives. And they may or may not have been spying on a certain god who lives very close to Chromia. But that's a story for another time!

Jimmy wakes up the next day his normal-sized, human self again! It's almost overwhelming, how much he loves his own body right now. His chest quite literally aches... and that's when he notices a heart-shaped scar on it.

The wizard is still around. They explain to him that, to deal with the curse, they had to remove his heart. Literally. They stored it in this lamp, which emits a blinding red glow — an indicative of how strong it is, how much it feels. The farther away he is from it, the more detached he will be from his feelings. Although that would mean he should probably carry it close at all times, he should not forget that it is still his actual heart; you better keep it safe, kid.

Now that the deed is done, the only thing that the wizard asks for is a front row view when Stratos falls. Jimmy carries a lot of grief, clearly, and if they know anything about him — which they shouldn't, but they strangely do, — he is going to get back at the people who made him miserable for so long. It just so happens that the wizard also has a beef with Joel, so really, they both win in the end!

After some not-so-subtle persuasion and reminders of all the horrible things Jimmy had to endure in the past, the wizard manages to convince our ex-sheriff into going back to the empires to truly bring an end to this story of pain. He's never going to be able to start anew unless he gets rid of all traces of his weak past self, right? His enemies deserve to reap the hate they've sown fashioned in cold blood, right?

And so Jimmy concocts a plan, gathers resources and new (purely professional and with no emotional attachment, never again) allies, and returns to Tumble Town a new man with a new name. In the day, he's a charming and friendly traveller sneaking his way into the emperors' hearts. At night, he's a dangerous bandit carrying a lamp of dwindling red light, playing a game of metaphorical chess with the authorities to bring the pieces of his plan closer together.

-

TL;DR Jimmy leaves the empires bitter with his friends, searches for a way to turn back into a regular human and finds a wizard who does so in exchange for being able to watch the world burn. To reverse the curse, he had to lose his heart, which he now carries in a red lantern closely tied to his feelings. He goes back home for revenge.

Calling this one the Red Light Bandit AU òwó

[tev-the-random]

In his defence, the Sheriff hadn’t been the most stable person in the universe for a while now. No one would be if they spent a good thirty years stuck in a cave with a bunch of chickens. So forgive him if, for a moment, he thought the pulsating red light stepping out of the mines in the dead of night was the grim reaper coming for him.

“Sweet mercy, Wednesday, it’s time!”

The light stopped. For a few seconds of silence, cut by nothing but the voices from the saloon and the occasional sign of life from the local crickets, he stared at a tall figure, and it stared back. Or at least he thought it did; it did not have a face for him to tell.

When he made no move to approach it, — never walk towards the light, they say, — the dark silhouette stepped closer, carrying the source of that eerie glow with it.

As he gripped his beloved hat, the Sheriff realised this was a person. Eyes shadowed by the brim of a hat, gloved hands holding onto a lantern, they stopped just close enough to him that he could smell the faint scent of gunpowder. Probably a creeper handler, if he had to guess.

“You’re still here,” they stated, the mild surprise in their voice slightly muffled by the bandanna they wore around their face. Of course, the arid air of the mesa could be too much for some to handle.

“Um... why, yes, I am!” Regaining his composure, the Sheriff tipped Wednesday as a belated greeting. “You’re out awfully late yourself, buddy!”

They didn’t respond. The nearby torches flickered with the wind, as if intimidated by the stranger’s lantern. The red light only seemed to grow more blinding as they sat there quietly. He started to think that he had said the wrong thing.

“Of course you’re the sheriff,” they finally murmured, though more to themselves than to him. “I don’t know what I was expecting.”

He gave them an awkward smile, adjusting the golden badge on his vest absentmindedly.

“I’m the sheriff of this here town, alright.” He crossed his arms in a relaxed stance, hoping to sound friendly enough. “I’ll admit, I was also expecting to be retired by now, but don’t you underestimate me! I’m faster to the trigger than I am to the drinks these days.”

His laughter was a lonely one. His audience was lost in thought.

