happiestjameshook

[happiestjameshook]

Tormented by you | @xaspiringbeamoflightx

The nightmare, a relentless loop of agony, was a constant companion to James's sleep. In his mind, Tina was always dying, an image that seared itself behind his eyelids. He saw her fading away, and with the vision came a wave of crushing guilt. He hadn't been close to her, not in the intimate way a husband should be. He felt he had failed her in every way—as a husband, a protector, a friend. The guilt was a heavy cloak, suffocating him with the weight of almost losing her for a reason that remained a maddening mystery.

Every time he tried to grasp the cause, a thick, black fog would descend, obscuring his thoughts. It was as if a dense mist had rolled in, leaving only a fading light and the faint, melancholic ringing of bells. He'd hear the frantic ticking of a clock, a countdown to some unknown calamity, followed by an absolute, terrifying silence. The darkness would rush in, and Tina would be gone.

Like every other morning, he awoke with a sharp jolt, his heart hammering against his ribs. His usual routine was to flee the terror, to pound the pavement until the exhaustion drowned out the echoes of the dream. He'd always check on Tina first, a silent vigil to ensure she was still breathing in the master bedroom they no longer shared. The first time he had reached for her after a nightmare, his touch had startled her awake, and the fear in her eyes had been a new kind of pain. He couldn't bear to risk that again.

But this morning was different. He was too shaken to run away, too paralyzed by the horror of the dream to outpace it. Instead, he found himself drawn toward her, to the one place he had been avoiding. He crept into the master bedroom, the floorboards groaning under his hesitant steps.

He watched her for a moment, bathed in the soft, gray light of dawn. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhythm. Her hair, a beautiful chaos of loose strands, was splayed across the pillow, a gorgeous mess that would later be tamed into her signature messy bun. He moved closer, the distance between them shrinking with each quiet footstep, until he was just an inch away.

A selfish need, a desperate craving for a connection he had long denied himself, overwhelmed him. With a trembling hand, he reached out, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he leaned in. He gently placed a kiss on her lips, a silent plea that she wouldn't stir, wouldn't wake up and see the fear and regret etched on his face.

"I love you, Tina," he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

[happiestjameshook]

A sharp, throbbing ache in his temple was the first thing he registered. The second was the softness of her legs. James’s eyes fluttered open to Tina hovering above him. A disoriented groan escaped his lips. How did he get on the floor? The last thing he remembered was the hiss of the coffee maker, the weight of the world on his shoulders...screaming....fear...

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, then another stroking his hair back from his forehead. He pushed himself up slowly, his arms shaking with the effort, the room tilting precariously. He was sitting on the floor of their kitchen, the morning light now streaming in, making him squint. Tina was kneeling in front of him, her face pale, her eyes wide and swimming with unshed tears.

He looked at her, at the raw fear in her expression, and a fresh wave of self-loathing washed over him. He was the cause of that fear. He was the monster in her house, the danger she couldn't see. The carefully constructed walls he'd been hiding behind crumbled into dust.

"I am not the man you fell in love with," he began, the words coming out in a raw, broken rasp. He didn't have the strength to stand, to create distance. He could only sit there, exposed and weak on the cold tile. "I am not the man you once adored."

He saw the confusion in her eyes, the way she tried to process his words while still trying to assess if he was physically hurt.

"No," he insisted before she could speak, his voice gaining a desperate edge. "Listen to me. Please. I am not your kind and gentle husband. And I am not the love you knew before."

He swallowed, his hand lifting from the floor, shaking with a tremor he couldn't control. He reached for her, his touch tentative, his fingertips brushing the arm of her robe. It was the first time he'd initiated contact in weeks, and the simple act sent a fresh spike of fear through him—fear of what he was, what he'd done in that other life.

"Would you fall in love with me again?" he asked, his gaze pleading. "If you knew all I've done? The things I cannot change. Would you love me all the same?"

The reality of their past lives felt more tangible than ever, here on the floor where his body had betrayed him. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to leave," he choked out, the confession spilling from him, unstoppable now. "I'm not a good person, Tina. In that dream... I traded friends like objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands."

