Seal 4.4

2010, November 26: Brockton Bay, NH, USA

I tried to work, to be productive. I thought I gave it a solid effort considering everything on my mind. Then the endbringer alarms went off. Seeing how the city sirens hadn't gone off, I allowed myself a relieved sigh. Had Behemoth or the Simurgh appeared here early, I would have been forced to find Sisi and mom and dip town, no matter what that did to my identity.

As it had been explained to me by Vicky, the one who took college-level parahuman studies classes, the PRT had a multi-tiered approach to endbringer alerts. Oh, lots of things happened at once, but the alerts had been streamlined thusly:

Tier zero, the first to hear about any attack, was Dragon. It didn't surprise me that she was the lynchpin to the whole thing, which made it all the more idiotic that Cauldron let Saint and the Dragonslayers live. She was responsible for sending the alert to every world leader and jumpstarting the logistics process.

Tier one was not in fact Protectorate heroes. It was a network of powerful movers, those who could cross continents. Strider was the most famous of these in the current climate, but before him, there was Kirin White of the Sentai Elite, Warptek of Geartown, Gatekeeper from MS-13, and others. They each had their own areas they were responsible for, and by working together, they were responsible for getting all volunteers to the city under siege.

Then came tier two, the Protectorate and Guild heroes, the brave, suicidal fools who had volunteered to participate in endbringer battles. Lesser movers would ship them off to gathering points like Houston and New York for tier one movers to ferry to the site. Occasionally, when parental permission could be obtained or when parents were absent altogether and the state could sign off guardianship, Wards were permitted to travel outside their cities as well, as Weaver had in New Delhi in canon, but those tended to be somewhat rare.

Then, finally, came tier three, everyone else in staggered waves. Organizations such as the Elite and some of the bigger gangs around did participate in endbringer fights, though with spotty membership for obvious reasons. The Empire always sent at least a small team. Othala and Victor won a lot of goodwill for the gang by acting as healer and triage after battles despite being unrepentant Nazi trash.

Dragon notified tier three capes primarily through a series of verified accounts on PHO. There was no other way to reach the thousands of capes who weren't part of the Protectorate-Guild network otherwise. This, more than any other reason, was why villains were allowed on the site, and why capes were seldom banned permanently.

Which explained my pokenav blowing up to kingdom come. I'd received notifications as both Creed and The GOAT.

The notification sent to Creed was generic: Seismic activity consistent with Behemoth's previous appearances was detected near Damascus, Syria. Considering Behemoth's tendency to target infrastructure over people, it was thought that his target was the Arab Gas Pipeline that ran east of the city.

Capes in New England were expected to gather in several waystations for transport via Strider, the closest being Boston. Brockton Bay capes could expect transport to be provided from the local PRT headquarters.

In contrast, the notification sent to The GOAT was far more personal.

Dragon: The_GOAT, I hope this finds you well. Behemoth has targeted the Arab Gas Pipeline near Damascus, Syria. I understand you are not a combatant, but as a thinker with proven insights, any information you can provide on the endbringer would be greatly appreciated. If you or anyone in your organization require transport to Damascus, I will personally arrange a vehicle.

I should have seen that coming. Ambiguity protected me, but it also drew the eye. From their perspective, since I was able to analyze Kid Win's specialization without ever meeting the boy, they were naturally wondering what other information I might have about powers. It was a hail mary on their part, tinkers and endbringers weren't anything alike, but asking cost them nothing.

Which begged the question: What did I want to do about this?

Behemoth. Hero-killer. First of Twenty, not that anyone else knew that. Even for me, an endbringer was a big deal. A part of me wanted to stay out of it completely. It was a douchey thing to think, but the Syrians weren't my problem. I wasn't responsible for them, nor did I swear to uphold "liberty and justice for all" or whatever tripe the heroes swore to do.

I… I didn't want to go. No, to be honest with myself, beyond all thoughts about morality and the human condition, I was scared. The thought of going there left a pit in my stomach that refused to leave.

I was stronger than Taylor in canon. Or at least, I had much better protections: the Expansion Suit, force field, TMs for Recover and Protect, and the Crown Chimera for mobility. Unless Behemoth struck at me directly or I was stupid enough to enter his kill aura, I'd likely be fine. There were countless other capes who were willing to go who had less than what I had.

