0varywatch:

AAhh!!! Yes!!! I agree whollly!!! 😍😍💖💖💖💖 She’s supposedly 40 and i just… oh goddess on high I love me an ruff older gung slingin’ sharp shootin’ smokin’ woman. 

I’d love to be nothing more than her little princess- the little gem of the Deadlock gang. None of the men dare even look you in the eyes- not with the ever-present threat of Bob looming in your shadows.  You get complete run of all her private houses- the deadlock bases, waited on hand and foot by lady guards personally hand picked by Elizabeth, but Bob is your usual guard. Liz only fully trusts him to be around you because she’s terrified of some human getting the wrong idea- youre the real treasure after all. 

And of COURSE Her widdle sugar pie gets WHAT EVER SHE WANTS. You want something nice to wear- she has you in designer dresses- you want something sweet? she’s kidnapped master chocolatiers. You want a FUCKING CROWN!?!?! She’s looking to hunt down that damn Pig and Rat so you can wear the QUEENS! She says it’ll look cuter on your head anyways 

You’re absolutely spoiled by Momma Ashe. Spoiled emotionally too– She won’t let you be ignored, overlooked, neglected- She’s at your beck and call and all she asks is that you be at hers. Obey her every word. Being Emotionally stunted- she’ll need you probably more than you need her- though she’d never say it. You learn to read her like a book and care for her accordingly. Her gruff and rough exterior melting away at the touch of your hand. Who’s really in control here? You can make her do anything for you- and thats the real rush. 

No man- no king- no army- no GOD can keep her away from you. She’ll destroy all in her path if you where even taken from her. They don’t call her Calamity for nothin’ suga’ 

ashe-appreciation-only:

(ノ*゜▽゜*) I wanted to write this because I was 1) very bored and 2) I love Ashe more than I love myself and I wanted to write something for her. It’s probably not any good. I’m so sorry. It’s fem!reader but there’s not a giant emphasis on it.

The job was well paying at least, to make up for all the humiliation you experienced for eight hours a shift. You fit the tiny top hat headband in your hair, it’s decorated lacy tulle adding a finishing touch to the gaudy western costume they forced you in. Luckily enough you remembered to bring an extra pair of tights so bending over didn’t bring embarrassment (or snickers) from patrons. Unluckily enough however, you’re called out of the back room before you have a chance to even reach for them in your locker. On the way to the front you pull your skirt down enough to where you think it’s situated appropriately and you clock in just before the busy evening began.

Your first customers were a shady, rowdy bunch. How they were even driving was beyond you– but nevertheless you and walk up to the table and begin reciting your cheesy lines in a southern accent. Every word burnt your tongue in shame but you use a charming smile to finish the sentence, hoping it would be enough to save your cringing soul.

“… May I take your order?” You ask.

The group couldn’t contain their laughter for a moment, but at least they were kind enough to straighten up before ordering. It’s not shocking that they ordered alcohol with an absolutely absurd amount of food. Tearing the tiny slip of paper from your pad, you head off towards the kitchen with a hot blush forming on your cheeks. Your fingers pinch the hanger open as you spin the ordering wheel around for the chefs.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Your coworker teased.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” you shift your weight nervously. “I need–”

“I’m just messing with you.” They laugh as they tear the paper from the clip and spy it up and down.

You push the door to the kitchen open and disappear from the groups sight. It made you feel safer knowing you could hide back here, even if it wasn’t for very long. As you get to work on filling up the drinks, you find yourself mindlessly adjusting your outfit again as the frothy, caramel colored liquid reaches the top of every glass. Each drink is then placed nicely atop a tray and you lift it with one heavy sigh.

When you step outside the atmosphere is just as tense as before. It’s quiet except for the occasional raising of someone’s voice from the table you were serving. There’s a shush as they see you approaching and it doesn’t help that all eyes are on you, but you have to do a good job, so you shove down your shyness and read off the orders.

You’re left with one drink in your hand, and the shyness comes bubbling back up again.

“I must’ve made an extra by mistake…” you apologize.

“I’ll take it!” One of them pipes up.

“No! Save it for Ashe.”

“She’s not gonna be here for awhile, why let it go to waste?”

You let them argue for a few seconds in order to collect yourself.

“I can reserve this one for free.” You offer.

Before anyone has a chance to counter, the same person who offered to reserve it takes you up on it.

It’s your time to become unseen again. In the kitchen you write a name on a sticky note and press it gently to the drink. It now sits alone, untouched but still chilled.

Once more you visit the table, but this time with fresh food for everyone. In exchange for the plate you take half filled drinks to refill with no expense, but each time you pass by the full glass you couldn’t help but wonder if that reserved person would ever show up. Even as you take their money and bid them farewell, back in the kitchen the beer still sits completely untouched.

“Just dump it. They’re not showing.” One of your coworkers say.