His voice trembled, his grip on her arm the only anchor he had. "I was selfish. Cruel. The things I can't undo... they're part of me. That man is part of me." He finally met her gaze, letting her see the full, unvarnished agony in his soul. "I am not the man you knew. I know that you've been waiting... waiting for me to come back to you. But what if I can't? I know you've been waiting... for love." and then he bridged the distance, kissing her lips softly - before pulling back. Looking at her as the broken man he was.

James started awake. Tina flinched. Still, she did not waver. She believed, truly, that if she stuck here despite potential protest, that James would pull through, and come back to his usual gentle calm once more. They had stuck through it before, and they would do it again. Over and over if they had to.

"I am..." It may not have been a wise choice, but it felt like a necessary one; Tina took the hand that was gently running across James' chest still, despite his jolt, and took one of his hands once he moved them away from his face again. She entwined their fingers. Her thumb caressed the curve of his thumb and finger, kneading out the tension, promising not to let go if her life depended on it. "I'm as safe as you are."

In the back of her mind, knew, really, what this was.

That poison had been shared by the both of them.

Dreams, confusion. Overwhelming fear and all consuming joy.

A darkness she wished never to return to.

Tina could scarcely comprehend what was happening in her own mind, let alone James'. All she could tell was that it was tearing him apart. His eyes were red, his skin hot, clammy.

"It's just us, James. Nothing can hurt us here." It was a plea. A quiet hope, or perhaps a stubborn demand. She decidedly ignored all feelings on the contrary.

As James' worry finally surfaced, chocked out and desperate, Tina sighed. The only conclusion she could draw, in the present, in this reality, was that the past four weeks had caught up to him. Never could she fathom that the thoughts swimming just between her ears, that felt as vivid as if they had happened yesterday, that felt so very, very real, had anything to do with the same images assaulting James. That they were connected in more than just marriage. That their memory would be forever tainted by a place and a time long gone from their present state.

Now, as everyone knew by now, difficult conversations rarely began with sincerity on Tina's part. Not always intentionally, but because her mouth often worked faster than her brain. It was not a good time to try and make light of anything, and yet--

"You don't think I'm going to run away, do you?" she tried to joke. Tina squeezed his hand, and showed the other, her ring glinting in the fluorescents of the kitchen. "Did you forget I'm here forever?"

Once that was out of the way, sincerity was allowed to surface again.

"You aren't going to lose me, I promise. Cross my heart."

[happiestjameshook]

[ 19. ] sender brings hot tea and medication to a [ hungover / ill ] receiver.

James's eyes, usually alight with a sharp, intelligent spark, were dull and heavy-lidded, betraying a profound exhaustion that sleep, even a longer stretch than Tina had managed, seemed utterly incapable of dispelling. A leaden weariness clung to him, seeping into his bones and blurring the edges of his vision. When his gaze finally landed on Rachel, a familiar, comforting presence in the periphery of his shattered world, he attempted to conjure a smile, a mere ghost of his usual charming grin. But the effort was too great, the muscles in his face refusing to cooperate, and his eyelids, weighted by an invisible burden, simply drifted shut. He was so, so tired.

The fatigue wasn't merely physical, though his body ached with a deep, persistent ache that no amount of rest could assuage. It was a mental exhaustion, a profound weariness of the soul that had left him utterly, irrevocably broken. The vibrant, ambitious man he once was had been chipped away, piece by agonizing piece, by an unseen assailant. He felt hollowed out, a mere shell of his former self, adrift in a sea of despair.

Whispers followed them everywhere, a constant, insidious hum that pricked at his already frayed nerves. People, with their insatiable appetite for drama and their cruel, casual judgments, were already dissecting their relationship, turning their private pain into public spectacle. Some, the truly ignorant and heartless, were even placing bets, speculating with detached amusement on the precise moment the divorce papers would be filed. The sheer audacity of their presumption, the callous disregard for the agony he was enduring, ignited a slow, simmering anger deep within him.

A fierce, possessive rage bubbled beneath the surface, a primal instinct that recoiled at the very thought of her leaving him. How dare they assume she would ever be free of him? How dare they suggest such a betrayal? And yet, the bitter irony of his situation was a cruel twist of the knife: he couldn't touch her, not truly. He couldn't offer her the comfort, the affection, the proper love she deserved. A chasm had opened between them, not of distance, but of his own making. He didn't deserve to touch her, didn't deserve her love, not when he was so tainted, so utterly unworthy. The thought was a constant, gnawing torment, a self-inflicted wound that bled endlessly.