But fear gripped me anyway.

I had to admit it in the here and now: Taylor Hebert was a braver person than I and any talk about this "not being my problem" was just my attempt at absolving myself of responsibility.

I loved reading the endbringer fights, both in canon and fanfictions. I thought that Wildbow did a wonderful job of depicting the human experience in all its rawest emotions. The despair and fear, the willingness to fight on for that tiny glimmer of hope, it all spoke to me when those scenes were words on a page.

No matter what I told myself, it wasn't about responsibility. A part of me, that tiny, childish part that still idolized the likes of Superman and Spider-Man, wanted to see that visceral struggle for survival, wanted to be part of something so unambiguously noble.

In the end, self-interest won out. I wouldn't attend the fight. There was simply too much to lose. If something happened to me, I'd effectively out myself to Sierra and mom at best, maybe the world at worst. It could mean getting injured and letting Amy touch me to find out about my gravity child experiment.

And all for the zero gain of… scuffing Behemoth's paint job. I couldn't do a damn thing to the endbringer as I was.

But that didn't mean I couldn't help. I didn't have to go right this instant; there would be multiple waves of capes. Aid workers worked for days or weeks to get things in order after an attack. In fact, I could probably do more good if I never saw Behemoth at all.

I looked to the near wall, just above my desk. There was a magnetic clip there, with a set of ornate throwing knives made just this week. I made them more for the sake of completion than anything, and because putting the plans into the fabricator cost very little on my part. They were Mei Chang's throwing knives, the very same used for alkahestry. I didn't need them right this moment, but they reminded me of how alkahestry came to be.

I could heal. I'd been improving all week. And… And wasn't this the perfect chance to test my skills on humans? Wasn't this the perfect time to get Amy to help me refine my art?

Amy wouldn't be attending the main fight either. Of course not. Carol was a bitch but not even she would push a teenage girl to commit elaborate suicide. But she'd likely attend the cleanup alongside Victor and Othala.

If I joined them, I could ask her to check my "proprietary technology." And if I got good enough to treat major injuries, I could fix Sabah's father on my own.

It would have been horrifically traumatizing if "Creed the mercenary" randomly kidnapped her dad, but… but if "Creed the cape who healed at a Behemoth fight" volunteered to do some work at the hospital… that little nudge might give me what I needed to approach Sabah.

Thusly decided, I reached out to Dragon:

The_GOAT: Dragon, I apologize for making you wait and I'm sorry to say I will not be making an appearance today. However, I did spend some time on this and I can indeed provide insights that may be helpful to you. Endbringers are like onions. No, not because they make people cry, because they have layers. The first layer of an endbringer's skin is as dense as aluminum. The next is twice that, and twice that, and so on.

The_GOAT: An endbringer's density defies physical laws. Its weight remains manageable despite this because its anatomy is spread across multiple overlapping dimensions. This "dimensional folding" allows it to exist without collapsing into a singularity.

Dragon: That is… disturbing. I will pass on your information. Is there anything you can tell us about Behemoth specifically?

The_GOAT: Getting to that. Endbringers have a core from which all mass is extruded. It is what gives the body shape and regenerates any damage. If it is broken, the destabilization will cause an explosion that is likely to wipe out the local theater of operations. Behemoth's core is buried somewhere near its throat.

The_GOAT: His kill aura has a radius of approximately thirty feet, but I think you knew that. I'm sorry, there is little else for me to say. Please keep me abreast of when the battle ends. There is some healing technology I would like to debut through Creed following the fight.

Dragon: Thank you. This gives us a target to focus on. Excuse me, my mechs have arrived in Damascus and I must take direct command from now on.

Was I stealing Lisa's thunder? Absolutely. But this was information that could maybe save lives.

Damascus was seven hours ahead. It was ten in the morning right now, which meant the attack happened at five in the evening there. How long would it take for Behemoth to be driven back? The Simurgh usually went in and out, but that was because anything longer than half an hour was considered a loss for the defenders. Khonsu took three days as he teleported around the world. Leviathan and Behemoth were somewhere in the middle, but how long was that?

The specifics didn't matter; I had to prepare. I set up the alchemy slab and got ready to work. I needed to refine my technique as much as possible, finish polishing it until Amy would have nothing to complain about. While I did that, I had SAINT make a miniaturized version of the same alchemy circle onto my gloves, the beauty of having an AI assistant and a fabricator.