You shrug and pour it down the drain. You hear the bubbles making their way down the pipes and you can’t help but feel bad.

Another coworker busts through the kitchen door with dirty plates and silverware piled on top a tray.

“Can you get this one? There’s only one person. A woman. She looks pissed, though.” They dump all the dirty dishes in the sink and get to work.

“I clock out in five minutes. Can you handle it, Y/N?”

You glance down at the empty glass you had poured out. The sticky note still stuck to it, slightly wet from the water droplets.

“I can handle it.” You answer.

You run the glass under the machine once more and fill it up as much as you can. Finally, you don’t need a tray this time.

“Wait!” Your coworker calls.

They lightly fix your outfit in the back before sending you on your way. You had almost forgotten about adjusting it because of a neglected beer.

When you find yourself at the same table once again you’re entirely overwhelmed. Not only is there a woman– but there is also a giant omnic accompanying her. He blinks at you as a form of acknowledgment. Your hand trembles slightly as a reply.

“Your friends reserved this for you. It’s free, I paid for it.” You pull yourself out the trance long enough to do your job.

The glass clinks on the table as the quietness thickens. You see the woman reach for the glass as soon as it leaves your hand, but her wrists are red and indented with a rope pattern. You decided it was best not to ask about it.

“Would you like a menu?” You ask.

More silence. The woman eyes you with the same energy the group had earlier, and she’s utterly intimidating, but there’s a tenderness in her voice when she finally speaks.

“Sure.”

You nod and hastily grab one. When she opens it, you’re back in the kitchen and spying out in her direction through the window. You can feel your nerves fill with life.

“There were red marks on her wrists. Do you think she’s okay?” You ask.

“I highly doubt she runs into that much trouble with an omnic like that.” Your coworker doesn’t even look up from the grill.

“Are you sure?” You add.

You can see the woman put down the menu from your view in the kitchen.

“Why don’t you ask her?” Your coworker suggests.

They were right. It’s almost closing time, so maybe there was no harm in being casual with one person. Now you find your eyes fixated even more on her wrists as you take the menu from her hands.

“What will it be?”

It was your favorite item on the menu.

“I love the apple pie here. I think our chef makes the best, honestly.” You smile.

The woman doesn’t provide a reply at first, but it doesn’t feel like it’s out of meanness. You’re quick to cut a moderate piece for her and for you. Sure, it was more money out of your pocket, but there’s something burning deep inside of you. You wanted to know what was wrong.

It takes the woman by surprise when you take the seat in front of her.

“I hope you don’t mind.” You smile.

You take the gaudy headband out of your hair and let the strands fall loosely around your face. The blood began circulating back to the areas where it uncomfortably squeezed your head, and you could think a bit clearer now.

“Thank god,” you mumble, softly massaging the aching parts of your skull. The woman begins eating in the mean time.

It’s only now that you get a good look at who she is. White hair that’s hidden underneath a dark cowboy hat, with the reddest eyes you’ve ever seen. There’s a certain charm to it that you couldn’t quite explain, but it only seemed to draw you in more.

“How rude of me.” The woman speaks up. She reaches for her hat and sets it down near your headband.

“That’s alright–” you reply, but it doesn’t feel like enough. “I’m more unprofessional than you are at the moment.” You add.

This makes her laugh. You can feel your heart leap, but your eyes wander back to the same old place. You guess there’s no saving your professionalism anyway.

“May I ask what happened?” You point to her swollen, red wrists.

“It’s a very long story.” She sighs.

“I’ve got a lot of time.”

You can barely believe what she told you– about explosions, a mysterious crate, a gunslinger– it all sounded like something out of a western movie. Somewhere in the middle of her sentence you snake your fingers along the rope lines as softly as you could. She barely even noticed before a soft blush paints itself across both your faces, then it falls dead silent. It was a bold move that pushed quite a few boundaries, but just this once it ended up paying off.

“You’re locking up.” Your coworker tosses the keys on to the table. “I clocked out for you so you don’t get in trouble.”

You nod at them as they head out the door and into the darkness outside.

“I guess that’s my sign to go.” The woman reaches for her hat before you scramble verbally to stop her.

“I can lock up whenever. It’s okay.” You try your best not to sound desperate.

“I really should get going–”

“Let me get you your ticket first!” You remind her.

You pull your pad out of your pocket and write down everything. It tally’s to zero– but in the corner you jot down your number. If you’re lucky, maybe you’d get a call.

You slide the piece of paper over to her with a heavy blush on your face.

“If you need a place to stay there’s a hotel three miles down. You shouldn’t miss it.” You advise her.

“Thank ya kindly.” She stuffs the note into her pocket before placing her hat atop her head.

“Alright Bob, lets get out of here.”

You watch her as she leaves with the omnic. Even locking up afterwards, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll hear from her. You didn’t even get her name.

Yet, you’re just a little bit in love with her.