He opened his eyes again, forcing them to focus on Rachel, her face a blur of concern. The words, when they finally emerged, were barely a whisper, raw and vulnerable, stripped bare of all pretense. "Rachel," he began, his voice raspy with unspoken pain, "do you think I'm a bad person?"

[happiestjameshook]

James woke with a violent jolt, a primal scream caught in his throat, replaced by a ragged gasp that tore through the stillness of the room. Tina’s voice, chillingly clear despite the veil of sleep, echoed in his ears, a phantom whisper that pierced the fragile calm of the pre-dawn hour. "But you aren't safe—" The words, deceptively soft, struck him like a physical blow. His hands, trembling uncontrollably, flew to cover his face, pressing hard against his eyes as if to push back the encroaching darkness, the horrifying truth they carried. A low, wretched whimper escaped him, a sound of profound helplessness and despair, as the full weight of her unspoken accusation settled in his chest. He felt utterly disheartened, his spirit crushed by the undeniable, terrible reality.

Ever since the agonizing days spent tethered to the hospital's sterile hum, since they had finally, miraculously, gottenhome, the world had warped into a sinister landscape. Every mundane object, every innocent sound, every passing shadow seemed imbued with a malevolent intent. The familiar scent of their house, once a sanctuary, now carried the faint, metallic tang of fear. The gentle creak of the floorboards became the stealthy approach of an unseen assailant; the rustle of leaves outside their window, the whispering prelude to disaster. He couldn’t help but see danger in everything, an invisible web of threats tightening around the one person he cherished most.

He had killed her before. The thought wasn't a fleeting nightmare, but a deeply ingrained, visceral memory that felt as real, if not more so, than the touch of his own skin. It was a terrifying, unshakable conviction born from a life that felt impossibly different from this one—a life where he had been the architect of her demise, where his actions, however unintentional, had led to her ultimate loss. Or perhaps, the chilling possibility whispered, this wasn't the real reality at all. What if the world where she had died, the one teeming with the raw, brutal truth of his failure, was the true existence, and this life, this fragile peace, merely a cruel, elaborate dream? The lines between what was, what had been, and what could be, blurred into an terrifying, indistinguishable haze.

His heart pounded a frantic rhythm against his ribs, a drumbeat of confusion and existential dread. The dream had been a maelstrom of distorted images, fragmented conversations, and the crushing weight of impending doom. Yet, amidst the chaos, one agonizing certainty shone with horrifying clarity: he had hurt his Tina. He had almost lost her. The guilt, a corrosive acid, ate away at his insides, twisting his stomach into knots. He could still feel the cold dread of that 'other' reality, the unbearable emptiness of a life without her. It was a sensation so potent, so immediate, that it bled into his current waking moments, painting his beloved Tina with the same terrifying vulnerability.

He dragged his hands away from his face, his eyes, wide and bloodshot, scanning the dim contours of their bedroom, searching for some anchor in this shifting reality. He found it in the soft, even rise and fall of Tina's chest beside him, the gentle sigh that escaped her lips in sleep. He reached out, his hand hovering inches from her, desperate to touch her, to confirm her presence, yet terrified that his touch might somehow contaminate her, bring the danger he embodied closer.

"I don't want to lose you, Tina," he finally choked out, the words raw and guttural, tearing from the depths of his soul. His voice was thick with unshed tears, a desperate plea against the encroaching madness, a fragile shield against the terrifying visions that haunted him. "I love you. I can't… I won't lose you." The declaration hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his fear, his guilt, and an unwavering, desperate love that was both his salvation and his torment.

In typical Tina fashion, she was about to do exactly what James had explicitly asked her not to. Apparently his first cry was not enough to deter her. A natural glare, mixed with her already confused expression. She took one step over the threshold of the door.

James' voice tore through the space, hitting her like a train careening toward a passenger car on the tracks.

James had been panicked before. He had been angry at her plenty of times. This was nothing like those times, where she felt she had justifiably pissed him off.

Tina retreated briefly.

A vision of a man, towering and red-faced, flashed across the back of her eyes. A vision of James. Elsewhere.