The stranger lowered their lantern slowly. As he instinctively followed the movement, his eyes landed on the pistol holstered around their waist. It didn’t look new, and the Sheriff couldn’t help but wonder if they were hiding any more weapons. The gods out there knew he certainly didn’t need any more trouble around these parts.

“Anyway...” He cleared his throat, making an effort to look back at the shadowed face in front of him. “What were you doing down in the mines at this time of day? That’s a dangerous place, son, I for sure don’t recommend going in  there alone.”

They tilted their head ever so slightly. The crimson light caught the glint of their eyes then: dark and scrutinising. The Sheriff felt a chill make its way down his spine, although he wasn’t quite sure why.

 “I know you of all people wouldn’t go down there to rescue anyone if they got stuck, Old Sheriff,” they said, voice laced with some sort of undetectable poison. “Don’t worry about it. I, for one, can take care of myself.”

The breath that caught in his throat almost made him splutter in response. He once again held onto Wednesday, trying to reassure himself in the comfort of the hat. Something here felt so familiar, yet so foreign; like this traveller should fit in with the land as easily as he did, and yet their light couldn’t help but give it the worst uncanny feeling.

“Do... I know you?” He managed.

The stranger chuckled. The Sheriff wondered if he had only imagined the dry sound, for the laughter did not reach their eyes. All that stared back at him, reflected by red light before it disappeared under the shadows again, was cold — the type that you would only find in a deep cave or in the abandoned ruins of some old battlefield.

“No,” was their simple answer. “No, you don’t.”

With no more than a tip of their hat, the odd traveller bid him goodbye. He considered stopping them, telling them that one should not wander around at night, but maybe creeper handlers just didn’t worry about those things. Instead, he watched the faltering glow of their lantern climb the stairs up to the top of the hill, then disappear beyond the orange landscape of the badlands. He was alone with the crickets again.

“... What in the world did I drink today?” He asked himself. Had he been sitting there talking to himself for the past five minutes? Because it certainly didn’t feel like a real interaction.

After a couple more seconds, the Sheriff shrugged it off. It’s not like he was an expert in fever dreams either way. So, much to the regret of his future self, he went back into the tavern, and there he stayed for the next hour or so, until most of the late night patrons had left.

He was in the middle of thinking how nice it was to live around other people when the world ended. Or, well, he was being a bit dramatic. The world didn’t end, but the state of the saloon after the fact could make you believe otherwise.

The ground shook violently beneath them, the distant sound of explosions playing in tandem with his glass shattering on the floor. Noises of detonation came one after the other, closer and closer until they could be mistaken for some decisive shoot-out just outside the door. When they stopped, it was only for a moment, just enough for the Sheriff to breathe in the sickening smell of sulphur.

The last blast came as a surprise, with enough force to turn tables and shatter the windows.

Knocked to the floor, he coughed as clouds of dust invaded the pub. Screams and hurried steps descending the stairs told him that the panicked guests had left the inn above, in fear that either the building would collapse or that something else would. On top of them. He would not be surprised if a giant boulder fell on top of them right now.

Once the old Sheriff managed to stand up, he saw that a similar state of distress was taking place outside. Stumbling past knocked-over chairs and broken glass, he suddenly wished he hadn’t been drinking to begin with. Regardless, the sight that greeted him was enough to sober him up.

It was like the hills had crumbled in on themselves. Their pieces scattered around the land, they now hid under curtains of smoke. The main entrance to the mines had completely disappeared under the debris, transformed into a brand new sinkhole that was begging to destroy the town in time.

The tunnel connecting to the northern part of the empire was completely blocked off.

While there were no actual casualties — at least not on this side of the mountain, — the Sheriff would spend the rest of his night inspecting the damage. It baffled more than horrified him. What sort of cosmic punishment was this, taking place on a fine Wednesday night?

The sun rose in the other empires with the most apprehensive requests for support he could muster to write: supplies, shelter, a hand or two to help remove the new obstructions on the land, anything they could spare would be greatly appreciated. Information regarding an unknown man with a red lantern were to be reported to the sheriff of Tumble Town.

