#Wearp OC: Riker Ascott | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ocsxinxpurgatory · 4 years

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Falling Apart (Riker Ascott)

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Riker, Earl, and anyone you don’t recognize belong to me as does the plot while everything else is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made.

Setting: Season 1 compliant

Pairing: None (past mentioned poly-ship)

Rating: PG-13 for themes

Everyone has their breaking point even someone as stubborn as Riker. It was only a matter of time before his past spilled out of him with all the poison that was still burning through him. Unsurprisingly it’s Earl who lends his ear as he did with so many of Purgatory’s hurting coyotes....

*~*~*~*~*~*

Falling Apart

It was crisp and cold; the kind of weather that had one's breath visible were it not night and pitch black save for the stars. The thin gloves and threadbare coat barely keep the chill from sinking into his skin even though it would take time for it to effect him. The curse was good in that way at least.

His body still shivers as it knows without a doubt that he should not be out here staring into the distance like this when his trailer was nice and warm and safe. His body might understand it but his mind was a darker, colder place and he needed the bite of the cold to try and mitigate the way he was feeling.

He wishes he could forget.

Snow crunches behind him signaling what he should have been more aware of a while ago before would come, “You trying to make yourself into a very unattractive ice sculpture, Riker?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Taking a refreshing stroll in the dark,” he retorts caustically, “What business is it of yours?”

“You and I both know who makes it his business to know the comings and goings on here. And wandering around in sub temps is not a smart idea even for us Revenants. You'll still come down sick.”

“Well, it won't be anyone's but my own fault,” he counters that feeling of frustration filling him that no one could mind their own goddamn business. So of course it has him stalking further into the park boots crunching through the snow as he makes his way away from the other.

Of course it's not long before he finds himself out by the picnic tables which are still half-buried thanks to this last round of winter weather and he brings a mitten through the snow on one of the bench clearing it as much as he can before tugging his jacket down far enough to sit without getting his pants soaked. At least not immediately. He closes his eyes again trying to rein in the urge to scream in frustration and anger; emotions bottled up for too long and too hard were all fighting for an outlet he had yet to be able to give them.

Unfortunately, the more frustrated he feels the more he feels the curse and the heat pulsates in his head by the mark making him groan softly before resting his elbows into the snow covered table and leaning his face into his hands. Soon, he has it pressed against the table in the snow and inwardly grimaces at the hissing noise as the snow melts immediately upon contact. Thankfully, though, shifting around and pressing against a few more spots has his skin cooling enough that it stops hurting quite so much and he just rests himself in the cold wetness deciding it was just more comfortable to do this than move.

A cold lethargy has overtaken him before he realizes the dangers posed even to a demon and cannot pull himself up enough to even try to correct the issue. Part of him wonders if it wasn't the price one paid; to end up going into shock and then being frozen until someone came down there or it thawed.

It was shitty but...

He isn't given the chance to come to whatever mental conclusion he might have as he feels himself jerked right off the table a guttural snarl coming from whoever had him. He's just too cold and too tired to even bother figuring it out. Later, his foggy mind chooses, later he'd be concerned.

Unconsciousness takes him not long after that.

*~*~*~*

Coming to is harder as his limbs feel heavy and it takes him a bit to realize he's under a large amount of blankets. Slowly, he shifts and stretches his body out. “Oh, so you're finally awake,” comes the unamused tone of one Bobo Del Rey, “Fantastic. It only took about a week after your idiotic choice to try and sleep out on the picnic tables.”

He goes still. “A-a...week?” he croaks out.

“Yeah, dumbass. You've been in and out of consciousness and feverish for a week. Congrats on that by the way. You managed to really outdo yourself on the obnoxious scale this time, Ascott. I thought we got passed you being a pain in my ass.”

He sighs softly before slowly uncovering his head so he can gaze at the male through tangled strands of black hair. “Contrary to belief, Bobo Del Rey, this was not an attempt to annoy you. I needed some air and my damn curse mark decided to act up.”

“Well that's what happens when you don't properly regulate your more angry and bitter emotions, moron. I've told you this. Your mark gets hotter the angrier and more hateful you get. You keep stuff bottled up so much I'm surprised you haven't lit yourself on fire.”

“Only Axel is capable of that without it doing harm to him so I'm going to avoid it if at all possible,” Riker replies, “As for bottling things up...that's just how I handle things.”