She cursed her own cowardice from behind the door frame. She wanted nothing more than to take a hold of him, to ground him. It had worked before. Now she wasn't so sure. Tina made a point to banish that vision from her mind.

James teetered dangerously. The colour had drained from his face, his lips as blue as his eyes.

How many more times would she have to see this?

Lucidity drained from him, and Tina was moving in as he was slumping down. Now, his cry, his plea did not matter.

Tina was by his side in 3 long strides, on her knees. There was no hesitation, or fear, when she took his head into her lap, checking for any sign of injury. One hand cradled his face, wiping stray tears, the other on his chest. How had his ribs not burst wide open with the thrumming of his heart.

"Fuck..." she muttered, only to start her own breathing again. Her hands moved gently across his chest, willing his heart to calm down. Praying he would. "James..." Her phone was upstairs. She couldn't leave him on the floor like this. "James, baby, can you hear me?" The thought of another hospital visit was unbearable. "It's okay, I promise." Then her own tears threatened to surface. "You're safe. It's okay."

Now, Tina remembered that the last time this happened, she had been savvy enough to find something to help. It had been in her panic, yes, but it did something nonetheless. She needed some water, and maybe some ice. The trouble was, she was on the floor and frankly terrified to let James go.

[happiestjameshook]

James stumbled out of the living room, a desperate, retching cough tearing through him as he lurched towards the kitchen sink. His stomach, a raw and tortured knot, emptied its meager contents with a violent lurch, but the physical agony was a mere whisper compared to the deafening roar in his mind. "Oh God," he gasped, hands clutching the cold porcelain, "I can't breathe." The air, thick and suffocating, seemed to press in on him from all sides, each shallow inhalation a burning torment. His vision swam, a kaleidoscope of distorted shapes and menacing shadows.

And then, as if conjured by his deepest fears, she was there. The subject of his burgeoning panic, a phantom made flesh, stood silently in the doorway. Her presence, a silent accusation, was a catalyst, igniting the inferno of his terror into a blazing conflagration. A guttural sound tore from his throat, a primal, unthinking shriek designed to obliterate her, to banish her from his sight, from his very existence.

It wasn't a cry, not a wail of sorrow, but a raw, animalistic roar that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the house. "Don't come near me!" The words were ripped from his chest, propelled by an unseen force, a frantic plea from a mind besieged. "Don't fucking think of touching me! Go away!" His own voice, distorted and hoarse, echoed in the confined space, a cruel mockery of his internal struggle. No, no, no! This is not what I want! This is not right! This is the opposite of what I want! Each word was a betrayal, each scream a further tearing of his fragile sanity.

James was not a man given to tears. He was stoic, resilient, a fortress against emotional upheaval. Yet, at that moment, the dam broke. A torrent of hot tears, unbidden and unstoppable, spilled from his eyes, tracing hot paths down his ashen cheeks. And then, as if his internal world had fractured into a thousand pieces, colors erupted behind his eyelids – blinding whites, pulsating reds, swirling blues – a violent, beautiful chaos. He realized, with a jolt that threatened to shatter his very being, that he hadn't truly breathed since that first strangled scream. The oxygen debt was immense, the world tilting precariously. The very act of screaming had stolen his breath, leaving him gasping in a vacuum. The colors intensified, a dizzying, overwhelming spectacle, until finally, mercifully, everything went black. The silence that followed was absolute, a profound void that swallowed him whole. And then he slumped, falling with a tud to the floor.

The silence that fell after Tina's question might have gone noticed sooner had Tina not been so sleepy. She pushed her hair out of her face, blinking in the dim light of the living room. Waking up from a long nap was confusing at the best of times. Maybe she hadn't asked out loud.

She looked up at James as things became clearer.

And suddenly too clear.

He was trembling, a ghost-white sheet shuddering in the wind.

Tina had seen that look before. Not often, but enough. A tender night ruined by too many questions, a gaping wound, and shards of mirror clogging a bathroom sink. Moments of pain that didn't bear repeating, but returned in overwhelmingly remembered feelings.

James was panicking.

In her bleary state, Tina could not fathom why. Perhaps something had happened while she was asleep.

