#forgedwild

[mettleborn-a]

@forgedwild​ said: 

Samuel wakes to a kisses pressed to his freckled cheek, each careful and cautious as if the culprit of such affections still feels a pang of guilt for waking him at the crack of dawn. But August just can't contain his excitement any longer, nor the beaming sunny smile on his face as he offers a small box to his beloved.

Nestled in its bed of cotton is a pair of decorative cast iron keys, undoubtedly hand-forged by the blacksmith himself given their craftsmanship. But if the intricacies and cleanliness of every edge, every curve of their structures are not a blatant-enough testimony to the bearish hands that molded them, then the lifelike sculpted animal portraits for handles are: one adorned with a bison, and the other with a bear, each with a space carved out for the other. When the keys are joined, the heads interlock, as if the two animals are right at home resting against one another so very peacefully. 

"I know we're still savin' up to build that new home, but I was thinkin' 'bout these an' couldn't stop 'til I made 'em." August flashes Sam another smile, one that is just a hint apologetic, as he presses another kiss to his lips. "Happy Birthday, darlin'. One day we'll have the door an' lock t'match these. I promise."

================

Opening the box, Samuel holds up the set of dual keys, admiring their obvious craftsmanship; the clear signs that make them unmistakably August’s work and the subtle nuances that mark them out as one of Wilder’s finest pieces.

“So beautiful…” He whispers, holding them aloft, to watch the sunlight glint against them, before the interlocking position renders them one; so symbolic of their union; bear and bison.

Sam’s eyes slowly close as he welcomes the first kiss of the day, knowing there will be many more that follow, especially as it’s his Birthday and August has closed up his Blacksmith’s workshop for the day; a rear occurrence which gifts them more time to spend together before Sam is forced to leave his search of another bounty to pursue.

“We got the timber August and the tools, we just got to find the land.” He smiles, entwining their hands as he curls up against him; his gentle giant.

Running his fingers through August’s thick chest of hair, Samuel sighs contentedly as he thinks on it; how good it will be to have a place of their own, with a little bit of land to grow crops and to tame and keep horses, some livestock too. These days it’s all he ever thinks about, especially when he’s out on the trail hunting bounties, separated from his lover just to earn a decent living.

“Just remember, everything we need August, we’ve got right here, the rest, it’s just dressin.”

[frontierbound-archive]

@forgedwild sent:  ‘ you need rest. ’ // IK IM STILL WORKING ON GUS'S BLOG BUT I COULDNT RESIST

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This was going to be a meme response but I got so inspired by this prompt it turned into a starter, because I’m so damn excited about these two interacting!

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Shiver

Samuel had set up camp on the outskirts of Sweetwater, deep within the forest, close enough to see smoke from a campfire set by the gang of outlaws he had been tracking, but far enough to keep his own location safe. Unable to build his own fire, for fear it might betray his position, he set up his tent, settled his horse Diego, finished the last of his whiskey and bedded down for the night.

A few hours later he was awoken by a mighty commotion; the canvass of his tent collapsing down on top of him as heavy rain beat it down flat. Emerging in a rush of flailing limbs and hushed expletives, he finally managed to kick his way free of the sodden thing, only to find himself slipping down the soaked grass to stand knee deep in the river, which had clearly just burst its banks. Crawling out, soaked to the skin, he quickly balled up what was left from his camp, bundled it into his pack and set off on his horse at pace, back towards Sweetwater, in the hopes of finding some shelter for the night.

By the time he reached the town, it had gone way past midnight and most of the town had closed up for the night, save for the Mariposa. After a quick enquiry, it became clear that all the rooms had been taken, as well as all the space in their stable. Trying the other guesthouses nearby, the situation appeared to be the same, all recommending that he tried the next town over. In this weather however it seemed crazy to venture out of Sweetwater, into the unknown with a soaking wet colt; it wasn’t like bandits ceased robbing just because of some rain. Just as he was about to give up hope, he spotted a bright glow in the distance, some way down the road, one that had to be the light of the forge, but why was the smith’s furnace burning at this ungodly hour?