“Well, then find a better way to do it. I don't care what coping mechanism you use so long as it doesn't involve me playing nursemaid because that's not my job and I will toss your goddamn carcass back over the line. We've talked about this.”

Riker wants to be sullen and snarky in return but it had never served him well so he manages a quiet, “Yes, I got it. I'll work on it.”

“You better because I am not kidding, Ascott.”

No, Riker is sure he's not.

It takes a few more days before he feels good enough to try and be sociable and by then he's sure everyone's heard. The teasing gets very old, very fast. But he allows it not wanting another conversation with Bobo Del Rey that will no doubt go bad. Both of them are still very aware of the paint incident and the words exchanged between them. There was no need to push any further.

He's at the benches, cleared and dry this time, with a cup of hot chocolate when he hears, “You know, he gets grumpiest when he cares don't you?” Earl's voice is quiet but still fills the area despite that fact.

“Suppose it's crossed my mind,” he agrees, “but he's still nosier than a man should be.”

“Have you seen most of the idiots he deals with? He just likes to get a feel for the men around him and what might keep them from going off the rails. That's all.”

A sigh escapes him. “It's not...it's not as cut and dry as that and you know it. You give a man that much ammunition and good intentions or not he's still got a loaded gun where you are concerned. I don't...I don't trust it.”

“Problem is, son, you don't trust anyone. And that tells enough.”

Riker looks away a moment, breath leaving in a wisp before sighing softly. “Of course it does. But then...if I don't trust anyone it means no one has the means by which to hurt me and that suits me just fine. Better even.”

“Because it was betrayal that ended your life.”

It wasn't a question which makes it so much worse because as Riker had found; Earl Slater was an astute bastard. Give even a little bit and he could make a few very educated guesses in the absolute correct direction. “If it was, it's not to be repeated. Ever.” A flare of anger and he winces slightly.

“Uh huh, except it's gonna keep punishing you over and over until you get it out of your system. It's how this curse works. It's also why he warned you to talk about it. The more you keep that seething rage just under the surface; the more of you that's going to be lost. And honestly, I don't think whoever did this to you is worth losing yourself over.”

“I loved them.” The words escape like choking on glass, “I would have died for them. And they never fucking cared. Not one bit.” His eyes burn at the feeling twisting like a sharp curved blade.

“Tell me about it. Just me. And you know nothing between us goes anywhere. You've learned that much about this place, I am sure.”

That was the one truth he had come to learn; confidences with Earl were sacrosanct and he would not divulge them. He still can't help the pleading, “Do you promise? Not even to Del Rey?”

“Not a chance, Riker. This is between you and me. Most I'll tell him is that he has no reason to worry about you. That's all he needs. Affirmation. But you need an ear and some support. So let me do that much, kiddo.”

He curls his fingers tightly around the cup pressing it against his lips as he considers all his years of running and avoiding almost everything. And how much it had not helped anything. At all. Maybe it was time to let someone else help with what followed him like the worst sort of shadow.

“I'm sure,” he finally says quietly, “that you've heard what my death sentence was given over. Everyone else has and Revs like to gossip.”

“Suppose I have heard a thing or two,” Earl murmurs, “because you are right; you all can be a nosy, gossipy lot.”

“It was all the same situation,” he admits after a moment, “Three death sentences all in one night and a couple of acts of passion.” He sets the cup down. “The murder charge, which is what always gets the most attention, has never been gotten close to being correct though. I was with a man that night and a woman. Neither of them died though.” Something twists harder in him. “I wish it was a cut and dry as that. It would have been easier to swallow but...” He was babbling, he realizes and he takes a slow breath, “Let me go back a ways because I know I'm not making any sense.

God was the cornerstone of my family, you see. God and the church. My father was friends with the local pastor in the area; they grew up together with the same religious upbringing. As did all the people around us. God was the head of the family and the man was his right-hand. Puritans at their most fanatical. My mother was the perfect and obedient house-wife and taught my brother, my sister, and me to be pure and god-fearing.” He has to pause and laugh bitterly as he sets the cup down. “Let's be clear that I don't particularly feel one way or another about someone else's religion so long as they don't shove it at me. Living in my house was a nightmare as I could not wrap my mind around why such a being deserved anything remotely close to worship when he was so judgmental and choosy about who he favored. All the hoop-jumping bothered me to a steadily rising degree. I just learned early on that I was not going to get anywhere asking my questions.

