The Red Harvest explores the darker sides of humanity that I've studied over the years. I felt compelled to write this story now, as the world seems to be in chaos.
If you're sensitive to dark themes or religious topics, this story may not be for you; it contains disturbing content. Those who have experienced abuse might find it triggering due to the intense elements in the narrative. I drew inspiration from an episode of Supernatural (Season 1, Episode 11), and the song "Unnatural Selection" by Muse will accompany the next few chapters.
I'll be adding tags on AO3, and the story will transition from Mature to Explicit content. The original version will be on AO3, possibly with a toned-down version, but that's still undecided. Just remember: "Once something is read, it can't be unseen."
October 2024 UPDATE: I know it's been two years since I last updated this story, and I apologize for the long delay—it wasn't intentional. These past two years have been incredibly challenging on a personal level, marked by a great deal of loss and pain. I've learned to channel my grief into this story, believing that the darkness it brings will enhance its overall depth and cruel beauty. To expedite the process, I'll be running my rough chapters through AI, as I currently lack a beta reader to proofread my work. Additionally, editing can be time-consuming, and I simply don't have the luxury of time. I've also revisited and refined the previous chapters (like this one) to ensure a consistent tone throughout the story.
TWO
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Sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains, casting soft, golden rays across the bedroom. Edward stirred, blinking groggily as the warmth kissed his face. For a moment, everything felt peaceful, almost dreamlike. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to shake off the strange haze clouding his thoughts. His body felt heavy, as though the bed were holding him down.
With some effort, Edward sat up. But the moment he moved, the room tilted, a sudden wave of vertigo crashing over him. The floor seemed to slip away, and Edward's vision swam. He shut his eyes and gripped his head with both hands, breathing deeply to stave off the nausea. What the hell...?
It felt like a hangover, but there was something... off about it. He wracked his memory, trying to piece together the night before. He didn't remember drinking—or at least, not enough to feel like this. His thoughts were foggy, but no matter how hard he tried, nothing explained the dizziness.
"Ugh... what's going on?" he muttered to himself, trying once more to stand. As he got to his feet, the room swayed again, as though mocking his attempts to balance. With a frustrated grunt, Edward sank back onto the bed, forcing himself to breathe through the lingering grogginess.
He turned, suddenly remembering Winry. Where is she?
The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets still slightly crumpled from where she'd slept. His first thought was that maybe she was feeling the same—dizzy, nauseous, something. But the faint sound of running water from the bathroom suggested otherwise. If she was in the shower, maybe she felt fine. Or maybe she was trying to shake it off too, just like him.
A shower. Good idea. Edward briefly considered joining her, but a crooked smile tugged at his lips. The thought of it stirred a memory of the night before—one that sent a pleasant warmth through his chest. He'd always hated to admit it, but the old farts were right about one thing: a little advice had gone a long way. Winry's smile last night had said more than words ever could.
His stomach growled, pulling him back to the present. That's more like it, he thought, chuckling under his breath. No wonder he was starving. After a night like that... Catalina had promised breakfast would be waiting for them in the morning. The thought of good food gave him the motivation to get up again. This time, when he stood, the dizziness had lessened—though there was still a faint, nagging feeling at the back of his head, like something wasn't quite right.
He pulled on some lounge pants and a shirt before heading downstairs to the dining area, expecting to find the table laid out with breakfast.
Instead, he was greeted by emptiness.
Edward stood at the threshold, scowling at the sight of the bare table. "The hell...?" His voice was low, irritated. Where was everything?
Still clinging to hope, he made his way to the kitchen. It was empty too—no smell of cooking, no sign of Catalina, no plates, nothing. Just silence. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Past nine. Catalina had said they'd be picked up around this time to start the day's tour. His scowl deepened. Were they late? Or did they miss it?
Annoyed, Edward stomped back upstairs to grab his sandals. He'd head to the main building and complain if he had to. Typical tourist move. But as he scribbled a quick note for Winry, a feeling gnawed at him, tugging from the back of his mind. Something was off.
He brushed it aside, opened the front door—and froze.
Gone were the gentle, rolling vineyards. The peaceful landscape had been replaced by dense, towering trees, their massive roots clawing into the earth. Thick vines and lush foliage blocked out the horizon, turning the world outside into an untamed jungle.