Her heart swelled with worry. Tina rubbed her eyes, ignoring the head rush from standing up too quickly after a long nap. It shouldn't have been any surprise that she followed him into the kitchen. Overpowering love and concern beat out any of those frightening thoughts that had visited her in her dreams.

Tina stopped just shy of James, lingering under the doorway. She remained quiet for a moment, assessing, looking him over, checking for...

Danger.

Instincts were clearly doing all the talking here. Tina couldn't make sense of the feeling. Her hands became clammy, the hair on her neck standing on end.

"James..." she whispered, finally.

"Are you okay?"

[happiestjameshook]

James looked as if Tina had burned him on contact, not with fire, but with an invisible, searing shockwave that radiated from their brief, innocent touch. His eyes, normally a calm, steady blue, went wide, blown open as if he'd witnessed something horrific. A frantic drum solo erupted in his chest, his heart not just racing but thrashing against his ribs, each beat a painful, disorienting thud that stole his breath. For a agonizing second, he forgot the fundamental mechanics of being a normal human being – the automatic, life-sustaining need for air. His lungs felt suddenly, terrifyingly empty, unable to draw in the oxygen they craved.

It had been such a simple, well-intentioned gesture. Just draping a soft blanket over her, a gesture of comfort. How incredibly, catastrophically stupid of him. The blanket, meant to shield and warm, suddenly felt like a weapon in his clumsy hands. He could have hurt her, an image flashing through his mind of her fragile frame jostled, bruised, or worse – the suffocating weight of the fabric, accidentally smothering her, stealing her breath as his own was now being stolen.

His thoughts, already fractured, began to splinter further, each shard a sharp, agonizing accusation. Careless. Dangerous. Useless. The simple act replayed in a horrific slow-motion loop in his mind, every detail amplified, every potential consequence exploding into a nightmare scenario. The warmth of her skin, the soft brush of her hair against his hand – all became sources of intense, nauseating dread. The room, moments ago a haven of quiet warmth, now pressed in on him, the air thick and heavy, each breath a conscious, monumental effort. The walls seemed to tilt, the familiar furniture blurring at the edges of his vision. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead, trickling down his temples, even as an inferno raged within his chest. The ground beneath his feet felt unstable, threatening to give way. His vision narrowed to a tunnel, the only sound the deafening roar of his own blood in his ears, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the escalating chaos within him. Before he even fully registered the terrifying shift, he was no longer merely panicking; he was in the suffocating grip of a full-blown panic attack, the world shrinking to the confines of his own terror.

"Sleep," he gasped, the word ripped from his raw throat, barely a whisper of an order directed at her, a desperate plea to remove her from the orbit of his sudden, self-inflicted danger. Without another thought, without even waiting for a response, he bolted, a desperate, graceless flight from the living room, crashing through the doorway and into the stark, fluorescent calm of the kitchen, seeking any escape from the suffocating presence of his own fear.

[ 24. ] sender drapes a blanket over receiver, accidentally waking them. "sorry, go back to sleep." - James

Being on an emotional roller coaster 24/7 was exhausting. So were countless sleepless nights. It shouldn't have been any surprise when Tina finally fell asleep, curled up in a tiny ball on the sofa. It became one of those heavy sort of sleeps, where dreams were weird and time was slow.

Amidst her dream, there was a sudden warmth, comforting enough to contrast her dream and cause her to stir. Familiar hands had fixed it to her, hands she longed for.

Tina sat up, brow knit together in an attempt to make sense of her surroundings. Her nose was flushed, her hair a riot. She quite clearly ignored James' ask. "What time is it?"

@happiestjameshook

[happiestjameshook]

Send ⌂ ( or house ) to describe my muse’s home/room ( in words or images )

[happiestjameshook]

Send ⌂ ( or house ) to describe my muse’s home/room ( in words or images )

[happiestjameshook]

@xaspiringbeamoflightx

[happiestjameshook]

"Hey…."

The word, soft yet clear, was a lifeline thrown into his sea of lingering terror. It was Tina. Her voice. It was the very first sound she had allowed him to hear, a melody of mundane normalcy after he had woken from a nightmare that still seemed to cling to his consciousness like a shroud. In those terrifying dreams, her light had seemed to fade, lessen, to stop completely, leaving him adrift in a chilling, starless void. To hear her voice now, after witnessing her spectral disappearance in his mind, felt utterly impossible, a miracle he hadn't dared to hope for.