At about thirteen there were a few new families joining the community and I had the low but inextinguishable hope that maybe, just maybe I might have the chance at normal level-headed friends. Even though I knew they belonged to our faith. I was stupid and naive and needed community. I've come to the conclusion that's the one thing about being human; our need for community and connections.

And this is when I met Lydia and Titus. They were my age from affluent families. We hit it off right away. By the time I was fifteen we were an inseparable trio and were always together. We collectively agreed that our parents were idiots but we knew better than to say that to them and instead kept our own counsel on what we truly thought.

I thought I found what I'd been wishing for and it was liberating.”

He has to pause his jaw tightening. The feel of a hand on his shoulder has his breath coming in a ragged sound. “I should have known something was up. I should have known that it was too convenient.”

“Riker...”

He squeezes his eyes shut. “We were eighteen when I admitted having more than a passing fondness. For both of them. I was afraid that I was going to lose the two most important people in my life. I loved them despite knowing how dangerous it was in a time like that. But when they didn't turn away in disgust when they told me that they were relieved that I felt the same...I knew I would die to protect them.

We were happy for the next couple of years. Or at least...” Grief fills his voice and he swallows a few times. “I was stupid then. So stupid. I didn't see the signs that I see now clear as day.”

“Lovin' someone, lovin' anyone is not something that makes you stupid,” Earl says voice kind, gentle even, “There was nothin' wrong with how you felt.”

Gray eyes fill with anger and resentment red swirling in their depths as the demon rears it's ugly head. “Except,” comes the guttural retort, “When I was twenty-one I learned better. I learned it was a set-up. The whole thing. Them. Their feelings. Everything.” He watches Earl's eyes widen a moment and laughs bitterly. “Oh yes, they were from my church. My father got in touch with some of his old friends worried that I was going down “dark paths” and needed to be looked after. So they were told to befriend me. Eventually tempt me and see what I was truly made of. To keep up the charade until they knew for sure. Until it was too late. There we were, entangled in bed and my father, their parents, and the good reverend come in. To a space we'd made fr ourselves that I thought wasn't known to anyone else. I was charged with buggery, sodomy, and murder. What they didn't bother telling the good Marshals who would eventually hunt me down three months later was that the murder charge was over me. That my choices would no doubt send me to hell. Because suicide wasn't something they could pin on me still being alive.” He carefully sets the mug down too afraid with his shaking hands and all he was feeling that he would break it either by dropping it, squeezing it too hard, or hurling it at something. “So there you have it,” comes his quiet, broken tone, “I was set up by my community using people I honestly loved and who I thought loved me. Who I connected with. So no, no I do not and will not trust someone else. Not ever. Not for any reason. I just want to wait out this goddamn curse so that I don't go to hell again. That's all. That's it.”

The wetness isn't helped by the cold and that tightened feeling is worse now, his breathing sharp and uneven. Decades later it was still a festering, bleeding wound. Hell had made it worse. He relieved that reveal over and over and over. Nothing else hurt as much as the knowledge that he'd never been wanted or loved in the first place. That how he felt at thirteen had been a game played by a fanatical group of individuals who didn't trust their own community because he was sure they knew how wrong their views were in ways. How damaging.

But people liked to be in control didn't they?

A hand presses lightly between his shoulder blades and he feels himself go tense before uttering a weak, “D-don't...Earl...”

Of course it's not listened to and he finds himself lightly tugged back and tucked against the other as his breathing sharpens further and a choked sound escapes; something ragged and whining and hurt from deep in him. Fingers slowly move to thread through long black strands. “That's it, kiddo,” comes the low murmur, “Let it out. You've been wronged so much, Riker. And you didn't deserve it. Problem is that for some of us; there was no justice to be had in all of it. Men can be stupid about things they do not agree with and that is no fault of yours.”

He's not sure what sort of sight he has to make sobbing brokenly as he does but there is that moment of relief when the pressure in him recedes somewhat. It wasn't a magical fix by any means but there is a freedom to letting someone else know, letting someone else see the jagged, broken parts. And Earl, bless his demonic-self, just holds him, fingers gently carding through his hair murmuring soothingly to him.

It's as he's drowsy and feeling his eyes slowly close that he wonders if there was a Revenant there who hadn't been here trying to reclaim themselves. Lethargy fills him and he hears a quiet, “I've got you, kiddo. Rest. I'll handle the others over this. You'll find yourself again, Riker. You will.”