Edward blinked, his heart skipping a beat. His first thought was that he was still groggy, still recovering from whatever dizziness had taken him earlier. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again. The jungle didn't vanish. If anything, it seemed to get... closer.
"What the actual hell...?" Edward whispered, voice barely audible. His hand gripped the doorframe as he scanned the unfamiliar scene, every instinct in his body screaming at him. His breath quickened, eyes darting wildly for something—anything—that made sense.
That's when he saw it: in the thick bushes, just beyond the door, were strange markings. The bushes were arranged to delineate a transmutation circle. Symbols and patterns intertwined, each one serving to conjure up the essence of alchemy.
Edward's heart lurched as realization hit. A transmutation circle. Shit.
But this... this was no ordinary circle. Whoever created it wasn't just moving objects or manipulating matter. They had transported him—them—to another place entirely. His mind raced, disbelief fighting with the rising panic flooding his senses. No one could perform alchemy on this scale. Not even the most advanced alchemists. Whoever had done this had incredible power, and—if they were willing to go to such lengths—dangerous motives.
Edward slammed the door shut, his mind in overdrive. Who did this? Why?
He didn't have time to think. He needed to act.
He raced back into the kitchen, throwing open drawers, his heart hammering in his chest. Empty. No knives? Nothing? The lack of tools, weapons—anything—made his pulse race faster. Panic clawed at the edges of his mind.
Winry. She'd be coming out of the shower any second, oblivious to what was outside.
With renewed urgency, Edward bolted upstairs two steps at a time. He stormed into their room, yanking open drawers, tossing clothes aside in frantic search. Winry emerged from the bathroom, hair damp and eyes wide, startled by the chaos.
"Ed, what the hell are you doing?" Her voice was tense, the worry clear in her tone.
He barely glanced at her, continuing his frantic search. There has to be something, he thought, frustration growing as drawer after drawer revealed nothing useful. His breath was coming in short, sharp bursts now, panic starting to overtake logic.
"Ed!" Winry's voice cut through the frenzy. She was standing over him now, hands on her hips, but there was fear behind her eyes. "What is going on?"
He stopped, finally meeting her gaze. How do I explain this? There wasn't time for a long explanation, no time to ease her into it. "We're in danger," he said, voice tight. "I don't know how, but we've been moved. Somewhere... else."
Before Winry could question him, he grabbed her hand, pulling her to the window. "Look."
Winry's breath caught as she looked out at the jungle. Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. "Ed... what is this?"
"I don't know," Edward said, swallowing hard. "But we need to get out of here. Now. Get dressed in something... sturdy. And grab your tools."
Winry stared out the window a moment longer, as if hoping the scene would disappear, then snapped into action. Without another word, she headed to the closet, pulling out clothes better suited for the wild.
Edward's heart raced as he pulled on his own gear, eyes flitting to the door, the window, the unfamiliar world beyond. The sense of urgency gnawed at him. Whoever was behind this knew exactly what they were doing.
Minutes later, they were ready. Winry hefted her toolbox with a determined look. Edward nodded, his resolve hardening. He had no idea what they were walking into, but whatever it was, they would face it together.
"Let's go," Edward said, voice low but firm.
And with that, they descended the stairs, leaving behind the remnants of their peaceful morning and stepping into the unknown.
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Edward and Winry moved swiftly between the thick bushes, the leaves brushing against their skin as they made their way through the dense jungle. Every now and then, Edward cast a worried glance at Winry. Her face was pale but determined, her steps quick and steady, though he knew she was scared. He could see it in the way her hands clenched at her sides and the way she kept her eyes forward, not looking at him.
The road wasn't far—he could feel it—but taking it wasn't an option. It was too exposed, too dangerous. They'd be looking for us there.
Images of the strange trinkets Edward had seen back in Benevolo flashed through his mind. Those small, unsettling objects that had seemed innocent at first now took on a sinister weight, especially when paired with the gruesome painting he'd found—one of a couple being sacrificed to some god-like figure. The thought gnawed at him, refusing to let go. A couple... His stomach twisted as the realization sank deeper. Winry and he were a couple, and Catalina had called them "special" more than once.