Samuel didn’t want to impose, especially at such a late hour, but even a chance to dry off by the fire for a moment, would certainly help if he needed to head over to the next town to find some shelter. He’d met August Wilder a number of times, but he couldn’t say he knew the Blacksmith well outside of the conversations they shared while Gus was shoeing his horse. That was what he believed anyway; the small, intricately designed, smooth metal animals held at the bottom of his pack told a different story. Samuel however, had no idea they were there; he had been programmed to ignore them, to ignore anything that hinted at a past he could no longer recall. To him, the were like rocks sitting at the bottom of his pack, nothing more and nothing less, yet despite this fact, he had never thrown them away.

Each time Samuel visited the Blacksmith, Gus would always remark that the Bounty Hunter had rode the shoes down real quick and Samuel would always smile back, not willing to admit he’d chosen rough terrain, merely so he had an excuse to visit sooner. He was drawn to August, but in truth, he had no idea why. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, the man’s charm, smile and size had a hell of a lot to do with it. Samuel was aware he probably cut a pitiful looking figure right now; soaked through, sleep deprived and shivering but his pride wasn’t enough that he was going to stand out in the rain, rather than approach the forge, in the hope of some shelter, however short.

As the rain continued to lash down, Samuel nudged Diego into a trot down towards the smithy, before dismounting, tying up his horse and peering inside.

“August…Gus…you in there?”  

[tragicblood-a]

First batch of the busts:

@forgedwest‘s Sam and @forgedwild‘s Gus because they ship and both liked the post so I sorta had to do something with them together.

and smug Hosea for @silvertonguesilverdollar

[hellbentwidow-moved]

@forgedwild​ said: "you’re always welcome to come and talk if you have anything on your mind." //  from x,   accepting

it’s been a long time since she’s felt like this.   comfortable and like it’s easy to breathe again.   she hasn’t known august for very long but it feels like she has.   he always greets her like a long-time friend whenever she shows up at his forge.   she’s much more dismissive than him---   just tosses a hand up to give him a wave before letting herself in.   some folk might even think she doesn’t enjoy his company by how grumpy faced she can be at times,   but if she didn’t like being around him,   she wouldn’t constantly seek him out.   it’s turning into everyday now,  the same schedule no matter what day of the week it is.   she’d be disappointed in herself if she didn’t like him so much.   so much for enjoying the life of a lone wolf.   august has somehow managed to make his way into her life so damn subtly,   though she expected him to never show up again after he helped her during their first meeting.   she paid him for his help and that should have been the end of that,   right?   but she’s been staying at the inn in the same town of his forge even before they met and he insisted on checking up on her after their first meeting.   he said he wanted to make sure she recovered fully and that if she needed anything from him,   she knew where to find him.

her nose wrinkles and she wishes he wasn’t staring so intensely at her.   he’s got tons of work to do,   doesn’t he?   and here she is,   taking up his time and distracting him from the weapon he was formerly working on.   but it felt nice to....   talk,   to open up.   to share with someone,  actually a human fucking being and not a glass of whiskey or an empty,   old bed.   she glances off to the side,   as if the wall’s more interesting to look at than his warm honey eyes.   “you  should  consider  chargin’  for  therapy  sessions.   you’re  real  good  at  listenin’,   gus.  shouldn’t  be  doin’  it  for  free.”   her burn-scarred fingers fumble with the thick fabric of her duster and she finally looks at him,   a small smile rising to her lips.   the gratitude is visible in her eyes and god,   her face feels so fucking hot.   it’s a good thing her face is always reddened,   or else he’d see her blushing bright right now.   “the  offer  extends  to  you,   big  guy.   you  know  where  i’m  stayin’  at.   gonna  be  there  ‘till  the  end  of  the  month,   i  reckon.”

[vanderking]

Well to the other man’s credit he had willed himself to listen to Dutch and his constant rambling about his literature obsession with author Evelyn Miller. ❛ Thank you for humoring me. ❜ He reaches a hand across to squeeze the latter man’s shoulder. ❛ Not many folk pay no mind to the words of an old yankee dreamer who reads books. ❜ Already he is quite fond of this August. 

❛ You can call me Dutch if you like? That’s the name I’ve been called for a long while now. Dutch Van der Linde. You might of heard of me or you might’ve not. These days I’m more of a ghost than anything else. ❜ After all the carnage that unfolded over the last few weeks most believed he was dead or had escaped the country. It was just a weight off of his shoulders to be able to have a drink in a saloon again. 

