THROUGH THE VALLEY.

JULIAN OF WYNONNA EARP / CANON DIVERGENT / SIDEBLOG / TEMP DASH ONLY.

[guardengates]

there r six of u ... like for a small starter

[guardengates]

owncurse‌:

taking his exit — plan b or just the culmination of the long game. just the inevitable, when the time comes thing. ( if there’s one thing they’ve been any good for, it’s putting him down like a dog when he’s expended his usefulness to them, when they’re all done tapping the marrow from his bones. it shouldn’t have been, shouldn’t be, different. some kind of badly twisted when the last thing he’s asked of an earp — earp-adjacent — is to be her goddamn self. and round and round it goes - )

‘ three inches. ’ that’s - some idle rootless spite, to say who’s littler, ain’t me. only to keep the other thing flooding his mouth from breaking the surface, the torrent that crackles like it wants to split his teeth, sorry to burst my bubble, did you do this to me, why would you do this to me, i was done i got out i was — ( he was quiet. it was quiet. no hell, and no angels either. some dark way station or just nowhere at all, but there’s whole corners of him aching to go back. to plug or cover his ears against all the noise of this world, burrow under the snow and wait for the cold to take him back. )

but — no. julian’s been many things, elusive and dishonest, high-handed and holier-than-thou, but never put a worm on a hook just to watch it squirm. ( still, he looks through, not at, julian’s outstretched hand, as though it’s foreign or just as though unseeing. the thing, the question, of what he’s going to do with his life now that he’s dead. with all this freedom he spent so many years gnawing for. doing - awful, intemperate things for. with - choosing. it’s an abscess. a hollow tooth he can jab his tongue into and wonder why it hurts. it’s looking through julian’s hand and thinking, abjectly, that he can’t take it. that whatever he is — or isn’t, not real at all, maybe, maybe he never even left the trees, could be this is just, we can’t give up, i did and so will you — is too wet and gnarled and oily-repulsive to be. what? touched. deserving of. i tried to make them see. i did too many bad things. )

no room for the - deserving. when he’d - do it the same way. more or less. which leaves him splintered-teeth on the back foot, cold and wary. ‘ why. ’ what do you want from me.

three inches loosens a rough, short laugh in the back of julian’s throat, unexpectedly - something like a landslide for how it catches her off guard: ‘ still an asshole. good. ’ there’s something wrought fond in it, the — decades piled on decades of where the human halves of julian’s family have always felt more familiar to her than others in the host. their parent who had julian’s same affliction of liking humans better than angels, and robert’s father, and then robert. ( and then michelle, and now waverly — )

there’s no time for petty humanity is well and good when the earth is falling out from under your feet, but after that, humanity is the dominant thing that’s left. if you’re not human, you’re surrounded by them.

she doesn’t know why either of them are back but she’ll give herself a purpose - maybe to help her daughter become better; not to take credit but to guide her through what it means to be an angel and to have the kind of, life and death power in your hands - and robert will have to find his own, too. there’s no way but forward. there is no going back — and it’s angelic sensibility that lends her that carve your forward path through the brambles attitude, comes from the same place as the holier than thou.

‘ for better or worse, you’re my brother. if you’re going to be alive, i want you to live. you’re not to rot out here in the forest. ’ no longer content for it to be a beckoning: ‘ take my hand, robert. we’re going somewhere warm. have you eaten yet? ’

[guardengates]

owncurse‌:

it’s all off-balance. to feel cold. to really feel cold, not just the memory of it. to watch his fingers turn unsteady, trembly — the word is fucking shivery, idiot — with cold. more off-balance, to clap eyes on -

‘ no. ’ no, not robert, or - a sniffing, snarling sort of sound that doesn’t shape up right. ‘ you, ’ fingers flicked her way, it’s been a long time, ‘ can’t be here. ’ you’re dead, is what he means. they’re dead. i’ve already chosen my exit strategy. thank you. the click of his teeth together feels more hollow than it used to. aches dully somewhere at the jaws. ( everything hurts. it never used to be so - ) ‘ we’re, ’ toxic grin, battery acid, god, it’s so far past not fucking funny that he’s still fucking here that the chattery flash of his teeth just looks sickly, ‘ we’re dead. ’

‘ you took your exit. ’ acrid, at the back of julian’s mouth, although she doesn’t blame him; only dying was not in julian’s plans. ‘ but we’re not dead now, littler. ’ humanisms drop off the back of her tongue easier than ever: ‘ sorry to burst your bubble. ’ 

that was — some fine lying by omission, wasn’t it, to stand in the same room as her daughter and her half-brother and neglect to bring up that particular truth; that wyatt earp’s first revenant was a nephilim. still, it’s not the pertinent thing, right now - petty grievances about what constitutes lying are for other people to worry about - and rather the fact that robert looks sick and chilled to his bones is. she’s forgotten what it’s like, to breathe in with some kind of - protectiveness. the sting of family. she holds out a hand, whether for taking or beckoning, doesn’t matter. ‘ — come with me. i have a spare coat in my truck. ’ 

[guardengates]

         it’s a foggy mess, all of it, the dying and the undying and the being and the unbearable edge to everything, where she feels like something that’s been cramped underground in a box for years; stretching limb and wing with every step, and there’s nowhere better to relearn yourself than on the outskirts.

long, broad wings vanish like a trick at the audible crunch of earth underfoot - under someone’s foot. surprise, at the cold-shrunken, bewildered look of him, registers in her stomach and then dissipates, as though she shouldn’t be surprised at all. she had wondered if it should’ve felt different, if she was alive and he was dead, as she’d assumed - if she should’ve been able to feel his death like a phantom limb - and this — this explains it. it’s really hard to get dead.

‘ — robert? ’  //  @owncurse​.

[guardengates]

maybe this shouldn’t be my priority but first order of business: julian does not have tiny wings. the wingspan necessary to support something that looks and weighs human-ish is huge. like, seven meters huge. so with some allowance for magical nonsense, think luciferesque. i also think that julian’s wings would be not dissimilar to a golden eagle.

[theavengers]

[guardengates]

DASH ONLY / INFO.

canon divergent julian of syfy’s wynonna earp.

julian is: trans feminine (she/her), an angel, a firefighter, waverly’s parent, a svane.

will answer to both julian and charlie, is still recovering from her amnesia.

fc; carrie anne moss, to bring her to a more appropriate age.

loved, loves michelle gibson deeply, but has a lot to answer for.

julian did not sleep with wynonna. they were friends.

not dead ✨

DASH ONLY / RULES.

don’t be a dick. that’s all i ask.

follow-backs will be from ownweapon.

this is a very low activity sideblog.

i’m dmitry ( 24 / white / they-them ).

this blog is a self-indulgent response to the realisation that i was supposed to buy into an ancient, all-powerful angel as ... a baby faced thirty year old.

DASH ONLY / OTHER.

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