Was this all planned? Was the painting a warning?
The idea might have seemed far-fetched to most people, but Edward had lived through crazier things to dismiss it. He pressed his lips into a hard line, his eyes darting to Winry again. If it were just him, he'd feel more confident, more prepared to handle whatever was coming. But Winry was involved, and that changed everything. His mind flashed to Baschool, to the way he'd nearly lost her once before.
"We need to stay out of sight," Edward whispered, his voice tight with tension. "There's a high probability people are already searching for us. We have to stay hidden and gather information. Figure out what's going on."
Winry nodded without saying a word. The silence between them was heavy, the air thick with the weight of their unspoken fears. Edward studied her for a moment, searching for any signs of hesitation. She was scared—he could see it in the way her brow furrowed and her eyes flickered with uncertainty—but she wasn't backing down.
A sound, low and unfamiliar, suddenly cut through the cacophony of the jungle. Edward froze, lifting a finger to his lips to signal Winry to stay silent. She stopped immediately, her breath hitching as they both crouched lower to the ground, listening intently.
The noise came again—closer this time. Faint voices, two men talking. Edward's heartbeat quickened as he strained to make out what they were saying. The voices were getting louder, heading toward the villa.
He motioned for Winry to stay put and quietly padded closer to the road, his steps slow and deliberate as he pushed aside some ferns to get a clearer view. Through the gaps in the greenery, he spotted them—two men walking at a steady pace along the road.
The taller one, who looked gruff and seasoned, spoke first. "Jon, you shouldn't have gotten involved," he said, his tone low but frustrated.
The second man, Jon, gave a casual shrug. "I had to, Marcus. They pretty much roped me in."
Marcus shook his head. "I get it, Jon, but now we're late, and I don't know what we're going to tell the captain. We're way behind schedule."
Jon smirked. "Don't worry about it. The captain and I have an understanding. He's not going to punish us."
Marcus let out a small sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "If you say so..."
There was a pause, and then Marcus asked, "Think they're going to give us trouble?"
Jon chuckled, the sound unnervingly lighthearted. "Nah, they never do. They're too frightened to put up a fight."
Marcus laughed too, a sound that sent a chill down Edward's spine.
Edward's jaw clenched, and he tightened his grip on the wrench in his hand. Too frightened to put up a fight, huh? He narrowed his eyes, already planning his next move. They needed to act fast before these men got too close to the villa.
Edward retreated back to where Winry was waiting, his expression dark. "There are two men on the road, heading for us," he whispered, crouching beside her. "I'm going to ambush them, but I need a distraction. Think you can handle that?"
Winry, though her eyes still held traces of fear, nodded firmly. "What do you need me to do?"
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Edward and Winry moved swiftly through the brush, the thick foliage whispering around them as they pushed forward. Every muscle in Edward's body was tense with anticipation. They needed to reach the part of the road where the trees thinned out enough for him to execute his plan. Winry would act as a decoy; her job was simple yet dangerous. She would walk out onto the road, looking frightened and vulnerable. The men sent to fetch them would never suspect a woman in distress. They would drop their guard, and when they did, Edward would strike from behind. The blow would come fast and hard.
They finally reached a spot where the road was visible through a gap in the trees. It was quiet except for the distant chatter of jungle creatures. Edward crouched low, motioning for Winry to stay hidden for now. His heart pounded against his ribs as they waited, the tension between them growing thicker with every passing second.
He gave Winry a nod, and she nodded back. His throat felt tight as he watched her step out from their cover, her steps slow and hesitant, her posture purposefully timid. Edward prayed silently that everything would go as planned. Please, let this work.
"Look at that beauty," a voice called out from the road. "And she's all alone in the forest!"
Edward's eyes flicked toward the source of the voice. Two men were approaching, and as they neared, Edward couldn't help but notice their unusual attire. They looked like they had stepped out of some ancient history book, their bronze breastplates gleaming dully under the filtered light of the jungle. The men wore tunics beneath their armor, and their helmets, crested with feathers, made Edward's stomach churn. This is going to be a problem. A wrench wasn't likely to dent those helmets, and Edward needed a solid hit to incapacitate them.