/ @forgedwild​​ ♚

[onlylibertyaa]

@forgedwild​ asked: ❝ The past can bind a man as surely as irons. ❞

       No matter where anyone might look, they would be hard-pressed to find someone without blood on their hands. It is how the west has turned out to be, and while word of mouth and grand tales of derring-do and other shenanigans was romanticised across the entirety of America in books, or in movies... Anne was having a difficult time seeing the prettiness that was so often glorified. She supposes the outlaw lifestyle would seem awfully exciting to those caught in the slow-turning cogs of normal society, but there was nothing romantic about the danger and the risk that came along with it. Men would sigh about cowboys running off with their daughters, joke about trading their wives in, but they would never be able to take that first step to put them on that path. Truth be told, had Anne not met James, she is certain that her heart would be heavy with regret.

      It was a horrible weight to have on one’s shoulders. To have killed before. Her ex-husband had had it coming when he’d left her at the mercy of the elements or the animals in the wilderness to take care of her. The men after that were completely unavoidable. Greed made monsters of men, and survival made monsters of the rests. Anne eyes him now, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthpiece of her pipe. There is a beat of silence that hangs between them for the briefest of moments, and it’s heavy a contemplative. “Yer preachin’ to the choir here, fella.” She manages finally, and with a sniff. “But ye can get out of any irons with enough patience or help. I reckon that’s about the same fer someone’s past, too.”

[oldapp]

At first, it didn't hurt but after the rush of adrenaline and hysteria, those bullet wounds sent an excruciating sensation throughout the right side of her body. After getting herself to safety, away from her father, Emily took cover behind a rotting tree that had fallen over. She pressed herself tightly against the decaying wood as she listened for footsteps. So far - nothing. Only the natural serenity of the forest could be heard.

Everything ached, everything burned. Her lungs pleaded for air through deep breaths while a continuous dull soreness gnawed away at her body. Blood began to saturate her shirt, turning it into a dark red where her injuries were. As much as her body yearned for another minute of rest, Emily heaved herself to her feet. If she did not move now and without proper medical attention, she would be dead before sunrise.

The once bustling town of Sweetwater was now reduced to a desolate ghost town. The combination of constant chatter and music was now left to halting stillness. The dead piled the streets accompanied by blood-stained and broken windows were just a few features. 

She tethered her horse to the post before entering the abandoned store. With a gun in her hand, she thoroughly investigated the dwelling for occupiers - none. She holstered her firearm before hastily rummaging through the building, finding what she needed. With a shaky hand, Emily grabbed her wrist and slowly inhaled before a regulated exhale. However, a creak in the floorboards caught her attention and drew her gun immediately from her holster. She pointed it at the entrance of the room, pulling back the hammer, “𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐭.”

__________

@forgedwild​

[mettleborn-a]

Kiss Symbol Meme (no longer accepting)

@forgedwild​ said:  ⚠ – a kiss before a battle // for Samuel bc I’m a predictable bitch when it comes to my couple bonding of choice

Samuel has Diego doing an impossibly slow trot as heads away from the Blacksmith’s workshop, only a few more steps and he won’t be able to see Gus standing there, hammer in one hand, waving with the other as he bids him farewell. Sam’s lips are still warm with the kiss they shared only a moment ago, but as the wind rises up and robs him of the sensation, it suddenly occurs to Sam that it’s just not enough; he can’t leave yet, he needs more.

Turning the Mustang in the middle of the street, so roughly it causes a thick cloud of dust to rise up around him, Samuel thunders back down the main street, nearly taking out a nearby drunkard who has just stumbled out of the saloon. Grinding to halt, Samuel dismounts in a singular fluid motion, striding towards the blacksmith with urgent purpose to back him up against the workshop wall, hands clasping to his bearded face as he leans up on his toes to kiss August hard and fierce; he needs it; that taste to tide him over, that sensation of rough hair scraping at his lips and hands hot and heavy at his waist. One more kiss before he goes, one more kiss before he rides into battle to face an outlaw most wouldn’t dare challenge.

“For luck.” He whispers breathlessly, grinding himself against Gus’ thigh, to placate the semi in his tight pants, which threatens to put an end to this trip all together. “Guess this’ll keep till I get back.” He jokes, thrusting the Blacksmith’s hand down between his thighs to feel the heat there, cultivated by no more than a simple rough kiss. “Don’t be missin’ me now Gusy, I’ll be back soon, I promise.”