#vox angst

[theretr0skeleton]

They're so toxic i love them 😭

[a-small-lemon]

Imagine being Vox’s wife as humans, and you end up dying shortly after him from a broken heart. When you wake up in Hell, the two of you reunite, but your Vincent is appearing less and less, being replaced by his Vox persona.

Eventually you realise the truth about him and flee, alone until someone notices you have such a sad frown and decides you should smile more.

Vox searches for you relentlessly, checking every security camera, and even placing bounties on your head just so you can be brought to back to him. But as the years go by, he can’t find any footage of you whatsoever, and it’s driving him mad.

It isn’t until you show up to an Overlord meeting on Alastor’s arm that Vox realises exactly where you were and that no cameras could find you because you’d swapped out modern technology for radio.

You smile with Alastor, and the pair of you laugh at something he said.

And Vox realises that before you left, you hadn’t smiled at him like that in years. Because while Alastor greeted you with a smile, Vox greeted you with a list of demands that became longer every day.

Now the only demand he could ever have is to have you come back to Vee Tower and at least hear him out as he begs on his knees for your forgiveness.

And he knows that that is the one demand above all that you’d never accept anymore.

[passionateseadruid]

Reader: *in tears* Vincent! I LOVE you!

Weatherman!Vincent: Please don't say that. You can't possibly mean it.

*90 years later, as Vox is about to blow everyone up.*

Reader: *in tears* Vincent! I HATE you!

Vox: Please don't say that! You can't possibly mean it!

[goldenthena-blog]

❝ will we part in death? ❞

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — human!vox × fem!reader / vox × fem!reader

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — you loved him, you truly did, but he wandered a path you couldn't bear to follow...will you be able to convince him to rethink it, or will you die trying? Maybe death will part you after all.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — smut, violence, p in v, fingering, lovemaking – so unusual of me I know! I hope you all like it!

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — don't be shy to give feedback! Follow @sstanhoe-updates to get a notification every time I post a new fic! so I hope you like it, I tried something new with the smut...my blog @sstan-hoe was shadow banned which is why I'm posting here!

part of ❝not even death will do us apart❞ and ❝vox populi – the man who can't keep a promise❞

With a sigh you opened Vox office door, ready to face another one of his ego trips. You could faintly hear him talking to Alastor who once again knew which words to say to rile him up – not in a good way.

Rolling your eyes you threw a few contracts on his desk, “everything’s signed, congrats your ownership increased by 50% because of your plans,” you muttered. By now every Vee knew how tired you were of their antics, especially Vox who had received the cold shoulder for the past few days.

Vox looked up at you, he needed to talk to you. It was horrible for him, it felt like your death all over again but you were there, reachable yet so far away.

He snapped his fingers, a door on the floor opened and moving the chair Alastor was tied to down. Said demon vanished into the ground, his satisfied smirk still glowing in the dark.

“Doll?” he asked carefully, voice soft as he tried reaching for your hand. You glanced at him, eyes drained from work – what he put you through, “yes?” you answered. Slowly he stood up, rounding his desk and towering over you. Lifting his hand to cup your cheek, thumb caressing your delicate skin.

It was too easy for him to make give in to him, you closed your eyes and melted into him. “I know it’s not easy right now,” he whispered, glad you couldn’t see his face, “that’s understatement,” you snorted, wrapping your hand around his wrist.

Tilting your head up, you met his eyes, “you know I always support you, but don’t you think it’s a little far?” you questioned. The angels deserved to feel pain, to fear for their life just look you had for almost a decade, yet you questioned Vox plan because you knew him and only one drop was needed for him to go crazy.

“Don’t you want to rule creation? Don’t you see what I can do?” his voice was filled with hope, like he tried to convince himself more than you. “With you? Always. But baby, we’re drifting apart, Valentino and Velvette are mad...you’re breaking us up can’t you see that...,” tears stung in your eyes, in the heat of the moment throwing yourself into him.

Face pressed against his chest, you took a shaky breath. Vox frowned, snaking his arms around your shoulders, this wasn’t how it should have gone. You weren’t supposed to be sad, you should be thriving along with him.

“I didn’t mean to, I just want us to win and be at the top again. Like we were on earth,” he muttered in your hair. “I know, I know but you have to remember that being a team is not a weakness. Don’t listen to the radio demon,” you begged, hugging him tight as tears rolled down your cheeks.

Vox breathed heavily, now too shedding a tear as his hand clawed the back of your head, “I’ll try,” slowly he moved your head away from his chest, “I promised you eternity and I’ll talk to Val and Vel,” he swore, making sure to be face to face with you before gently laying his lips on yours.

You accepted the kiss eagerly, gliding your lips over his. Instinctively he wiped your tears away as he walked you backwards, “I love you,” he breathed out, breaking the kiss, “I love you too, Vincent,” the words barley left your mouth before he devoured you again.

The two of you were interrupted by a growling noise, shock.wav had swam to the glass of his tank, nose glowing. “Shock.wav daddy needs some alone time with mommy right now,” Vox pleaded, pupils dilating causing you to laugh, “is our baby being a cock block?” Vox gasped at your question, slamming his hand over your mouth.

“You can’t say that in front of him! Don’t listen to mommy,” he assured the demon shark who made a noise that could be taken for a complaint.

You shook your head at him, still grinning, “seriously, so daddy can’t put his long friend into mommy?” He groaned, blushing and hiding his face in your neck, “you’re making it worse, doll,” he turned to his pet, “I’ll send Val up, he’ll give you some chicken wings, okay?”

Again you snorted, it was adorable how Vox tried to find a comprise for shock.wav. Then he quickly swept you off your feet, “getting a deja-vu?” he wiggled his eyebrows before walking you to your bedroom, where he gently laid you on the bed, “you’re magnificent.”

Slowly he stripped you of your clothes, carefully helping you out of your blouse and dress pants. In a swift motion they were discarded around the room before he pressed soft kisses along your stomach. Goosebumps erupting on your skin from his coldness.

Your hand came up to fumble on his trousers, in the heat of the moment harder than you wanted. With a begging expression you tilted your head up.

Following your plea he shrugged of his jacket, unbuttoned his vest and pants. "That to your liking doll?" he asked, hovering above your face, "very much baby," you answered and pressed your lips to his again, licking his lower lip to invite him. Meanwhile Vox trailed his hand down to your clothed core, a claw flicking your bundle of nerves.

A quiet moan slipped from your throat as you lifted your hips in his direction. He chuckled lowly, dipping his pointer and middle finger into you leaking pussy, "have you been wet this whole time?"