His eyes roved over their bodies, searching for weaknesses. The legs—mostly unprotected. They wore shin guards and sandals, but a good swing to the knee could throw them off balance. Now, who do I go for first? Edward clenched his jaw, his mind racing. He had to make a decision fast. Winry's safety depended on it.
"Hello there, little lady!" the taller of the two men, Marcus, called out with a wide grin. He took a step forward, his tone disturbingly casual.
Jon, the second man, edged closer, a predatory smile creeping across his lips. "You seem to be lost," he said, stepping into Winry's space, his eyes scanning her up and down.
Winry stood frozen in place, her eyes widening in an expertly feigned shock. For a second, Edward's breath hitched in his throat. Damn it, Winry... don't overdo it.
"Please don't be frightened," Marcus said, his voice soft but mocking as he moved in even closer. "I know this must seem strange, but this is all part of your honeymoon package."
Jon circled around her, his tone dripping with false cheer. "You're our special guests! We're just here to take you to the next part of the trip."
Marcus leaned in, his grin widening. "Where's your husband?"
Winry hesitated, her eyes flicking briefly over their surroundings, careful not to give away Edward's position. Finally, she spoke, her voice small but steady. "He's back at the villa."
Both men looked momentarily surprised. Marcus was the first to react, chuckling under his breath. "So you're telling me your husband sent you to get help?" He threw his head back and laughed, the sound harsh and cruel. "What a coward. Must be one hell of a pussy."
Edward's temper snapped. "I'll show you who's a pussy!" he roared, leaping out of the bushes, wrench in hand.
The element of surprise worked perfectly. The men had just enough time to turn their heads in shock before Edward was on them, his wrench swinging with deadly precision.
He dashed straight for Marcus, the larger of the two. Sliding low to the ground, Edward swung his wrench hard, connecting with the back of Marcus' knee. The force of the blow sent the man crashing down with a howl of pain, clutching his leg.
Edward didn't stop. He leapt onto Marcus, bringing the wrench down again, this time with a sickening crunch against the man's knee. The scream that followed told Edward everything he needed to know—Marcus was out of the fight.
Without hesitation, Edward sprang toward Jon, who was fumbling for the sword strapped to his side. But the man was too slow. Edward's next strike landed squarely on the side of Jon's face, knocking him to the ground. Edward wasted no time disarming him, wrenching the sword from his grip and holding it up with a victorious grin.
Jon, dazed but still conscious, glared up at Edward with wild, golden eyes. Golden eyes... like mine? The realization stopped Edward cold. His grip tightened on the sword, but his mind was suddenly flooded with questions. Who the hell are these guys?
But there was no time to process the strange revelation. A blood-curdling scream ripped through the jungle, cutting through Edward's thoughts like a knife.
Marcus had seized Winry, his arm locked around her throat, dragging her toward him as she struggled in vain to break free. "Surrender, or she gets hurt!" Marcus bellowed, his voice laced with desperation and fury.
Edward's heart nearly stopped. He glanced at the sword in his hand, weighing his options. He could take Marcus down—but not without risking Winry's life in the process. Surrender wasn't an option, but rushing in headfirst would only put her in more danger. He stood there, sword clenched tightly, muscles coiled and ready, but paralyzed by the stakes.
And then—another scream. This time, from Marcus.
The man crumpled to the ground, clutching his already injured knee. Winry, now free, backed away quickly, her face flushed but determined. Edward's heart swelled with pride. She had managed to land a perfect kick to Marcus' weakened leg.
But the victory was short-lived.
Jon, having recovered from Edward's earlier blow, lunged at him with unexpected speed, knocking him to the ground. The force of the attack drove the air from Edward's lungs as he hit the dirt, the sword slipping from his hand.
"I wasn't expecting a fight," Jon growled, pinning Edward beneath him, "but I'm glad it happened."
His hands closed around Edward's throat, and suddenly, Edward found himself struggling for breath. Jon's strength was overwhelming, and no matter how hard Edward tried to shove him off, the man's grip tightened, cutting off his air supply.
Edward's vision began to blur, his strength fading as his mind screamed for oxygen. Just as the darkness began to close in, Jon's body went limp and slumped over him. The pressure on his throat disappeared, and Edward gasped, coughing violently as he fought to regain his breath.