[tev-the-random]

Ok Tumblr just REFUSES to let me answer this one, for some godforsaken reason. We'll have to make do with a screenshot, it seems.

And oh

OH, MY FRIEND

He does. He very much does.

In what I consider one of my personal favourite moments in this AU, Jimmy, at first, reveals himself to Fwhip and Fwhip alone.

Upon integrating himself into the empires as "Terrence", Jimmy starts getting closer to those he seeks to harm the most. And while Joel is arguably the one who started his whole predicament, Fwhip was a constant figure in Jimmy's mind during his years of travel. It is something to be hurt by someone you never really got along with, but to be hurt by the one person you used to trust the most is something else entirely.

So yeah. He approaches Fwhip with fake friendliness and a supposed interest for all the right things a goblin ought to like, and Fwhip is very glad to have him visit Gobland for the day. That is, until Jimmy spots the sheriff's home away from home, his old house in Gobland. He'd forgotten it existed, and to be honest, he thought it would have been destroyed or repurposed by now.

He can't help it.

Jimmy goes inside to find that, apart from being very dusty, nothing has changed about the house. His bed is still there, the carpet, Norman's bed, even the chest half-filled with stuff he hardly remembers leaving here. There's a very old picture still hanging on the wall — him and Fwhip in the early days of Tumble Town, before any of the pranks disturbed its view.

Let's just say Jimmy is glad he left his lantern back at its hideout. Otherwise, his heart probably wouldn't be able to take this.

Fwhip says this is just an old abandoned house that belonged to no one in particular, it has probably been standing there since before his time, really. Terrence points out the picture, and after a long moment of silence, Fwhip admits that he built the place for "an old friend." But it doesn't matter anymore. That friend is long gone.

When it's time to leave, Terrence makes a peculiar comment.

He tells Fwhip how much he appreciated the attention the Goblin King gave him during this visit, despite how busy he probably is. He was always good at first impressions, wasn't he? He only loses points for that old house; not because it was dirty, no, but because he had the gal to pretend he mourned Jimmy at all.

"Don't worry, you're still my second favourite deputy. For now."

He hands Fwhip an old book he took from the house. The Law.

Whatever spell made Terrence so unrecognisable breaks, and all the pieces click into place at once. Fwhip can't unsee it now. Jimmy, older and scarred and human, but so undoubtedly Jimmy.

Now that's... a lot. However long Fwhip spends processing what is both a horrifying and wonderful discovery, it's enough for "Terrence" to go back to Tumble Town, where he feigns utter ignorance. Nobody knows any better, and nobody believes Fwhip when he tells them. Jimmy finds it extremely funny.

As for the Red Light Bandit... well, he makes sure that anyone who learns of his identity is dealt with accordingly. It only makes sense that his light is the last one they see.

[tev-the-random]

(Continuation of this!)

If he had to call the attack on Tumble Town anything, Sausage would call it ominous.

You see, the thing about living thousands of years and multiple lives is that you start to notice patterns in tragedy. So although most people said there was calm before the storm, he knew otherwise: there was always a bit of a dark sky in between, some sort of warning bell. And Sausage knew quite a lot about dark skies.

He was the first one to offer support as soon as he got the news. If not because his colourful empire greatly valued the terracotta trades, then because the Sheriff was a good friend. The man confided to Sausage — which means everybody everywhere was aware of it by noon — his strange encounter the previous night. The Red Light Bandit, as he’d taken to calling the suspect, definitely gave off the feeling that they were looking for more than a victimless inconvenience. They both knew this wasn't going to be a one-time thing.

Someone needed to keep an extra eye out, if anything. It was in the Guardian's nature to protect what was vulnerable, regardless of whether or not it made a chill run down his spine. He owed it to Tumble Town, after all. He should do right by it at least once.