"Yes, since your kiss-," the words stuck in your throat as Vox curled his fingers against you spongy walls. Another moan rolled past, his thumb nudging against your clit. "You're enjoying yourself, doll," he stated, seeing you bite your lip, eyes rolling in the back of your head.

"Fuck, yes, can you make me come Vince?" you batted your lashes at him, knowing the nickname held unimaginable power.

Your wish was his command, he curled his claws against your sweet spot while rubbing circles on your clit. Vox latched his mouth onto your nipple, sucking simultaneously with his moving fingers. Toes curling and hands fisting the bedsheets as a tight knot became ready to explode.

"Come for me, doll," his voice vibrated through your body and your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You chanted his name, bucking your hips against him as he pushed you through your orgasm.

"You're doing amazing, ready to take me?" he asked gently, lifting you higher on the bed. "Always, give it to me please," you whined, receiving another hungry kiss from him, almost swallowing you. Vox reached down and stroked his cock lazily, tip stand proud against his lower stomach.

He lined himself up with your entrance, already hearing you gasp as he tried to restrain his noise – for now. Resting his hands on either side of your face to be able to watch you.

"Shit, I've been fucking you for ninety years and you're still as tight as the first time," Vox gushed, shoving himself completely inside you, breathing heavily. You nodded along with him, the feeling of him filling you up made your brain circuit.

Vox stilled for a moment, giving you time to adjust to him. You had other plans, needing him to move now. Wrapping your legs around him, you made sure he stayed as you bit his lip and chuckled when you heard him groan. Vox rolled his hips against yours, trying hard to keep a pleasing pace while you had him in a chokehold.

"Need me close, doll?" it was meant as a taunt, but you sealed your lips with his. You did need him as close as possible, slipping your tongue into his mouth and fighting over dominance.

The noises you two made were swallowed by each other, though Vox thrusted deep inside you and hitting your cervix, "fucking made for me," he whimpered breathlessly. You smirked, clawing your nails into his back, "only for you," it was a promise.

You could feel Vox twitching inside you, he was close and you needed his cum desperately. "Please come with me, we're soo close," you cried out, causing Vox to buffer slightly but still pick up his pace.

"That's it," he groaned, feeling his pulse quicken and release washing over him in waves of ecstacy. Mewling you weren't able to think properly anymore, solely focused on Vox sperm painting your cunt. "You're perfect," you praised him, letting him fuck you through your second orgasm.

In exhaustion you laid back, waiting for Vox to pamper you, however no sound came which made you look up. "No, again?" Vox had shut down, screen black and a file showing an error, "I love you anyways," you shrugged and pulled him close to you as he recovered.

Maybe everything would be better from now on.

----

You looked at yourself in the mirror, Vox little party would finally be the end of this dread. Until then you had to wear a white dress of all things, but there was black lace embroidered on the front and matching Vox suit faintly.

However you felt more like a prize than a person at the moment. As if he wanted to show you off.

Just as an imp finished your hair, Vox strolled in proud as ever. “Fuck, doll you are beautiful,” he purred, coming to stand behind you, “all you need is a crown, officially my queen like Lilith.” His hand laying on your shoulders, not noticing your eyes widening.

“What?” you instantly asked, turning your head towards him. “Well, I might as well be the new king of hell with Lucy being my captive and me beating Alastor,” he told you as if it was obvious – it wasn’t. You stood up quickly, face flaring with anger, “are you for real?”

He didn’t quite understand why you were this mad all of a sudden. “I’m not Lilith, I don’t want to be- what the fuck? I’m not impersonating our queen!” you snapped at him to which he stepped back, “we were fine yesterday, why are screaming at me now?” he asked, expression hardening.

“I’m not screaming. Is it so hard to believe that want to be showed off like a trophy? Look at me, it’s like you’re trying to prove something,” now you were shouting at him, gesturing to yourself. You knew how Velvette and Valentino dressed and it completely different from you which was what made you question Vox in the first place.

“Stop being dramatic, it’s a dress and we have an image to uphold,” he countered, tone low and composed. He adjusted his cuffs, “be ready in five, I’m not fighting with you again,” was all he said before leaving.

You stood there in disbelief, you would barely call this a fight. All he did was deflect, ignoring your opinion entirely. When did it become this hard?

[flashback]

Laughter echoed through the church, “Vincent stop, you know you can’t see me before the wedding,” you smiled brightly. Your back was pressed against the door, Vincent on the other side, “come on doll, just a peek...I’m deprived of your attention,” his voice sounding through the wood.

“You’re getting it right now!” you giggled, waving your bridesmaid away, “I’ll see you at the altar,” trying to stay strong, you hear him grown. “You’ll pay for that tonight,” he promised with a light growl in his voice.

“Oh, I’m counting on it, now shoo and get ready,” you commanded him, though there was no real threat in your tone. Begrudgingly he followed and bid you goodbye, already excited to finally see you in your wedding dress.

The ceremony was beautiful, Vox couldn’t take his eyes off you, “not even death will do us apart, my love,” he whispered before sealing his lips with yours. Sweeping you off your feet and carrying you down the aisle as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Ready for our first dance, wife?” he questioned, smiling lovingly. The two of you had practiced for months to make it perfect. “Mhmm, lead the way husband,” you cooed.

He led you to the dancefloor, everyone stood around you as a soft music sounded through the room. Hands resting on your waist as you held onto his shoulders, he swayed you in a slow rhythm.

Gazing into your eyes, “you and me, for eternity,” he affirmed, resting his forehead against yours. “Always,” you agreed, nudging his nose with yours and smile big enough to hurt your muscles. Suddenly he twirled you, tickling a high pitched giggle from you, “Vincent!” you gushed at his unexpected actions.

“Yes, doll?” he asked, playing innocent. God he loved you, every vein in his body was screaming to be close to you. “You’re impossible,” you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

[hell ]

Dried tears adored your skin as you looked over hell from Vox windows. You could see the sinners gathering around the Vee tower, Vox massive weapon standing right in the middle.

“Babe?” Velvette’s voice rang through your ear, taking a deep breath you turned around, “coming,” you sighed. Tired of this whole parade, “he’ll pay for this stunt after we’re done,” she promised you in a gently tone, hand coming up sling around your shoulders. “If we don’t die trying,” you commented, knowing how stupid all of it was.

Velvette didn’t answer, she didn’t have one because she, herself was tired too. As Valentino put it; Vox is breaking up the band and she knew how crazy the overlord become.

Downstairs you met said moth who’s gaze wasn’t much different from yours. As much as they enjoyed the plan at first, it was getting old.