Winry was there, pushing Jon off him, her hands trembling as she frantically checked him for injuries. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice thick with worry.
Edward rolled onto his side, propping himself up shakily. "I'm... I'm fine," he managed between ragged breaths. He glanced at the unconscious Jon beside him, then back at Winry. "Thank you."
Winry, still catching her breath, nodded. "I had to stop him," she said quietly, her voice edged with guilt.
Edward gave her a weak grin, trying to lighten the mood. "You did good, wifey."
He stood up slowly, wincing at the aches beginning to set in. Grabbing the sword from the ground, he walked over to where Marcus lay, still groaning in pain. Edward pointed the blade at his throat, his expression hard and unyielding.
"Start talking," he demanded.
Marcus glared up at him defiantly, blood trickling from his mouth. But the look in his eyes shifted when Edward pressed the blade harder against his skin.
"Okay, okay!" Marcus relented, raising his hands in submission. "I'll cooperate. We... we have families to go home to. I'll tell you everything."
Edward narrowed his eyes. "Then I suggest you be quite thorough."
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The fire crackled loudly, but Edward and Winry didn't hear it. Their eyes were fixed on the dancing flames as their dinner roasted, each lost in their own thoughts, processing the events of the past few hours in their own way.
After restraining the two soldiers, Edward had dragged them off the road, keeping them hidden. Marcus, the taller of the two, had been the chattier, and Edward used that to his advantage. He asked the questions with an intensity that made Marcus hesitate, but a swift kick with Edward's automail leg to Marcus' already injured knee loosened his tongue.
The first question, of course, had been about the soldiers' appearance—their golden hair and eyes. Edward and Winry had both been shocked to realize these men were of pure Xersian descent. The idea that there were others like Edward, living out here in some unknown jungle, had rattled them both. But the real shock had come later, when Marcus confirmed what Edward had feared: Winry and he were to be tributes, offerings to a so-called god-king.
As Marcus confessed, something cold settled deep in Edward's chest. He had faced many dangers in his life, but the thought of Winry being dragged into something so barbaric as a human sacrifice enraged him. He had been done with the men after that. The confirmation was enough. They had stripped the soldiers of their uniforms, needing them to blend in and escape unnoticed. Winry had hidden her blond hair under the hooded cloak, her face shadowed, but Edward's mind remained uneasy.
Winry had even found a walkie-talkie among the soldiers' gear—an anachronism so absurd it would've been comical if the situation wasn't so dire. The device crackled to life right after she found it.
"What's your status?" came the voice on the other end.
For a moment, Edward froze, searching Winry's eyes for a plan. Nothing. "Just say something," she had whispered, shoving the device into his hand. "We don't want them to get suspicious."
Edward had pressed the TALK button, his fingers crossed. "On our way back with the tributes. Over."
There had been a pause on the other end, and then, "You're late. Just head back. Stat."
Edward had breathed a sigh of relief.
Now, as he watched the rabbit cook over the fire, Edward's thoughts drifted back to the walkie-talkie lying discarded by his side. He felt Winry's gaze on him before she spoke.
"We should've gotten rid of it," she said, her voice low, troubled. She was sitting across from him, her knees pulled up to her chest, a worried frown creasing her face.
Edward looked at her, feeling the weight of her fear, knowing there was nothing he could say to ease it. He didn't have any reassurances to offer. Not out here. Not with everything that was happening. Still, he reminded himself that Winry was Rockbell strong. She would be okay. She had to be.
He decided a distraction might help. "Did I ever tell you about our time on Yoke Island?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood. Winry blinked, her face softening slightly, as if relieved by the shift in conversation.
Edward continued, shaking his head at the memory. "We were starving. We didn't know how to catch anything, didn't know how to survive in the wild. It got so bad, Al and I thought we were going to die." He chuckled lightly, cutting a piece of the roasted rabbit. "One day, we finally caught a rabbit—about the size of this one. Al wanted me to do the dirty work, of course. The little bastard."
Winry took the piece of meat he handed her, listening intently, the beginning of a smile tugging at her lips.
