[Dia.]

The blood theme is not appropriate for CS, so please edit the design of this horse to follow CS rules.
I know you are calling it paint, but the red dripping from the horse leads me to believe otherwise.

[muffy]

Blood brother <3

[muffy]

Just a reminder this ends today! c:

[muffy]

LENGTHY POST AHEAD KIDS WATCH OUT

Owner: endless fall.
Show Name: Bound By Blood
Barn Name: Midas
Gender: Stallion
Age: 104 yrs
Picture: Hocus Pocus c; (ngl the cat is my fav character)
How they formed their brotherhood:

Background knowledge: Alright I'm taking a little artistic liberty here to make things work, bare with me pls, taking into account the age these beauts are, and for writing purposes saying that the current year is 2016 (artist liberty here), Boo would of been born in 1916, while the age I gave Midas would have him be born in 1912. These years are important due to the fact that WWI began in 1914 and ended in 1918. Thus giving me the setting c; (also this is kinda like War Horse, so if you haven't seen that movie, watch it noooow)
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Midas hadn't seen much in his short life, but he had seen many different men, each different than the last, but each looking the same. Only a yearling in age, his current owner was an aged and weathered man, one with a little girl that would sneak Midas some of the carrots from the garden.

(let's call him Midas! the little girl had squealed. Midas? her father asked. Yes, dad! 'Cause everything he'll touch'll turn to gold!)

I have no other option, the wizened old man now said softly to Midas, a gentle hand on his flank as they walked. Mary doesn't know that I'm doing this, but the crops aren't doing it this year, no matter how hard you've worked old boy. Midas nickered softly, and the old man smiled gently, giving him one more comforting pat before continuing on.

That had been the last Midas had seen of that weathered human, the last he'd seen of the little girl that had seemed to grow smaller and weaker each time she came to give him a carrot. That was the last Midas was actually called Midas (everything he'll touch'll turn to gold). Now - now his name was Jim, plain but reliable Jim, but Midas he would still call himself. Jim was the name that sounded before the crack of the whip did, the name that had Midas pulling the wagon of large and intimidating metal, mud compressing beneath his hooves as humans pushed behind. Jim was a name he did not like. A name that was either yelled at him, or whispered gently as a weak and scared boy took of his harness. Jim was not who he was; here he did not feel like everything was gold, here the sound of yelling and the smell of smoke were an everyday thing.

Midas was only two, but the whip marks made him seem ten.

Now he had no name, 'animal' is what they called him, but more often than not they said nothing and simply pulled. Jerk his reins harshly enough, and a wheeze would soon follow. Don't move fast enough and gunshots would follow. Midas use to be scared of the gleaming metal hanging from humans waist or slung around their shoulders - he lost that fear the minute he saw another horse who called himself Cal pass due to one.

A possible out, Midas stored it away for use later.

Midas reared, and a muffled curse from the man riding him sounded as Midas himself stumbled and fell to the ground, followed by more cursing from the same man. Up you stupid animal! the man growled, the cold metal of the same weapons Midas use to once pull poking into his flank, making him jerk as he tried to lift himself from the muddied and grassy ground. Hands jerked on his reigns, urging him on further. Come on you brute! I ain't got time for this! the man continued to growl, Midas tried, he did, but for once laying down seemed the better option. His stomach wished for a carrot. He heard a click, and the same cold metal was now against his head. To hell with ya then. Midas didn't know what hell was. A sudden grunt sounded from the man though, and the cold press of metal was gone, If you even think about putting one shell in that horse, I'll end you myself.

Midas never knew how calming a hand rubbing gently against his neck could feel.

Sergeant was the humans name, or that was what other humans called the man that saved Midas. Sergeant was different, not in how he looked, but different in his relationship with Midas. He asked the same of Midas, and in return Sergeant gave Midas just as much. Sergeant called Midas 'Shell', and Sergeant would always get this little smirk, like he had said something funny. Shell was a name Midas did not mind, and Shell took on that name for himself, he felt golden with the name Shell. Quick and fast, but dependable. Sergeant had told Shell as he softly patted his muzzle one day at camp. Shell only pushed his muzzle further into Sergeants hand, a small smile formed on the mans face, Shell liked it. I trust you to get me out of this, Sergeant whispered quietly one early morning to Shell, tightening his saddle and securing his bridle with gentle but sure hands. Sergeant lifted himself easily onto Shell's back, and gently guided him away from camp.