Citizens of Sanctuary were quick to volunteer a hand once the message started circulating. Now, if there was one thing Sausage was sure of, it was that those who lived in Sanctuary — the refugees, the runaways, the lost souls and found families, — understood better than anyone what it was like to pick up the pieces of a broken home.  

Two days after the incident, Sausage showed up to the mesa with a whole group of volunteered help behind him. Truth be told, try as he might, the Guardian couldn't keep up with every single soul that came and went from the safe haven he'd created; he wasn’t, therefore, completely familiar with the entire bunch. There were one or two elves with whom he’d had friendly conversations over the years; an enderian who often humoured the thought of moving to Tumble Town, where the humidity was far more bearable than in the jungle; a couple of fae he had personally welcomed into their community after their forest burned down.

They were followed over the torn hills by four avian friends — no older than eighteen or so, from some country overseas, — a number of dwarves with a heavy accent from somewhere way up north and a few humans from all over the place. Sausage couldn’t say he knew any of them by name, but he made sure to keep track of them nonetheless.

“Alright, everybody! The Sheriff offered us some tools in this box here,” he announced, stepping out of the sheriff’s office with a heavy chest full of equipment. “There are a couple of spots that could use our help, I’m pretty sure everyone can find something they’re good at. If you need any guidance, just come looking for me and we’ll figure it out, right? Right, let’s get to it!”

Sausage’s enthusiasm was infectious, and his people promptly took the initiative. They scattered throughout the town to help break up debris, repair broken rooves, move animals, replace light sources and all the likes of manual labour. Seeing them work alongside the citizens of Tumble Town who had the condition to stay and rebuild, the various goblins carrying materials all around and even a few of Joel’s obedient subjects, Sausage was glad to conclude most of the group had no trouble fitting in. Some, however, seemed a bit more unsure.

One of the humans — or at least he thought that’s what they were; something seemed a little off about it, though he wasn’t quite sure what — caught his attention after a couple of minutes. They looked around with some sort of polite intrigue and a quiet demeanour Sausage assumed was related to shyness. Their nervousness spiked immediately once they noticed Sausage staring, and his approach didn’t seem to make it much better, despite his best intentions.

“Hey there!” He started with a smile that aimed to soothe. “Sorry, this is all a bit of a mess. I guess you haven’t found something to do yet?”

They stared at him as if he was about to bite their head off. Eventually, they nodded.

Sausage hummed. He scanned the wreckage of the town, eyes landing on the Sheriff — who was busy instructing his cheery avian quartet on something, — then following the jagged hills around them in search of vacant stations. His look then went back to the man in front of him, eyeing him up and down once. Although he had a thinner frame than Sausage’s own, he was still built like someone who was used to carrying lots of weight; his long blond hair, streaked with the occasional grey strands, resembled a very messy curtain, taking over his features like he had never his life bothered to brush it back. Still, the Guardian could tell the man had tired dark eyes that avoided his stare at all costs.

“Tell you what, you seem pretty strong,” Sausage concluded, nodding to himself. “I think you should join Vilde by the train tracks over there, if you can.”

Next to the tunnel that once led to the east side of Tumble Town, an elf chipped away at the boulders that blocked it. She was a tall and burly woman who Sausage knew to be quite amicable. It seemed like a good match to him.

He gave the man an encouraging pat on the back, which was returned in the form of a relieved smile. Rolling his shoulders and taking one of the pickaxes inside their equipment box, the stranger — Sausage realised a few seconds too late that he forgot to ask for a name, dang it! — walked away. He promptly received a warm greeting upon reaching the train tracks, which the Guardian was pretty satisfied to see.

After making sure everyone was well taken care of, Sausage set off to get his own work done. He did not spare a single thought to how often the dark gaze behind blond locks drifted his way.

-

They met again when the sun over the mesa got too hot for them to work. Tumble Town’s saloon was bustling with all the helpers that had come inside to escape the heat and rest for a while. Sausage, for one, had no trouble weaving his way across the crowd and towards the duo sitting by the bar.

Vilde, the sturdy elf, managed to pull some conversation out of the man she had been put to work with. His name was Terrence, she told; he came from a small ranch in a very far away land he refused to speak about, but which he referred to with some fondness.