Vox held his mighty speech, on stage you saw Vincent not Vox at least you tried telling yourself that. You looked around, almost every overlord was here and the everything stilled. Charlie Morningstar walked in with her exorcist girlfriend, Vox was thrilled which had you scowling.

He sat her down between you and the other two Vee’s. She turned to you, surprised to see you, “I know you,” she stated, making you roll your eyes, “of course, you do. We saw each other when Vox visited the hotel,” you voice laced with disinterest.

“So, uhm you’re Vox assistant? You look really pretty-,” “what exactly are you trying to do?” you cut her off with a glare. Was she trying to sweet talk you into slipping up?

Charlie face palmed, becoming nervous, “no, just trying to make conversation,” she tried laughing it off, but was cut off when Vox pried himself in the space between you, “I see you met my wife!” he told her enthusiastically, “wife?” the princess questioned. He didn’t let her say anything else, instead began showing her photos.

Everything else became a bluer as Charlie tried overtaking the stage, Vox being literally silenced and Alastor rage baiting him as always. Then it exploded, Alastor made a deal with Charlie and Vox broke his deal with him because he laid his hands on her.

“Are you for fucking real?” you jumped up, shouting at your husband who was still processing what had happened. “I knew this was absolutely stupid, you can kiss my ass I'm out!” you showed him your middle finger and stomped off.

Vox didn’t even register that, he was too obsessed with his current situation. His hatred for Alastor ran deep, it drove him to unleash his demonic form and chasing him through the entirety of the pride ring.

Meanwhile you walked to the tower, screaming when Vel shattered in front of you and a turn of your head made you realise Val was only a few feet away.

Pressing your fingertips to your temples, questioning your whole existence, “get your shit together,” you snapped before another loud crash sounded through your ears. Slowly you turned around, Vox was on top of his weapon and destroying everything in sight.

“I think Vox is losing his shit,” Velvette concluded, Valentino smirked, “ay Papi,” “no!” you and Velvette prompted at the same time, “we’re done here,” you decided.

Anger flaring around you, you walked towards him. An angel, Charlie and Alastor, they all laid there almost defeated while Vox went crazy. Carmilla tried to make him stop but it was no use – what a surprise.

“I don’t care what happens, as long as I wipe that smile of Alastor’s fucking face,” Vox growled, static lacing his words. You couldn’t believe your eyes, how could he care so much for that deer?

“No!” you screamed at him, a black tendril creeping from the ground. Grabbing his by his waist and throwing him off the machine “you will not kill us!”

Vox looked up at you in shock, but you didn’t spare him, “stop this, it’s enough don’t you see that? You got everything you wanted, heaven is scared, you beat Alastor and the princess told you, you’re the strongest!” your voice cracked, begging him to see reason.

“How can you be against me rising so much?” he shot back, slamming his fist on the ground. “I have always supported you, but you would trade my life for a deer? You promised me an eternity, not even death will do us apart. That was your promise to me, exactly eighty years ago,” trying to wipe your tears away but it was no use, had he forgotten that it was your anniversary?

“Don’t you love me, Vincent ?” you cried, tears streaming down your face as you came closer to him.

He said your name, low and dangerous but it didn’t phase you, “I didn’t think you were capable of this. I forgave you once, but if you’re the reason for my death again... I won’t, if there even is something after this punishment.” You choked on your own tears, coughing and knees buckling slightly.

Vox eyes widened, “no, no, no, doll,” he scrambled to his feet, seeing blood spill from your neck, though it wasn’t happening.

You shoved him away, not having his shit with your throat again, “get over it, I’m not dying,” you growled, demon voice surfacing, “if you don’t stop this, I’m leaving your ass behind, you’ll be alone,” you threatened him.

That sentence triggered him again, “then fucking leave, like everyone else!” “How can you say that? I love you, there was never a doubt but what choice do I have? You’re acting like a maniac!” you shook your head, lip quivering and wishing it would just end. For a moment you closed your eyes, pondering what you should do.

You cast a glance at Valentino and Velvette, then Vox and realised all eyes were on you, “it’s over,” you whispered before lifting your hands and letting your tendrils wrap around his body.

As if Valentino had read your mind he stepped up and grabbed Vox head, ripping it of his body. A curling scream could be heard throughout pentagram city, it broke your heart.

“What the fuck?” he snapped, adding your name. “Show’s done,” you announced to everyone. None of them could believe what just happened, “stop staring, I’m not some meek assistant,” you barked before yelping in surprise. Valentino had picked you up with his hand, Velvette to your right and Vox beneath you, “we’re leaving,” the moth stated.

“I dare you to say one word Vincent,” you growled when you saw him open his mouth. Movement behind you four catched your attention, they were gathering around to save hell, what a blast. “Come on,” you said begrudgingly, moving out from Val’s hand and stalking towards the others.

Just like that you helped them, realising maybe you shouldn’t work against them. It was time for a new approach because there was no way Vox would stay the CEO.

“Doll, you know me...I just went a little over board,” Vox joked, trying to make you talk to him, you only lifted your hand and walked past him in Valentino’s arms, “she’s not talking to you, neither am I.”

You ushered them into the penthouse, making sure Vox head stood against a wall – he shouldn’t be left out.

“We’re changing out brand. No one is going to take us seriously anymore! Vox, we will tell everyone you’re mentally ill,” “which he is,” “Vel! He will stay behind the scenes and I’ll take over, we will start over,” you decided which Vox didn’t like at all, but before he was able to respond you held up a finger, “I’m still thinking of a punishment for you.”

As you looked at your partners you noticed Valentino pouting which gave you an idea, “Vel, cover your ears,” you told her, confused she followed your command, “you will watch Val and me fucking until I decide to give you your body back.”

Valentino squealed in delight while Vox threw a tantrum, swearing up and down. “You’re not fucking my wife, Val!” he barked, a grim expression on his screen.

You rolled your eyes, done with his antics and taking his head, moving him away, “you lost pussy privileges,” you stated. In response he whined, utterly complaining while staring at the wall.

don't be shy to give feedback! Follow @sstanhoe-updates to get a notification every time I post a new fic!

[lovetrouble123]

More. (pt1)

Synopsis: Just Vincent visiting his sick wife in the hospital:(

TW: y/n is sick and in the hospital(?)

A/N: finally got to display all the monster high dolls I got for Christmas:3 they look so cool

Masterlist

part 2

The studio smelled like warm dust and ozone, the lingering aftermath of hot lights and humming equipment.

