#ROTTENACHE

independent, selective, and writing blog with low activity for multiple characters from various media. this blog will feature original character and characters. written by lilly, twenty7. carrd and muses under the cut for the mobile users.

william doesn't know when he started to become accustomed to his written story, etched into stone and waiting with open jaws for his final chapter to swallow him whole. even with his limited time left, william spends most of his time behind the bar of the rebuilt roadhouse, tangled up with sonny's limbs, or trying to yank his siblings from cursing their bloodline even further with the promise of death.

from the moment that his sister was born, and then soon followed with wallace, william knew what role the world wanted to carve out for him: a big brother. the one who looks out for his family, who pushes himself to be the best version he can be, the kind of man his mother would be proud of, and looks out for the ones he cares about.

but it's with this quiet resignation that he can sense how sonny becomes impatient with time. like sand slipping through her fingers that she can't stop, she can't reverse or put back into the hourglass. william reaches out with reserved tenderness that he holds only for her, raking his fingers against her hairline by her temples, brushing her dark wisps away from obstructing his view of her features, ethereal and golden with the blinding love that she holds for him. he hopes that she can see it within him as well.

there's a pang of guilt that slips up the cavern of his throat knowing that in a way, william harvelle has accepted his fate. he will get to die knowing that he was able to bring his sister back, heart beating and breath in her lungs. if he were to go back, he'd made the same offer time and time again if it means that his family was okay. he couldn't bring them all back, but jo has always been the heart of the siblings; the one that tether the harvelles to one another.

i love you. those damn haunting words that hold more power over helo than any dangerous weapon that could be used against him. simple words that curls forth a shiver to dance along his spine as whiskey hues dance between the captivating gaze of savannah staring up at his taller stature. his thumb brushes against the slope of her jaw, fleeting for a moment, there one second and gone the next, as if he's afraid to burn her with his mere touch. love is a word that is tangled into a web of memories that refuses to relinquish their hold, clouded with evidence of others urging helo the opposite.

(you are not built for love, you're not capable of it. you loved persephone, and now she's gone. your own mother couldn't bring herself to even love you.) thoughts masqueraded as demons that snake their way to the bird fluttering in the cage of his ribs, heart thrumming with an unforgivable beat, relentless and insistent and loud. but there's a softer, almost kinder timbre that breaks through the storm of emotions and claws to his forefront: you love her.

oh, how she must not realize the truth that has since been ingrained into william's system the moment that their parents announced to him as a kid that he was going to be an older brother. the responsibility for family immediately took shape in that moment, when jo came home from the hospital and she was a small thing in the boy's arms, whose head had to be cradled by not only william's smaller hand, but with their father's palm pressed against his son's knuckles, holding joanna beth harvelle together for the first time. a weight that william bore proudly, like a badge of honor to be an older brother to not just a sister but a baby brother as well.

it's his burden from the moment she opened her eyes and blinked up at him, and he swore he would fight the world if they ever tried to hurt her. his burden from the moment she would get bullied at school for being a freak, never finding interest in the studying of books, but rather the art of living that she grew up with, surrounded by stories of hunters that lived to tell the tale, and a growing need to explore that. william watched with a worried gaze as she grew up, gotten taller behind the bar counter, she would slowly reach to her tip toes to listen more intently to the stories that drunken hunters would spew out to anyone that would lend an ear.