Something in him; that small smoldered flicker of want for something for himself sends a bit of smoke into the night. A whispered promise. You will get through this.

#Wearp OC: Riker Ascott #Riker Ascott Drabble #Polyamory tw

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ocsxinxpurgatory · 4 years

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Black Canvas (Riker Ascott) Introductory Drabble

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: Riker Ascott belongs to me as does the plot and everything else is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made.

Setting: Season 1 Compliant

Pairing: None

Rating: PG-15 for violence, swearing, and general unpleasntry

Riker Ascott is a new addition to the park and so of course there is curiosity surrounding the Revenant who, as story would have it, was charged with murder, sodomy, and buggery and these are what ended his life. How they all played out is unknown as the Revenant refuses to go into detail about nearly anything which puts him at odds with one Bobo Del Rey.

And putting oneself at odds with this particular Revenant never ends well...

*~*~*~*~

Black Canvas

“So, care to indulge in a bit of a more informative way?”

Dark eyes, stormy gray with a hint of green slowly shift from where he was engrossed in his most current project before would come a quiet, “If this is about what got me cursed then no.”

“Riker...”

“You don't need to know anything more than that I'm on your side. It's not going to change how things work around here so do us both a favor and leave it alone.” He pulls the brush along the wood coating it in white paint. There is an annoyed huff and he would add on, “I don't understand the curiosity anyway. Do you ask all the Revenants that much of a nosy question?”

“Don't have to,” Bobo answers immediately, “Most are more than happy to tell me themselves. Some find their deeds brag-worthy. What I worry about is the few of you who won't give me much to go on so that I don't know how far I can actually trust you. And me not trusting you, Riker Ascott, is a problem.”

His jaw tightens a moment before he'd make the same huffing noise the other had made before retorting, “I've told you what charges got me murdered by Wyatt Earp. You all don't need to know more than that. Infer what you want.”

“Many will and do but I want the truth of it. You owe me that much at least.”

He puts the brush in the can and slowly turns to face the other. “This has got to be the absolute biggest crock of shit I've heard this goddamn decade, Del Rey,” he retorts, “So forgive me if I'm not so easily bullied by you as everyone else is.”

“Everyone else might have learned a thing or two that you have yet to.”

He was not in the mood for this today. He'd been avoiding specifics of his life for as long as he could stand it because Revs were a nosy, irritating lot and honestly he has no interest in hashing out what had led him to this goddamn mess that was the curse. Ever. “Slow learner then,” he answers, “But my answer is the same, Del Rey; it's not your business beyond the simple facts.”

“Riker.”

His name is a warning and a threat all in one and to be honest, he's had more than enough. Perhaps it was that everyone couldn't be talked into leaving him alone and he'd gone too many rounds of trying to get out of the conversation but whatever the core reason is: it still results in him climbing up the step ladder to the other containers of paint he had before his fingers grip the one on the end which happens to be a bright, nightmarish, pink color and without giving himself the chance to think it through or consider the entire situation would swing and dump the contents right over Bobo's shaved head and clearly favored fur coat.

The sound it earns him would be comical as would the step back that accompanies it were it not for the next second that has the trailer he's painting jerked violently in his direction sending him jarringly onto the ground before he'd be dragged upwards pink-stained fingers gripping his throat. “That was definitely the wrong way to go about things.” Demonic eyes bore into his, growled tone almost inhuman and despite the paint, Riker is definitely made aware of how unnerving this particular Revenant was. The pressure increases until he's choking and cannot pull in a full breath fingers gripping the other's wrist and squirming.

The fact that this wasn't going to kill him is completely overshadowed by the natural and very human response to being choked and Riker cannot seem to focus beyond the tightness in his throat that was getting steadily worse or the dots growing in his vision. He's pretty sure he's making some muffled sounds low in his throat, almost pleading but there's no way to discern them for what they are as the male just keeps the pressure on him.

He almost passes out before Bobo releases his hold on his throat and that's only to catch him by his hair and hold him upright as he coughs and struggles to breath again. “Here's an idea for you,” the paint covered Revenant growls, “Don't you ever be this stupid with me in the future. I promise you it only hurts you in the end.”