Vincent Whittman loosened his tie as he stepped out, the echo of his own voice still ringing faintly in his ears.

“Trust us with your weather!”

Polite words followed him down the hall. Studio assistants smiled, and a producer gave him a distracted nod. Vincent returned each gesture automatically, practiced and pleasant, his mind already somewhere else.

He stopped briefly at his locker to retrieve the paper wrapped bundle he had hidden away that morning—a small bouquet of daisies and a cardboard box from the bakery down the street that contained a lemon chiffon cake.

Y/N’s favorite.

He checked his watch.

Visiting hours would end soon.

Outside, the city was painted in the amber glow of streetlamps and neon signs. Vincent’s car radio crackled softly as he drove. He didn’t really hear what was playing on the radio. His thoughts were louder—they always were.

He was a weatherman. Not a reporter. Not an anchorman. And certainly not an executive. He was just a man who smiled and gestured at maps while other people delivered the real news.

For now, he told himself.

The hospital loomed pale and quiet against the darkening sky, all clean lines and sterile promises.

Vincent signed in, nodded to the nurse at the desk, and followed the familiar path down the hall. He could do it with his eyes closed at this point.

Room 312.

His wife looked smaller every time he saw her.

She sat propped up against stiff white pillows, hair brushed neatly despite the way her body seemed determined to betray her.

Color had returned to her cheeks since the last time he saw her—just a little—but her eyes still held that fragile shine that made something in Vincent’s chest tighten unpleasantly.

She smiled when she saw him. “You’re late,” she teased softly.

He held up the flowers in mock defense. “Blame the atmosphere. Unpredictable.”

She laughed, quiet and breathy, and Vincent felt like he’d just won something.

“I brought you these,” he said, setting the daisies in the little glass vase by her bed. Then, he lowered his voice, “and contraband.”

Her eyes flicked to the cake box. “Vincent Whittman,” she said, “they told me no sweets.”

“They told me I have no ambition too,” he replied, easing into the chair beside her bed. “Hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He cut the cake carefully, offering her a small slice. She ate slowly, savoring it like it might disappear if she didn’t.

“How was work?” She asked.

Vincent hesitated. “It was fine.”

She gave him a look. The kind that had always seen through him, even before the sickness, before the hospital stays and the whispered conversations behind curtains.

“Just fine?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I watched a man years younger than me get promoted today.”

Her hand found his, thin fingers warm against his palm. “You’ll get there.”

“I know.” He forced a smile. “I just…want more. For us.”

She was quiet for a moment. The machines at her bedside hummed softly. “You don’t have to conquer the world for me,” she said gently.

“I want to,” he replied, a little too quickly. “I want to give you everything.”

She looked at him as something tender and sad crossed her face. “You already do.”

Vincent swallowed.

He hated this place—not because of the sickness or the antiseptic smell, but because it made him feel powerless. Because no amount of charm or cleverness could talk his way past failing organs and clipped medical explanations.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What’s that?”

“An idea,” he said, smoothing it out. A rough sketch—nothing impressive. Just notes. Concepts. “I’ve been thinking about programming. Late night slots. Something bold. Something new. Television’s changing. People don’t just want information—they want entertainment.”

Her eyes sparkled with interest. “You sound excited.”

“I am,” he admitted. “I just haven’t figured out how to make them listen yet.”

She squeezed his hand. “You will.”

The certainty in her voice startled him. He looked at her—frail, brilliant, unwavering—and felt a surge of something dangerous and electric deep in his chest.

I’ll make them listen, he thought.

A nurse knocked lightly, peeking in. “Five minutes, Mr Whittman.”

Vincent nodded and he stood reluctantly. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said.

“I know.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips, lingering just a second longer than necessary. When he pulled away, she was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read.

“What?” He asked.

“Promise me something,” she said.

“Anything.”

“Don’t lose yourself chasing that ‘more.’”

He smiled, smooth and reassuring. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she smiled back anyway.

Vincent left the hospital with the weight of unspoken things heavy on his shoulders. The city buzzed with life and possibility, television screens glowing through storefront windows.

He straightened his tie, squared his shoulders, and walked toward the future with purpose burning in his chest—unaware of just how far that hunger would one day take him.

For now, though, he was just a man with flowers, ambition, and a promise he fully intended to keep.

[wondering-echo]

What a Shocking entrance ⚡

I'm on a Hazbin Hotel ruch lately. And well I can't stop thinking about how painful it must have been for Vox to get into hell in such a hurific way.

Also I'm getting used to the tablet I'm using when I'm not at home ^^ so I'm slowly getting better :D

I hope you enjoy the art!

[dostoevskya]

📺 — UNABLE TO STAY, UNWILLING TO LEAVE.

꩜ [ hazbin hotel ] vincent whittman (vox) x reader

wc: 5.2k+ words

-> second person pov; (heavy) angst; tragic; ambiguous/open ending; inspired by titanic (1997); mutual pining; YEARNING; reunion hug; kissing + crying (lots of both); soft + whipped + human + potentially ooc (?) vox (he is a mess he is not ok); i pride myself on the historical accuracy of this

now playing… unable to stay, unwilling to leave by james horner

⤷ in queue :: can't help falling in love - with the philharmonic orchestra by elvis presley

a dull, aching sort of numbness had enshrouded your hands. whether it was from the frigid breeze biting at your flesh, the unnatural coolness of the metal fused to your petrified fingers, or the chill that ran through your veins from sheer terror, you don't know—all that you could fathom was that it was cold.

 so, so very cold.

 you were someplace near the stern, clutching onto a railing for dear life, eyes wildly scanning the horde of people that clambered higher up the ship as the bow dipped below the surface of the ocean.

 where was vincent?

 the two of you had lost each other in the hysteria of the crowd when the flares were first fired. of how long it had been since then, you were staggeringly uncertain. hours had bled into lifetimes, and lifetimes into seconds—for while the iceberg’s killing blow may have landed the starboard, the sands of time were the first to perish and disappear into the atlantic deep.

 frost clawed through the crevices of your lungs with every shuddering breath you stole back from panic. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the syllables of his name ghosted across your quivering lips in an echoing plea, one that was lost to the clamour and dissonance of every other terror-stricken soul on board. 

 it felt as if every pound summed from the blocks of cork in your lifebelt weighed nothing compared to the fear that imprisoned your chest between its teeth. and as it seemed that every face on this side of the ship was everyone's but his, it might as well have been heavy enough to sink and tow you headfirst to the ocean floor before the Unsinkable’s hull could crash into it, because fragments of him in the bedlam were all you could see.

 an old, ashen-faced gentleman with a nose that sloped like his. a young freckled girl from steerage with a similarly chipped tooth; you saw the gap between her molars as she cried out for her sister. there was a child with watery blue eyes, and another with unblinking glassy greens—then there was their mother, who had a divot in her throat that jutted out almost like the one you kissed every night before you went to sleep.

 the roaring pandemonium of screams and the dying howls that erupted deep from within the heart of the ship all but reached the peak of their crescendos as your eyes continued to dredge the thousands for a glimpse of the man you loved in a sea of strangers. the deafening clamour of it all swelled into an orchestra of white noise that tore severely through your head—

 —until the first, trembling miracle of the night presented itself in a cry of your name.

 and there he was.