“Aww, have you met Larisa yet?” Sausage interjected. “Xe’s Sanctuary’s best shepherd, I’m sure xe would love a helping hand with the animals!”

“Maybe,” Terrence replied, softspoken. His hair, no doubt an inconvenience, had since been braided back, but few strands still found a way to fall over his eyes. His face was littered with little scars. “I ain’t got much experience with sheep, but if Larisa needs help with cows, I’m pretty much a magnet for them.”

“I guess that makes you a cowboy,” Vilde chirped, a proud glint in her eyes as her new friend sighed with lighthearted disapproval.

The minutes ticked by, and as it often happens to him, Sausage wasn’t sure how they got to the topic they got. He had just finished a long-winded story about his and Joel’s complicated relationship — not sparing details about the other people with whom he had all sorts of “complicated relationships” — when he finally decided to take a breather. Much to his mildly horrified audience’s relief.

Almost as if on cue, a familiar flutter of wings made itself heard outside. The Guardian of Sanctuary turned around to find a certain teenager standing timidly by the entranceway. The brightest of grins immediately illuminated his face.

“Hermes, my boy!” He shouted, waving frenetically as if from across a field. “I’m right here, come on over!”

Anyone with even the slightest observational skills could tell that the last thing the boy wanted was to be perceived by the saloon full of people. They shrunk into themself as if hoping they could disappear if they just didn’t move. But they couldn’t really do much when both of their fathers were some of the most flamboyant people in all of the empires. Sausage remained regrettably unaware of it.

Vilde and Terrence watched with distinct forms of interest as Hermes won over his hesitation and approached his father, who promptly gave him a loving kiss on the cheek as a greeting.  He was still little for a demigod, and his soft appearance would have you think him no older than an early pre-teen.

“Oh, do you remember Vilde, Hermes?” Sausage questioned. “And this here is Terrence! He moved to Sanctuary a few weeks ago, isn’t that nice?”

The elf had met Sausage’s child a handful of times over the years she had lived in Sanctuary. Still not enough for them to return her smile with quite the same enthusiasm as her.

Terrence, on his part, tilted his head with thinly veiled curiosity. It was as if the boy had kickstarted a furious thought process that made for a very amused conclusion.

“So you’re that Hermes I’ve heard so much about.” Tipping an imaginary hat, he smiled at the teen. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

They nodded in what was almost a greeting. The two of them stared at each other for maybe a moment too long before Hermes was no longer able to hold eye contact.

“What are you doing here?” Sausage asked, oblivious.

Hermes vacillated, opening and closing their mouth a couple of times. In the end, they opted to speak with their hands.

“Dad left me in Sanctuary early. I couldn’t find you.”

“Oh? Oh god, I’m so sorry! You must have been waiting so long— I told Joel I was busy today!” Sausage voiced his frustration dramatically. He sighed, then eyed his child with concern. “Does Thunder Daddy know you left Sanctuary? Did you come here all on your own?”

The boy made a face.

“I’m not five anymore.”

“Aw, you’ll always be my baby boy, even if you’re a hundred years old!”

The Guardian captured his son in a tight embrace, earning a squawk from them. Vilde laughed into her glass of water, trying not to embarrass them further, while Terrence observed the scene with a mix of fondness, amusement and something a little deeper, but undecipherable.

-

In the end, Sausage left earlier than intended, only taking his time to report back to the Sheriff and make sure everyone who came with him was still well. The others stayed for an hour or two more before most of them started heading back to Sanctuary. Terrence, on the other hand, seemed hesitant to leave.

“I was thinking... maybe I should stay here for the night,” he said, a little sheepish. He and the extroverted elf who had so promptly adopted him as a friend stood outside, where a few people still mingled about after a day’s work. “I would really rather avoid having to take the tram back and forth everyday...”

“Oh, tell me about it.” The Sheriff chimed in. He sat on a chair at the front porch of the saloon, leaning back against the wall. “Those damn rails give me motion sickness for days. Why don’t people just walk places anymore?”