He remained silent for a moment, suspended between the chilling echoes of the nightmare and the astonishing reality before him. His eyes, wide and still clouded with the remnants of fear, peered at her, trying to reconcile the vibrant woman in front of him with the fading phantom of his dream. And then, slowly, a gentle smile began to spread across his lips, tentative at first, then blooming with a relief so profound it threatened to overwhelm him. The reality, sweet and undeniable, finally sank in: she was alive, he was alive, and she had said 'hey' to him, a simple, ordinary greeting that felt like the most precious words he had ever heard.

It took him a moment, longer than it should have, to remember that the rules of conversation still applied, that he had to respond. His mind, still processing the sheer magnitude of her presence, scrambled for the right words. He settled on something simple, heartfelt, and deeply true: "Hi, love."

With a weak, unsteady push, he levered himself upright against the pillows, the effort a dull ache in his still-recovering body. He needed to see her properly, to confirm with his own eyes that she was truly there, tangible and real. His gaze swept over her, noting the pale complexion, the slight tilt of her head. The smile remained on his lips, but his brow furrowed with concern as he added, his voice still a little raspy, "Are you alright?" The question was loaded with everything he couldn't yet articulate – the terror he'd just faced, the desperate need for her to be whole and unharmed, the silent promise he'd made in the darkness.

Starter for @happiestjameshook

24 hours had never felt so long.

Or so lonely.

Tina had had visitors but when they had to leave it truly hit. There was nothing like sitting in a room while someone else slept. There was nothing like sitting in a room with someone you desperately wanted to talk to and couldn't.

At some point the weight of it came over her and she fell asleep unwillingly. It had been a real heavy, dreamless sleep, for which Tina was thankful, but cold, hard reality hit just as terribly when she woke up in the sterile, bright room, alone in silence but not in company.

James hadn't woken up yet. She had checked on him multiple times through the first day and through the night. She was growing rather impatient, sick with worry, and fighting horrible vision every time she looked at his sleeping face.

Tina had spoken to him a few times, of course, but it didn't work. Not like last time. The nurses eventually had to pull her away and threaten more sedation before she could return to her bed. She wasn't well enough herself to be upright.

It had long passed a reasonable hour when Tina finally curled up as small as a bundle of twigs. The nurses promised they would wake her if anything changed, and gave her the rings she had been asking for incessantly.

Beeping, once more, broke through, and voices and suddenly Tina was wide awake, sitting upright.

He was waking up!! James was waking up! Again, strange visions poked the back of her eyes but who cared?!?! Whatever feeling this was, right now, was all consuming.

Tina sat small on the edge of the too-big bed, clutching her hands and waiting. The nurses spoke to him, gave him assurances and all Tina could do was fight the urge to barge right through and do it all herself.

Then… he looked at her. Tina was frozen in place.

Frozen there until the nurses felt it was finally time to leave. It was such a long time. She barely blinked. Her heart thrummed. Even then, when they left, to take notes or call a doctor or whatever they were doing, she seemed stuck there.

Apprehensive or afraid or maybe dreaming still.

Finally, of all things, it was her mouth that went first, quiet and horse and timid.

"Hey…"

[happiestjameshook]

waking up | James pov

tw for coma, tw for dying, tw for panic attacks

Darkness. Not merely the absence of light, but an ever-present, crushing darkness, a tangible weight that pressed in from every conceivable angle, suffocating and absolute. It was a void so profound, so utterly devoid of hope, that it felt like a sky forever without stars, a cosmic emptiness that swallowed all sound, all warmth, all possibility. Within this suffocating abyss, the smell of the ocean began to seep into his awareness, a potent, briny tang that usually evoked memories of sun-drenched beaches and invigorating sea air. But here, in this oppressive black, it was tainted, heavy with an unsettling dampness, a cold, metallic hint of something ancient and lost.

Then, a miracle, or perhaps a cruel taunt: a flickering light, a tiny, defiant spark in the vast, inky expanse. It pulsed with an erratic, almost desperate rhythm, a beacon of fragile hope that seemed to beckon him, to urge him with an almost physical pull to come closer, to abandon the crushing dark and seek its solace. He stumbled forward, his limbs heavy, his breath shallow, drawn inexorably towards that solitary, wavering glow. As he drew nearer, the light seemed to intensify, momentarily pushing back the encroaching shadows, and it was then, in that fleeting moment of desperate proximity, that the forbidden words tumbled from his lips, a whisper that grew into a hoarse declaration: "I don't believe in fairies."