 God, oh, God—there he was.

 vincent stands, almost petrified, at the starboard landing of the stairs that lead up to the aft deck; disheveled, frantic, and wild-eyed all at once. still, wretched as it was, the sight of him was something straight out of your most sacred prayers. just like he always had been.

 though you suppose the ones you used to utter as a young girl were disparate to the pleas you now begged.

 the scream that tore from vincent's throat across the deck seemed less like the sound of your name and more like a desperate cry to a God he had ignored his whole life—calling out in the fragile, infinitesimal hope that it would end up saving yours. 

 because for a split moment in his fear-shaken periphery, as the rear of the ship rose higher and higher into the sky, you were closer to the stars than he was to you. 

 with a shuddering groan, the titanic tilted and lowered her head deeper into the ocean, yet you paid it none of the mind your life could ill afford to spare elsewhere. the sight of him alone—alive—gave you enough courage to dare taking your hand off the railing. each nerve in your body, your temples, and your eyes were fixated on him as he lurched through the hysterical crowd, lunging past the raining current of people that had lost their grip on bulwarks and the debris that fell with them.

 every last shred of wisdom, judgment, and survival fled your wits just as the evils from pandora’s box did so long ago. with a shaking, whispered, "vincent," you feel your body lean forward along with the bow of the ship as you reach out toward him, almost surrendering yourself to the pull of gravity—the same force that he wrestled to defy for his body to collide into your own.

 one of his hands seizes the railing before the two of you could slide further down the deck, while the other clutches you tightly to his chest. the rush of adrenaline allows him to swing and hurl you both onto a mooring capstan, but even then, he doesn’t once loosen his hold on you.

 instead, vincent pulls you closer. he all but intertwines his ribs into the gaps between your own, almost as if he was trying to merge your two shivering heartbeats into one just so he could be sure yours was still pulsing.

 "honey," his breath comes out staggered as his hands find your arms, your hair, the curve of your jaw, and everywhere else his desperation could reach. "oh, baby. sweetheart." the kiss he crushes into your lips with a choked sob tasted of the sea and tears. "fuck." he pulls back, the blue and green of his eyes brimming with trembling, terrified relief. “you’re so stupid!”

 “vincent,” a whimper catches in your throat. you utter his name once more, then twice, and thrice again; it felt like the only word your mouth could remember to say. “oh, God, vincent.” your clammy palms find the pallid flesh of his cheeks, tasting a hiccuping sob of your own claw at the ridge of your larynx.

 “why the hell didn’t you get onto a lifeboat?” vincent demands, his face crumpled with anguish. you notice his glasses are missing. “they already made the women and children go first and you didn’t—damnit, (name), you could die!”

 “i couldn’t go,” you sob, “i couldn’t go, vince. not without you.”

 that only deepens the grief that lined his brow. “you could die,” vincent repeats desperately, the pads of his thumbs pressing violets into your cheekbones. “please. not you. anyone and a-anything but you. please. i-” tears flood the precipice of his lashes, yet he fought to make them remain unshed. “i can’t lose you, baby.”

 “and i already thought i did!” another heaving convulsion from the dying ship punctuates your futile grief. “i thought you were dead, vincent.”

 “rather me than you!”

 whatever retort stung the back of your eyes and the cusp of your lips was stolen by the shriek of steel tearing viciously against steel. it resounds ominously throughout the entire ship, followed by a tremor so violent it shook the weakening floorboards beneath your feet. the flickering amber lights saturate into a dimmer, reddish glow that illuminates the vehement fear and anger swirling in vincent’s lachrymose glare—a mournful gaze that once again hardens with a ferocity for survival as soon as the chorus of screams grew shriller against the stillness of the barren atlantic.

 he didn’t wait for you to piece back your words. he couldn’t.

 vincent clamps his hand over your wrist with a bruising grip and makes a break for the edge of the afterdeck, yanking you right after him. your mouth goes dry from sheer bewilderment, and you numbly let him drag you further up the stern.

 a sliver of gold catches in the pulsating light, almost tumbling out of vincent’s left pocket. dazedly, you recognise it as his father’s pocketwatch, yet he doesn’t spare the timepiece a single glance. the chain dangles off the third buttonhole of his open waistcoat, and the fractured dial read II and XVI. 2:16.

 the dreadful sound of steel rivets bursting added on to the macabre choir, likening themselves to the crack of gunshots in war. the pinewood decks began to shatter in detonating harmony, and the titanic was succumbing to the depths of the very ocean she had been destined to cross.

 vincent skids to a halt once his eyes register the amount of people crowding the taffrail. the pause was barely a moment, yet a century of seconds you could not afford to lose. the floorboards shook beneath your feet, tilting dangerously to a steeper slope.

 “vince–?!”

 “this way!” he roared, suddenly jerking you to the right. his hand slips tightly from your wrist to your palm as he clambers up the stairs to the docking bridge, hurling you both against the balcony’s balustrade. you yelp upon impact, shouting out in pain, but vincent barely gives you time to recover before he hauls you into his arms and charges toward the port side of the bridge, recklessly pushing past the few people that were also up on the platform.

 then, it happens.

 you can’t even begin to describe it.

 the strobing incandescent lights surged into a final, blazing flash—one that threatened a detonation of its tantalum bulbs—before a mighty crack tore through the ship and plunged it into overwhelming darkness.

 wind rushes out of your lungs and whistles past your ears in a scream that never made its way out of your chest. all fifty-two thousand and three hundred-some long tons of the titanic slams her great propellers back into the face of the ocean, and the endless cries of passengers grew impossibly louder upon landing.

 reeling from the shock, you break out into a cold sweat and feel panic creeping up the atlas of your spine.

 did… did the ship split in two?

 eyes widening in horror, you subconsciously raise your quivering fingers to your lips, before slowly closing them over your mouth.

 realisation dawns on you. 

 there were people in the water beneath the stern.

 poets and scientists alike had always emphasised how spectacularly light could blind. what they never quite mentioned, however, was how equally harrowing the theft of sight by darkness could be.