“We can go walking if you want to,” Vilde offered.

“I dunno. I don’t think we’d get there before dark.” He placed his hands on his hips and looked up at the sky, musing. “I don’t wanna keep you out too late. I mean,” the man eyed Vilde with an awkward smile. “You could probably crush a zombie’s head with your bare hands, no offence, but I’d still feel bad.”

The elf opened her mouth to protest, only to get  interrupted by the Sheriff.

“Pretty sure there’s room in the inn, if you want.” He knocked on the window behind him. “I know those people from Stratos are staying over. Considering you’re helping us fix the town and all that, I think the innkeep will be more than happy to have ya.”

Terrence let out a sigh of relief. He smiled gratefully, not quite meeting the Sheriff’s eyes.

“You’re sure you’re staying?” Vilde asked. He nodded. “Well... I’ll warn Sausage about it, then.” She gave him a firm pat on the shoulder and a grin. “Be seeing you tomorrow, Terry!”

The Sheriff watched him wave off the elf as she skipped away. When it was just the two of them left, they stood there, occasionally exchanging some idle conversation. The old man found that Terrence was quite the pleasant company, albeit a generally timid one, with an easy laughter and a witty mind. The man’s competent rancher stories were enough to keep him amused until the sun came down, by which time they decided to enter the saloon-inn.

He didn’t drink, though. After Terrence bid him good night and disappeared upstairs, the Sheriff kept an eye out for any signs of trouble outside. He hadn’t felt so restless in years, and it rubbed him in all sorts of wrong ways.

Little did he know that, later that evening, the timid blond man with streaks of grey hair and face littered with little scars would manage to sneak his way into the Mezalean house on the other side of the hills. The place, albeit more or less intact, had no signs of living other than a few recent footprints of red sand and some disturbed dust on the shelves. The Sheriff, for one, never bothered checking it out, which made it perfect for hiding things.

Terrence opened a chest to find a set of clothes he unceremoniously changed into. They smelled like gunpowder, and he — Jimmy, he reminded himself at the sight of the heart-shaped scar on his chest. His name is Jimmy — couldn’t possibly feel more comfortable in them.

As he stepped into the small hidden cave next to the building, he couldn’t help but stare at his own reflection on a near-dry puddle under the moonlight. A faint red tint in his otherwise dark eyes stared back at him. It was a wonder that no one seemed to pay attention to it all day long. Not that he was complaining: it felt like waltzing around memories that couldn’t quite look him in the eye anymore. It’s an empowering feeling, despite the rather pathetic persona he had chosen to play in front of them.

Inside of a hole in the wall of the cavern, concealed behind an inconspicuous stone block, a lantern of bright, pulsating red light called to him. He held it like a long lost friend.

They had business to attend to.

[tev-the-random]

I have way too many thoughts about the Red Light Bandit AU but not nearly enough brain power to put them all into a fully fledged fanfic, please ask me things about my silly little AU please please please please-

[tev-the-random]

i would like to know more abt your au

Why, I'm glad you asked!

I've written a big summary of the story here, and a sketch of the original idea that resulted in this entire trainwreck here.

Since this is more of a vague ask, I'll take it as a free pass to pick anything from the AU box

So Hermes-

We all know Jimmy has always openly disliked that child. Not because Hermes did anything to him, – heck, I'm not sure they've ever even spoken to him! – but because of their parents. Namely Joel, by using his son as an excuse to keep selling those Sheriff dolls and brag and humiliate Jimmy. Not that Sausage is exempt from that either.

Bottom line is: Jimmy does not care for Hermes. But he knows just how much they mean to their fathers – and how much everybody likes them, really. So isn't this anxious but animated teenager the perfect opportunity to get several birds with one stone? Isn't gaining their trust the perfect move to get closer to his enemies?

But as a demigod, Hermes is very aware that there's something wrong with this guy. They will not learn of his true identity and intentions until way later in the story – for angst reasons :)