Shell was three that day he galloped in with Sergeant on his back. Shell soon became Midas once more when he no longer felt Sergeants reassuring weight on top of him. The name Shell died as quickly as the man that made Midas feel safe did. (Everything he'll touch'll turn to gold. Midas didn't agree).

No Man's Land they called it, Midas even heard some men call it Dead Man's Land. Both fitting names he thought, since no one ever stepped foot in it, and any who did never really came out. The men around him were often quiet, waiting and watching, Midas was the same. Still three, the majority of his white coat brown and dried. The trenches they stood in were muddy and wet, his hooves caked with mud, their boots the same. No one called him anything, only 'good boy' and so on. Midas didn't mind, he didn't want anymore names anyway. There was hardly any movement from the men around him, and every time Midas went into the dreaded dead land between them with a soldier on his back, he'd always come out alone. Midas was four when he finally became numb to the barbed wire strewn about the deserted zone, yes it left it's marks, but Midas finally realized that it was nothing compared to the things he had seen, heard, smelled. Barbed wire was far friendly than many men he had seen, heard, and smelled.

The weight on Midas back was gone again, gone like the one before that, and the one before that, and the one before that. Gone, gone, gone. Casualties, he'd often hear someone say after seeing him return by himself. The sound of canon fire, fire's crackling around in the dark night, Midas quickly moved on, until he heard a pained neigh, and help... anyone. His mind quickly jotted it down as another human that had fallen off their shot horse, but the same neigh sounded again, and Midas stopped. Stillness got one killed, Midas had learned that early on (stored it away for later use), but the neigh sounded again. A call for help, No Man's Land was death, but everything still had a chance to survive. Midas quickly moved towards the sound, the sight greeting him one he had seen before, but long after the other was beyond saving. A horse, trapped and tangled in the barbed wire. The barbed wire was doing it's job, getting tangled and tighter as the horse ensnared in it continued to move and try to free themselves. Midas had experience, he knew barbed wire and how it worked, this horse didn't. More canon fire in the distance.

Midas was five when he got the horse who called himself Boo out of that barbed wire, both scratched, Boo bleeding more than was considered safe, but both out of No Man's Land. Both alive with their blood mixed together on each other's coats.

Boo became constant. What he didn't know, Midas taught. It was equal parts give and take, and when Midas found himself quieter than usual, Boo was there to snap reality back. Midas was six when he found himself being led away from the mud, Boo close behind and never far. The humans soon become aware that where ever one went, they other needed to go too. Buddies these two are, they would say when asked. Must be brothers, others would suggest. Boo never said that he liked the idea of them being brothers, but Midas could read it in the way the young stallion puffed his chest and held his head high each time a human said it. Midas never disagreed with the idea either, he let the idea continue to grow in Boo's mind; the idea that they were brothers, not by blood, but by the experiences they both shared. Midas looked out for Boo, and Boo looked out for him.

Aren't we kinda' like.. well.. blood brothers? Boo asked one day. Blood brothers? Midas had parroted. Well.. yeah, you remember the day we met, of course Midas did, they both do, and.. just.. well you know. Boo didn't have to say anything else, Midas knew, it felt like he could still feel his and Boo's blood, along with the mud, on his coat. Just like how they both knew that it wasn't easy for either of them to talk about their time together during the war, or the time before. Blood brothers, not because they were actual brothers, but because they had both seen, spilled, and shared, not just experiences, but blood too.

I suppose so, Midas hummed in agreement.

Congrats! that story is super cute <3 hopefully we can make some more stories of them together!
Also Cowgirls Don't Cry i will make a runner up for you cause your form was also fabulous

[neamrel]

halloween just got better!! ;-;

ah thank you so much muffy, im super stoked you liked the story tbh c;
and i’m always down for making more stories of these two beauts!
*squishes midas towards chest*