 “sweetheart?” vincent’s voice whispers weakly. you sense the familiar brush of his touch blindly fumble for you beneath the veil of night.

 “...i’m here,” you say hoarsely. every inch and crevice of your body was trembling.

 “oh, thank goodness,” he breathes. his hands feebly wrap around your shoulders again, and you notice that he’s trembling, too.

 “vinny,” your palpitation stumbles, and you swallow nervously. “vinny, i’m scared. i’m so scared.”

 vincent’s right hand moves to cradle the back of your hair as he hushes you. he presses his forehead to yours, almost as tenderly as he did when he first promised you the world. “i know. trust me, baby, i know.”

 “i–”

 “listen.” for once, the dying vessel isn’t what interrupts you, though it was getting increasingly harder to ignore as its hull begins to rise out of the water again. he pulls you in closer, urgency building in his tone. “we’re going to have to jump.”

 your heart stops. 

 “what?”

 titanic gives another agonising lurch, one that seemed like her final deathbound farewell. a jagged noise staggers in your throat from the sudden movement, and you instinctively claw for the front of vincent’s shirt in fear.

 “we have to jump before the ship goes down,” he repeats gravely. “when i tell you to jump, you jump.”

 “wait, vincent–”

 vincent doesn’t stop. “keep your legs straight as you fall. cross an arm over your chest to hold down your lifebelt so it doesn’t seize up and break your neck.” he’s practically just muttering the instructions against your lips now. “and make sure to cover your face with the other hand so you don’t inhale water into your lungs from the shock of the cold.”

 “vince–”

 “once you hit the water, swim. swim as- as far as possible from the ship so you don’t get pulled down with it. if we get separated in the fall, don’t look back. don’t come back for me. swim for the lifeboats as soon as you can- and live, (name), you have to promise me that you’ll live–”

 “goddamnit, whittman, would you shut up for a second and listen to me!?”

 the ground tilts into a slanting wall, and it would not have been far-fetched to presume that the propellers once again loomed like guillotines above the sea and below the sky it mirrored. as your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and the faintest starlight gives you a glimpse of the distress that had overcome his face, you’re almost certain that he, too, could see the outrage that was plaguing yours.

 “if i jump, you jump.” you seethe. the tip of your finger jabs into his chest. “we will jump together, and we will stay together.”

 his hand catches your wrist, and you feel the anger in his grip as it digs into your pulse. “don’t be a martyr, (name),” vincent snarls. “we don’t have time for this.”

 “you think time would mean anything to me once it passes without you?” you spit furiously, though fresh tears were burning rivers through your throat and past your cheeks once again. “what about new york, vincent? the station? your- our dreams?” a choked sound threatens to disrupt your impassioned retaliation. “i’m not about to search for you in every shadow of a city we’ve never lived in!”

 “you’re the only reason why!” he says desperately. vincent forces your hand closer to his body, so you had no choice but to flatten it over his chest—right above where his heart continued to beat wildly. his fingers lace through the spaces between yours. “all of it would mean nothing without you. you’re the reason why i even have a dream to lose. hell,” he lets out a watery laugh, before it bleeds into an uncharacteristic sob. 

 “you are my dream, (name). you are my reason why.”

  he knew you were running out of time. he knew it was a fight he would lose. letting you fire back a response wasn’t in the cards of fate, nor was it in his. it just wasn’t.

 titanic was already a few degrees shy of ninety by the time you felt him inching you both closer to the edge of the balustrade. it was a dance in the dark—a fragile waltz upon the tightrope that was the railing—strung together in infinitesimal faith with every trembling step he blindly led you through.

 “so we’ll jump,” he breathes with finality. “so help me God, we jump.” his nails dig into your skin, a four-crescent etch of promise. “together.”

 below you, the ocean spreads its wide behemoth maw, bubbling perilously as it continues to swallow the ship into a watery grave. the thought of it alone was daunting enough, but the fact that the vortex was perceivable only by sound and not sight made it all the more terrifying.

 you fumble for the rail, feeling your hand quiver violently as your skin meets iron, and take great care in swinging your leg over the narrow bar.

 “careful, now.” there’s a slight, concentrated wobble in vincent’s voice. “i’ve got you. i’m still here.”

 almost mockingly, the ship gives another sudden lurch, and you grip his hand even tighter than before.

 “it’s okay. shit, it’s okay,” he rambles feverishly, though you aren’t sure if he’s reassuring you or himself. “i won’t let go. you’re fine. keep going.” vincent squeezes back firmly. “but hurry.”

 it’s significantly harder to bring your other foot over the railing. your heart hammers painfully against your ribs, increasing in tempo as you inch yourself further to the left, quite literally dancing on the edge of the world.

 or what was left of yours, anyway.

 you faintly sense vincent all but tumble onto the precipice along with you, hearing the way his chest heaved from the effort. the railing presses coldly into your back, and you feel your stomach drop when you sense the port side twisting the slightest bit forward.

 “shit,” you curse under your breath. “oh, shit, shit, shit.”

 neither you nor he had to see to know that you now hung off angled toward the ocean. time was ticking, the world was tilting on its axis, and you had to jump now.

 “remember what i said?” vincent asks urgently, reaching around your back to lay a hand over your lifebelt’s left shoulder—half with the intention to help you keep it down, but with all the reason to still be able to hold you in the fall.

 “yes.” you mirror his actions, crossing your right arm over your chest. you meet his fingers over your shoulder, and he shifts to reposition his hand over yours.

 “do not forget to cover your mouth.”

 “i could say the same to you,” you say weakly, fingers digging into the canvas.

 “good.” vincent tightens his grip. “on my mark.”

 impossible thunder roars beneath the ocean, rumbling with a legion of tempests as air collapses within what was left of the broken stern. your fingertips scramble to relearn the grooves in the galvanised rail and commit it to memory one last time; bidding a quiet, heartbroken farewell to the ship of dreams.