He wants to bite back at him, show him that he's not the type to just roll over; that he never had in the past and certainly wasn't going to start now with Del Rey of all people and something must show because the other draws him in closer, too close in Riker's opinion, “Do not say what's on your mind. Do not. Because you will force my hand and at that point, Riker, you're going to beg me to tie you up over the line as opposed to what I will do to you.”

So he doesn't. Instead, he spits in the male's face with all the reproach and disdain he feels at the current moment for him and his way of dealing with things. And it earns him being shoved backwards which definitely loses him his footing and sends him being sprawled on the ground as the other wipes the paint and spit from his face with a snarl.

Of course the next move is having the male's boot pressed against his chest which is no more pleasant than being choked. “Maybe I should have just warned you not to be so very, very stupid instead because that, that is going to cost you. Dearly.”

“Th-then have someone drag me over the line and fucking be done with it,” he wheezes out, “Because you are not going to get any information that you don't already have from me. I promise you that much.”

“You like to not listen don't you? I did warn you that what I would do would make you want that didn't I? I wasn't lying.” He presses harder and Riker chokes out a pained wheeze at the pressure on his ribs. “Your mistake was not learning the moment you should have just given in to me.”

Riker squeezes his eyes shut and decides not saying anything right now would probably be in his best interest. Nothing he'd done had been much of a service to him but he was pretty sure his emotions had gotten the better of him. They did tend to do that.

When he remains just still and quiet, the pressure vanishes. “Get up,” comes the annoyed command, “Anymore refusals or acts of idiocy are going to cost you dearly.”

He is sure all the emotions he's feeling are easily read as he opens his eyes but he just does as told; his stance shaky. It's somewhat annoying that even covered in pink paint Bobo Del Rey still manages to be the most intimidating person in that area. He is less liking being drug across the park though he wonders if anyone is paying attention to him or the paint covered male doing the dragging. Of course he watches most get out of the way with varying looks of horror and pity and knows the pity is at him because they're pretty sure this ends very badly.

Problem is, Riker isn't too sure they're wrong about it. He's released by the male's trailer with a warning of, “If you leave and I have to hunt you down, you're going to wish the newest heir to get here and shoot you,” before he stalks inside clearly to get cleaned up. Which meant Riker was going to have to just stand there. Until he came back out.

Bobo Del Rey was incredibly petty when he had a mind to be. Sighing and crossing his arms, the dark haired Revenant tries to just keep himself occupied even though he'd never done well being still and he wasn't putting it passed the male to take offense if he paced in a circle. So he finds himself clenching and unclenching his fists and shifting his weight.

And the time drags until he's sure that Bobo is doing this on purpose. His jaw tightens and he forces himself to just wait reminding himself that there was nothing he couldn't possibly get through at this point. Nothing.

Finally, the male steps out re-dressed but not in his coat. “Gonna be a fun time getting that dry-cleaned. Hope you're proud of yourself.”

“In my defense, I did warn you,” comes his quiet response, “No one seems to listen.”

“Well, let me clue you in on something you should already know; when it comes to anyone else in the park it doesn't matter. What I say goes. So you should get yourself a little more in line than you currently are.”

Riker huffs. “Considering it was just paint and a bit of spit; I'm far from your more uncontrollable problems. At least I'm not out committing murder.”

“You do not know when to shut up, do you?”

Riker goes to give a retort when would come, “I really, really hate to interrupt, Boss, but...we have a problem.”

He's pretty sure Levi is about to face a whole lot of unpleasantries in that moment as he gazes at the darkened expression before Bobo would shift his attention to the brunette. “What sort of problem could we possibly have now?”

There is a long pause before would come, “Someone went off the rails and killed Curtis.”

There's a snarl before would come, “You and I will talk at a better time, Ascott. Stay out of fucking trouble or I'm adding to what I do to you.”

Riker watches the grab Levi's arm and decides that he's not at all wasting this opportunity to get out of sight. Something tells him that there's going to be more fuss and issues going on to keep the man's temper.

However, as he moves, he sees a familiar face and reaches to grab her shoulder. “Do Del Rey a favor,” he murmurs, “There was an...incident involving his coat and some paint and I know he'll be grateful for it to be cleaned.” Releasing her, he watches Bethany beeline for the trailer and continues on his way to continue his own project.

#Wearp OC: Riker Ascott #Riker Ascott Drabble #Choking tw #Violence tw #Improper chest restraint tw

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