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Fear cripples him. It has always crippled the weak hearts of humans.
He finds this feeling most in his dreams, where his dreamscape creates worlds that fill him with terror. At times, Jimmy does not sleep, and others, he does to seek out the hands that loved to thread themselves into his hair and braid careful flowers along with. And then he wakes from the nightmares in a flush, panting from exertion, from the ache in his throat.
Flowers bloomed endlessly in those dreams, when fear became something he ignored for just a moment. They bloomed along the path that the other with sweet hands had carved, they sprouted even outside the wall. The flowers, he would never seen them when his eyes opened, even if he was lucky to find the bundles in little gifts that the overgrown would send, he would never find them in his own empire.
Nothing but orchids grew in the swamp, where his feet would sink into the mud at a wrong step, where nothing else grew but vines and blue orchid flowers Jimmy distantly wished were red.
Despite the warmth the flower biome of his dreams could provide him, he found himself fearing the feeling of death that it brought along with. When his feet were licked by lava, skin torn apart by searing gunpowder, and throat snarled by one last arrow. He didn't want to face that, so he stayed awake.
He stayed awake.
Awake.
Always awake, hiding from what was and what could've been.
For he had an empire to run.
Even so, his empire prospered with his rein. The people kissed his hands and smiled. They were still weak, no matter how much he could do to help them, the Cod Empire would be nothing like it's neighbors or allies. Even so, he dreamed while his eyes were open.
Jimmy dreamed during the day of the hand that reached down for him while his pickaxe chipped away in a cave. He remembered the ache in his cheeks when he laughed, and laughed, and laughed at something he could no longer hear.
He remembered the names in the sky when he noticed his disc was missing. He wondered if he had even seen his own name in that sky, wondered if he died while awake, would that happen again?
It didn't. It never did. Even when the cod head was torn from in after death, when Mythland, the Grimlands, and the Crystal Cliffs tore a gash into the land and called it peace. Jimmy spat in their faces, just like he had when the red army had showed up at his door when he dreamt.
Jimmy knew evil ate away at him in those dreams, after his skin was seared, when red danced around the top of his head. His skin felt like it would fall apart at the slightest touch, but it never did. Not even when the man with teal blue hair cupped his cheeks and kissed him. Even when the sand turned the air thick and that arrow struck his throat. Not even then did he crumble into ash.
So he feared what sleep would give him. Even when the dragon was slayed and the King of Mythland thanked him. He dared to thank Jimmy when guilt ate away at him.
His dreams never gave the other a name. Not when he was kissed or held, even when the name could've slipped past Jimmy's own mouth, nothing came. Then, one day, snooping around in the lands of his sword enemy he found two rulers chained in cells. The cellar stank, it made Jimmy rub his nose. It was metallic, horrid stink that Jimmy pushed through as his name was called helplessly.
He met eyes with the Wizard GeminiTay of the Crystal Cliffs and King Scott of Rivendell. Scott repeated his name and smiled, wistfully, as he reached out for the Codfather. And he freed them. Took Scott's hand as he thanked him, patted Gem on the back and sent them back home. Their injuries healed quickly by Gem's wizard magic.
And soon, he received an invitation.
It came along with flowers that made Jimmy swoon. His heart fluttered, and he did not know why. Familiarity danced in his chest as he arrived in the foreign lands. He received strange looks from the people, the elves whispered as he jogged up the rocks to meet the King. Scott was wringing his hands together, feet shuffling as he turned to look at Jimmy. Scott smiled and Jimmy grinned. Scott took his hand, and led him into the mountains.
It all felt so familiar. Scott- he felt like home. When Scott slotted their hands together, Jimmy had never felt so calm, never so stable. Scott made him happy. And he didn't know why.
Oh how he wanted to when Scott pressed a cool kiss to his cheek.
Jimmy wanted more. He never wanted Scott to stop kissing him.
But Scott backed away, eyes full of some distant knowledge that Jimmy could not understand. He muttered "Sorry" before flying away, his great snowy winds flapping in the sky, taking him from the deepest parts of the mountains and back home.
All Jimmy wanted to know was why.
He wallowed in his own pity as his relations with the Grimlands deteriorated and relations with Mythland flourished. It had come as a surprise when King Sausage apologized, hands cupping Jimmy's as he asked for an alliance. And so he gave the King of Mythland what he wanted, and King Sausage thanked him with a kiss.
His pity turned into guilt.
Sausage had pulled away like he had been shocked with himself, he flushed red, said it was only platonic, and:
Don't tell Scott.
I wont tell.
Thanks, Jimmy. Thank the blood sheep.
Bye, Sausage.
Bye, Jimmy!
He skipped away, and Jimmy didn't tell Scott.
Not even when the bridge between their Empires, over the ravine, was built.
Jimmy did not tell, he could not tell.
Not when the feeling of Sausage's lips still burned his own, when the feeling lasted longer than the ones he had earned on his cheek from the elf in the mountains.
Guilt turned into fear.
Fear that could only resemble the feeling he had in his dreams, when he died, when the ache in his throat followed him when he woke. Now, the ghosting feeling of a kiss follow him into those dreams, blue hair turning brown, and laugh becoming someone else’s. Fingers no longer dragged through his hair but instead curled into his palm and tugged him close. Blue replaced with the distant, fleeting evil that festered in the heart of the King of Mythland.
It scared Jimmy. Terrified him. So he didn’t sleep. He fled from the dreams once again, and the King noticed. He comforted and helped Jimmy. Gave him his collection of taxidermic heads and Jimmy promised him a kiss. He flushed and fled.
He didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t.
Guilt and fear ate away at him. He forced himself to forget the King of Mythland. And continued to take the hand that was offered out to him, Scott’s.
Scott pressed kisses to his hair, cupped his cheeks, and threaded his fingers to scratch at his scalp.
Jimmy sometimes yearned for the King of Mythland. But he knew his place was with the King of Rivendell. The chosen champion of Aeor.
Scott would sleep and Jimmy wouldn’t, he’d lay there and think. He loved too much, Jimmy decided for himself, he loved the men in his dreams, the elf, and the human king. He sighed and let the heat of the fire place crackle and coax him into a daze that let him remember.
He did not dream, it was like a vision, like he was remembering something that was always at the tip of his tongue. The wide, vast, sandy lands of his allies, a place that reminded Jimmy of Pixandria, was drenched in blood and gunpowder, the sands littered with craters and a ravine that had failed to protect the ones inside the bunker.
His own name flashed across the sky, and a bell rang.
Player SolidartiyGaming has been eliminated.
And so Jimmy forgot reality for a moment to bathe in the sleepy kisses the King of Rivendell blessed him with.
And for now, he would be satisfied.