 “now!”

 you let go.

 wind howls deafeningly in your ears as the plummet rips you both downward into the darkness. for the shortest, yet longest moment of your life, you were weightless; and the powerful current that gusts with gravity savagely strips the air from your lungs. you don’t hear yourself scream at all, but the pain that seared your throat proved otherwise.

 vincent’s fingers claw wildly for your neck as you fall, before all traces of his touch vanish for a bloodcurdling heartbeat. he shouts something, but you barely register it over the vicious sound of the rush.

 fear douses your spine as you plunge, untethered, until you feel his body miraculously crash into your back again. he shoots an arm across your sternum and clamps over your right shoulder with renewed strength, snaring you to his chest with more regard for your life than his own.

 you struggle against the pull, fighting to force a hand against your mouth. your lungs stagger, you choke, you almost forget how to breathe—

 and a thousand knives tear from your ankles to your skull as you slam into the atlantic with a violent crash.

 ice shoots up your body, near-paralysing in shock, and a gasp instinctively rips through your lungs from the cold. it snaps your jaw open in a desperate, primal demand for air, one that the ocean was undeniably all too happy to fill. brine floods into your mouth and stings the back of your tongue like lye—frigid and piercing as liquid fire; a cold so intense it burned.

 then, almost as swiftly as you plunged into the deep, it hurls you right back out. the cork in your lifebelt nearly forgoes your head, and you struggle to keep it down as the buoyancy sharply forces you to resurface. you sputter out water as the dead, bitter cold sinks its teeth into your skin once again, and you thrash against the invisible current that dared to tow you under.

 coughing madly, completely agonised by the ice that burned in your lungs, you heave for air. neither fear nor shadow had ever acquainted themselves with you this much until tonight—and neither bore hands you had ever wanted to shake.

 above you, the sky steadily slips the drape that was the titanic’s silhouette off her starlit shoulders. the disrobing of the night was captivating in theory, yet devastating in actuality; for the confines between the atlantic and the styx had begun to surge into a single downward current. the vessel is pulled beneath the water with a haste that paralleled the rape and capture of persephone into the underworld, though some may argue that one’s death was more merciful than the other’s abduction.

 she grows drunk on the sea, drowning her hollowed carcass in brine, and filling her rooms with saltwater where she could not carry dreams—dreams that man’s hubris had intended her to carry, for the sake of honour, glory, and renown. 

 a mighty undead roar rumbles from within the iron cadaver as the bubbling maelstrom that was the titanic’s last breath finally sinks beneath the lifeless tide. and in the briefest, most impossible instant, the unsinkable ship of dreams disappears into the heart of the ocean—with a quiet humility she had never been fated for, and with a thousand five hundred souls she had never been supposed to kill.

 it leaves a rattle in your skull and a thunder in your ears, and you feel the distant sound echo through your blood in a hypnotising tempo that fools your pulse into an equivalent cadence.

 you don’t know if you should be grateful that you couldn’t tell which direction the ship sank in. orientation had entirely lost its hold on you; left was right and east was west, and you realise too late that it’s not the only thing whose touch your flesh missed. with a growing horror, you realise that the only weight you carried was your own—

 and the weight you lacked had no means to stay afloat.

 your blood runs cold.

 “VINCENT!”

 the scream hurts—burns—more than the cold ever could. it tears up the sides of your trachea, trailing fire in its wake, yet is nothing but a needle in a haystack of wails. the placid air seems to have solidified into a tremendous wall of sound that presses upon the surface of the atlantic, petrified by the shrill coalescence of voices crying out for a salvation that would never come.

 and oh, how you miss when pain was easier to fathom.

 a litany of emotion, sensation, and anguish yank at the veins of your heart, stretching them apart into a forced web of bloodied tapestry, just as the flesh of a lamb torn to shreds by wolves would spill past yellowed canine fangs after the slaughter. 

 you are entirely alone in the chorus, a discordant note in the paradoxical shrieking harmony, fighting to see even in sightlessness. thrashing in the water, you fight to stay upright, blindly reaching out into the darkness in hopes to feel his skin against your touch. was it foolish? searching for what could not guarantee survival but would have promised life even in death? 

 perhaps. entirely.

 so let it be as it were — thus a fool you’d become, and a fool you’d remain.

 blood and screams pounding in your ears, you splash around, kicking and flailing despite the buoyancy wrapped in canvas around your torso. you fling more needles into the hay, crying out into a night that replied with nothing but echoes mocking your desperation.

 “oh, God, oh God,” you chant, gasping greedily for breath. “vincent!”

 the muscles in your neck strain as you whip your head in every direction, searching without sight. your eyes ache against the darkness, and you thrash to keep upright, carving your fingers into the sea in hopes to latch onto something other than water.

 your hand strikes wood—not flesh—and you scramble to dig your nails into it in an attempt to yank the debris closer to yourself. not dense enough to sink, light enough to stay afloat; but too narrow to climb upon.

 helpless, you collapse against the flotsam, feeling your cheek burrow into its grooves in a way that was sure to leave marks. you could not find it in yourself to care.

 survivors around you had regressed into animals as they fought for breath. their savage struggle for air was inhuman by nature, yet it was the rawest display of humanity you had ever witnessed.

 these were all people.

 just like you were.

 just like vincent was. 

 is.

 tears squeeze out of your eyes, turning to frost before they could slip past your lips. you barely know if you’re even still alive, how much more could you believe he was either?

 the darkness answers your ponder in kind.

 a hand lurches out of the abyss and clamps heavily around your ankle. panic seizes your throat, wrenching your mouth open in a voiceless scream. the wood pitches downward with a sickening jerk, nearly pulling itself vertical as you pull it down with you. the lifebelt digs into your ribs—taut against your chest, stifling against your stomach.

 the weight that came with the intrusive grip was heavy. it almost renders your lifebelt useless as you are dragged down, all the way until your shoulders, and the stranger claws past the skirt and hip of your dress as they try to escape the clutches of the ocean.

 but it was a grip you would recognise in every lifetime.

 the surface explodes beside you, and a head breaks out of the water with a violent, coughing gasp. the wooden beam falls back against the ocean as the shadow lets out a painful retch, emptying their lungs of seawater. he frantically heaves in air like a man starved—but his first breath was a feeble croak of your name.

 you feel your heart somehow stop and revive all at once. “vince?”

 the stranger shifts in the water, and the wood dips where he was clutching on to it. “(name)?” he wheezes thickly.

 “vince,” you sob in relief, “oh, baby.”

 “(name),” he chokes, and God, he sounds so weak. “(name).”

 you reach out blindly for him, but he meets you halfway, and you feel the locks of his hair press wetly against the underside of your chin. vincent coughs as he writhes, inching himself closer to you, and his fingernails scratch dully at the back of your lifebelt. he shakily huddles into your chest, right over the sound of your weakening heartbeat.

 still, desperately, foolishly—in hope and in agony—he listens. he writes each sequence and impulse into the backs of his eyes and the membrane of his ears and he holds you, holds onto you, with every ounce of strength he had left in his body—the only thing that could still keep him afloat.

 you were his only lifeline.