"I couldn't say no to my little brother," Edward went on. "So I killed the thing. And, well... we didn't know what we were doing, so we charred the poor rabbit to a crisp. If we hadn't been so hungry, we would've tossed it. But hunger's a powerful motivator." He laughed softly. "Al almost choked on a bone too."
Winry bit into the rabbit and shook her head, smiling for real now. "Now I understand why Al hates rabbit."
The food, though simple, helped curb their hunger, giving them a small sense of normalcy. Edward looked up at the stars through the gaps in the foliage, the jungle around them quiet, save for the crackling of the fire. He glanced at Winry, wondering if he should let the flames burn longer. He'd debated not starting a fire at all, knowing it might alert someone to their presence, but hunting had been the only option after he failed to find anything edible in the unfamiliar jungle.
Now, Winry was sitting against a tree trunk, shivering slightly. Edward sighed. Against everything he'd been taught about survival, he decided to keep the fire going for a little while longer. The warmth would help her sleep, at least for a few hours. Later, he'd have to douse the flames and rely on the embers and their body heat to stay warm. He knew this wouldn't be easy—not for her, not for them. This wasn't what he had wanted for their first days of marriage. But there was no turning back.
Suddenly, the air shifted. Something was wrong.
Edward's body went rigid as he straightened up, listening intently. The faint sound of footsteps crunching through the leaves drifted toward them. He leaned forward and grabbed Marcus' sword from the ground, his eyes narrowing. Damn it.
Winry sensed the change, her expression tensing. Edward put a finger to his lips, signaling her to stay silent. A twig snapped in the distance, louder this time. Edward rose slowly, sword in hand, turning toward the sound. He wondered how many were coming. His jaw clenched. These new soldiers were bound to be more skilled than the ones they had dealt with earlier.
Eight men stepped out of the shadows. They weren't dressed like soldiers, but their eyes—golden like his own—made Edward's gut twist with unease. He got closer to Winry, shielding her as best he could. She was trembling, her blue eyes wide with fear. Edward counted the men again. Damn it. No way we're getting out of this easily.
A thought struck him. If we're tributes, they won't harm us. That meant he could use this to his advantage. But he had to act quickly.
Edward tightened his grip on the sword and lunged at the nearest man, swinging hard and slicing across his arm. The man cried out, staggering back as blood splattered onto the ground.
Edward didn't stop. He moved like lightning, aiming for the next man. But just as he closed in, the first man—clutching his bleeding arm—yelled, "We're here to save you, you stupid fuck!"
Edward hesitated for a split second. Save us?
But there was no time to think. His instincts took over, and he swung at the brawniest of the group, aiming to demoralize the rest. The big man blocked the attack with surprising ease, deflecting the blow and sizing Edward up with a calculating gaze.
"James, did you see this guy?" the brawny man said, his brow raised in interest. The man named James stepped closer, eyeing Edward with a strange curiosity.
"Now this is interesting," James replied, his golden eyes gleaming as he studied Edward's build and features.
Edward's blood boiled. He took a step back, raising his sword again, ready to strike. But the brawny man merely smirked.
"We don't have time for this," he said, glancing at his comrades. "Let's finish this quickly."
Edward's chest heaved with frustration. "Not buying it, pal," he spat, his grip tightening on the sword.
But before he could attack, Winry's terrified shriek cut through the air. Edward's heart stopped. One of the men had grabbed her, pulling her close, his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders.
Edward cursed under his breath. They won't hurt her. Not yet. But the sight of her in their grasp was enough to make his vision blur with rage.
He dropped the sword, the metal clanging against the ground. "Let her go," he said, his voice low, shaking with barely restrained fury. "I won't give you any more trouble. I promise."
The brawny man walked past him, bending to pick up the sword Edward had dropped. He studied the bloodied blade for a long moment before looking up, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Oh, I know you won't give us any more trouble," the man said, his voice cold.
Before Edward could react, the man swung the hilt of the sword into the side of his head. Pain exploded in his skull, and the world tilted.
"Edward!" Winry's scream was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.
A/N: I'm busy, so new chapters will be uploaded slowly but steadily.
Check out my Tumblr page: hirstories dot tumblr dot com for artwork and other stories.
Thanks for reading!