It was normal, perfectly rational. Fairies were the stuff of childhood whimsy, of forgotten folklore, not the grim reality of this waking nightmare. Yet, the moment the words were uttered, a chilling shift occurred. The air grew colder, the ocean scent sharper, and in his mind, the image of a whimsical sprite was replaced by something far more sinister, far more sorrowful: a ghost, translucent and weeping, its form shimmering at the very edge of his perception. And with that spectral apparition, the light, his only fragile anchor in the void, began to dim. It flickered with increasing desperation, its vibrant glow fading, shrinking, until it was little more than a dying ember. It was dying. The thought, raw and terrifying, screamed through his consciousness. Dying! A wave of panic, cold and sharp, washed over him. He never intended to kill it, to extinguish that precious spark. Her. Tina. The name, a desperate plea, formed on his lips, though no sound escaped. This was a bad dream, a serious, horrifyingly vivid bad dream, a descent into a personal hell he couldn't escape. He thrashed against the unseen bonds, a guttural gasp tearing from his throat, his eyes snapping open with a violent, desperate jolt, trying to grasp where he was, to anchor himself in any semblance of reality.

For a moment, the insistent, piercing beeping of a medical machine was the only sound, a relentless, high-pitched whine that rang louder than should be physically possible, an auditory assault after the dream's oppressive silence. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, replacing the phantom ocean. A blur of white moved into his peripheral vision, and then a doctor, his face a mask of professional concern, was leaning over him, speaking in hushed, calming tones. The words were a jumble at first, but then one phrase cut through the fog: "...your wife is in the same room."

Wife? Tina! The name exploded in his mind, a supernova of relief and dawning comprehension. He hadn't killed her! The dream, with its suffocating guilt and chilling finality, had felt so utterly, terrifyingly real, its tendrils still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. He tried to move, to reach out, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish. He opened his hand, his fingers splaying, and a strange, unsettling stiffness greeted him. It felt alien, detached, as though it didn't quite belong to his arm, a foreign appendage grafted onto his body. A wave of numbness, cold and unsettling, slowly receded, a tingling sensation spreading through his palm and fingers until, gradually, agonizingly, full feeling returned. The physical discomfort was a strange comfort, a painful anchor back to the tangible world.

His gaze, still wide with lingering terror, darted frantically around the unfamiliar room, finally landing on a form in the bed beside his own. A small, familiar shape. His breath hitched. "Tina... my Tina...." he whispered, the words raw and broken, barely audible against the sterile hum of the machines. The nightmare's icy grip began to loosen, replaced by an overwhelming surge of protectiveness, a fierce, unshakeable resolve. He didn't know what had happened, what terrible events had led them both to this place, but one thing was clear. A silent, solemn vow, forged in the crucible of his recent terror, settled deep within his soul, echoing in the quiet room. "I'll never let you get hurt again, even if it costs me my life. Even if its me I have to protect you from."

[happiestjameshook]

okay i lied put your clothes back on we're not having sex i'm fundamentally evil and i need you to kill me

[happiestjameshook]

@HAPPIESTJAMESHOOK/  a  private writing account belonging to the roleplay group happiestplacehq  as Captain Hook, known in Redwood Hollow as James Bell-Hook. based   on   the  disney film from 1953 'PETER PAN ' written  by   Naomi ( she/her,   29,  gmt+1-2 ). 

tags;

■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ ℑ'𝔪 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔡 𝔦𝔱'𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲. : 𝔗𝔦𝔫𝔞 𝔵 𝔍𝔞𝔪𝔢𝔰. (ship tag) ■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔄𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔰. (musing) ■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔅𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡. (starter) ■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱. (thread) ■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔑𝔞𝔬𝔪𝔦 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔟𝔬𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰. (moodboard)

connections

■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔗𝔦𝔫𝔞 𝔅𝔢𝔩𝔩. ■ 𝕵𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝕭𝖊𝖑𝖑 ➮ 𝔒𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔖𝔪𝔢𝔢.