 “darling,” your lips move against his hair. “can you–” you give an involuntary hiccup, and vincent presses himself closer to your body. “can you take off your boots?”

 “w…what?”

 “try… taking them off… if you can.” you loosen your grip just a fraction, but he holds on tighter. “it’ll help you… float easier…”

 you feel his hesitation. 

 “i mean– fuck,” you tremble. “do you… even have enough strength to?”

 “if… it’ll help me… stay with you… a little longer.”

  his words hang heavy between the two of you. vincent moves, slowly but surely, to untangle his fingers from the straps of your lifebelt. your hand shoots out to clutch the scruff of his collar, making sure he’d still be tethered to you, as he sacrificed seconds of his life to bargain for minutes from death.

 vincent takes in a shuddering breath, stoking the ice that burned his throat, and disappears once again into a darkness that swallows him whole. the temporary loss of him envelops you, even though you know he is just inches below the surface. worry festers in you despite yourself.

 underwater, he struggles. you feel him thrash desperately as he tries to untie the cords laced through his boots, though his movements are sloppy. sluggish.

 he resurfaces barely twenty seconds later.

“i can’t. my fingers– i’m–” vincent sounds completely heartbroken. “i’m sorry.”

“no- no-” you hush him, pulling him close to your body again. “you’re… you’re okay, baby,” you promise, though your breath stutters. “you’re f-fine. i’ve got you.”

 you feel him slacken against your chest, and you knew that he, too, was crying.

 around you, the wall of wails slowly crumbles into the sea like the city of jericho, fading into a quiet that proved to be more terrifying than the noise.

 “tell me… about the house,” you whisper. “the one in… the one in new york.”

 “our house?” his voice is muffled.

 you breathe out a wet laugh. “yes, my love. o-our house.”

 “i’ve–” vincent shivers fiercely as he attempts to inhale, gently untangling from your embrace, then slowly swims toward your scanty piece of driftwood to hold onto it himself. “i’ve already got the deed.”

 “y-yeah?” you prompt him.

 the wood gives a tiny lurch as he finally drops and rests his head on top of it.

 vincent takes a while to respond.

 “…and?”

 “it’s… it’s in my trunk,” he finally says, before letting out a weak, almost pitiful chuckle. “at the bottom… of the ocean.”

 silence stretches for a moment.

 nudging the side of your hand against his, you murmur, “t-tell… tell me more.”

 “like what?” he asks weakly, quietly. 

 “the kitchen. the… the garden.” you’re already beginning to feel the cold seep into your bones and ebb at your life. “you told me… it was near…. central park.”

 “r–right. it was. it is,” vincent corrects himself. his tremors begin to grow sharper.

 “and what… what ab-about it?”

 “th’re’s… a big, wide window… in the kitchen,” he breathes, reciting it almost mindlessly off the top of his head. “looks right o-out into the river, so you can watch the ducks as… as you cook. be-because– you… you’d like that. yo-you’d like that, w-wouldn’t y-you… honey?

 “i would,” you promise, and your little finger quivers as you try to hook it over his own. “i… d-definitely would.”

 he continues. “and a… a big old library. w-with shelves…. an’ ev-everything,” vincent swallows laboriously. “all e-empty, though. ‘c-cause we– we were s’posed to… to fill them up… with books… as time passed. and our children would’ve… ‘d’ve learned how to read… there… ‘cause we’d– we’d teach them how. t-together.”

 ice forgoes your heart as it crawls up your muscles, turning your blood into glaciers and your tears into winter rivers. your pulse swells, then it eclipses; imprisoned by frost, and ensnared with grief. 

 you try not to let him hear the way your voice breaks. “and t-the garden, vinny? tell me about… tell me about the garden.”

 anything to keep him conscious.

 "flowers... that hang around th-the balcony... lilies, 'c-cause i know those are your f-fav-favourite," he hiccups, then shudders; it was obvious that every word he whispered wracked pain through his body. "and we'll... sit out there... in- in the mornings, ov-over c-coffee." 

 vincent weakly raises his head with the intention to look at you, but the mind-numbing cold pushes his cheek back against the soaked wood. "you'll call me an idiot... and i'll–" he lets out a heaving cough that sounds like a cross between a sob and a laboured gasp. "i'd tell you that you're beautiful."

 it was too dark to see anything. night fell heavy over the waters of the atlantic, and the cries of whoever had still been alive begun to wane into nothingness. your sight failed you—all you could fathom was darkness; but still, you felt him. you’d know his presence in shadow, you’d hear him in silence, and you’d have found him even in places no one else would be found.

 the stumbling, fragile flutter of his breath ghosts over your numb fingertips, and vincent’s hand fumbles to lace through the spaces between yours. you lower your head and press a frozen kiss to his knuckles—the bloodless flesh just below where his wedding ring sat.

 his next words come out slurred; weak with cold, drunk with sorrow, and heavy with regret. it echoes in your ears and the endless sea, over a still tide that mirrored a moonless sky full of stars you were never meant to name or rewrite.

 “i’m sorry i couldn’t get you a better ticket.”

꩜ a/n: aaaand there goes my longest fic EVER, and my first official angst work! i spent way too much time researching and watching documentaries just to get every single detail correct. i kid you not, this fic had me reading entire wikipedia articles in class and giggling over blueprints and hunting down 3d models of the ship and watching morse code logs with rapt attention. call me james cameron cuz best believe i'm citing all my sources below .. muehehe this started out as a writing exercise for a supposedly longer fic, then ended up becoming the longer fic. spent 43 days and countless 5am nights pouring my heart and soul into this—it went from being just another fanfic to being my love letter to the ship of dreams. the reason why this fic took so long to write was bc describing the high-stakes action was absolutely KICKING my ass. i'll stick to my emotions and dialogue thank you very much. but yes, thank you, to everyone who waited patiently for this and supported me all the way!! i can almost say with certainty that this is historically accurate. i hope you enjoyed the fruits of sleepless research born from the revival of a 3rd grade obsession <3 thank you, dear reader, for reading this all the way to the end. i am honoured to have been a steward of your time. i hope you loved reading this as much as i loved writing it! knock knock, voxblr, wake up. mommy's home (¬ᴗ ´¬ ) (and yes, the title is absolutely taken from a track of the titanic musical score!)

as promised, the citations. ♡ ꩜ taglist: @whoatemycheezeits @tuquoque @aquaticari @etcherrie @safination

cross-posted on ao3!

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please do not copy, edit, or repost any of my works. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

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