Before that though, I needed an excuse to attend. If the battle ended in a few hours, I should at least stay overnight. I dialed mom, a regular phone call, nothing video obviously.

"Bryce? What's going on?"

"Hey, mom, can I stay over at a friend's house this weekend?"

"Why?"

"Because… It's Thanksgiving weekend?" I tried.

She said nothing but I could practically hear the suspicion in the silence. "Bryce, sweetie… Do you even have friends?"

"Wow… Oww… Love you too, mom."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Yeah, fair, I'm not exactly a social butterfly." She wasn't wrong. Dean's birthday party was the first birthday party I'd attended in years, not counting Sierra's. "But that's why you should let me. I'm making friends like you wanted."

"Over Thanksgiving weekend."

"It's a holiday miracle?"

"Bryce, who are you staying with," she said in that warning tone all mothers Pavlov'd us into fearing then held over our heads for the rest of our lives.

"Umm…"

"Bryce."

"It's not what you think. I'm not going out to party or get laid or whatever else you think I'm doing, mom."

"Then what are you doing?"

'Using a socially acceptable environment to conduct human experimentation while putting pressure on Panacea to perfect my work,' I didn't say. Instead, I leaned on the excuse I came up with. It made me feel manipulative as hell, because I was, but I didn't see any other way. Even if I outed myself, she wouldn't just let me fuck off to Damascus at the drop of a hat. "It's… Look, I'm just going to stay with a friend tonight. Maybe tomorrow night too."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"Why? Who?"

"I… don't want to say."

"Bryce, is it a girl?"

"No, god, that'd make things so much easier."

"I can tell you're serious. Please tell me there's an adult."

"Umm… no.. No parents… Won't be for a few days," I said leadingly.

"What are you… Oh…"

"I'm just saying, some people get to play the big damn heroes, and other people have to cope with getting left behind."

She was silent for a long moment. "Keep your phone on."

"I will."

"You need money? Get your friend something nice."

"I'm good, mom. Don't worry," I reassured her.

"Okay, sweetie. Just… I'm proud of you."

"I know. Love you too, mom."

I hung up the phone with a guilty sigh. She didn't deserve that. Mom was… She was a good mom. She cared and loved me and did everything a mom was supposed to do. Back when I was a kid, she put her career on hold because she and dad agreed that Sisi and I should be able to come home from school to a mother who'd make us snacks.

I felt like shit lying to her. This, more than the late nights or the business or the fighting, was my least favorite part of being Creed.

And I wasn't done; I dialed Amy. She picked up on the second ring.

"Brockton Pediatrics. You beat 'em, we treat 'em," came Amy's acerbic voice.

That got a surprised bark of laughter out of me. "Wow… That was dark as fuck. And that's coming from me. You need a shrink."

"Get bent, Bryce. What do you want? I'm busy."

"What're you doing right now?"

"Trying to sleep before I get called to go to Damascus. They'll call me once the battle ends. I was supposed to do a Thanksgiving run but I need to prepare for a weekend of this shit. Then it'll be a few all-nighters. Don't expect me in school on Monday."

"That's fair. I'm proud of you. Are your-"

"Yes. Mom, dad, Uncle Neil, and Aunt Sarah are gone to do search and rescue. Crys, Vicky, and Eric are going to go after the battle to help out with me but Aunt Sarah made us promise to wait until Behemoth left."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. It was a relief to hear. We weren't close, but Eric was my friend and I knew what happened in canon when he did face an endbringer. Guy didn't have a good track record against one of those. "Good. I need a huge favor."

"What?"

"Let me know when you head to Damascus. I'll join you."

"You're going?"

"Yup, that's what Damascus needs, Creed's brand of chaos."

"Bryce."

"Why do you sound like mom? Don't sound like mom," I complained.

"Have you considered, maybe, that it's not a coincidence?"

"Ames, I'm serious. I'm going."

"Oh really? What'd you tell your mother?"

"That I'm staying the weekend with someone who's parents are capes so they don't have to be alone."

"Wow… You're a douche."

"Agreed, but for good reasons. I can help."

"I know, it's just… It's not a game, Bryce."

"You think I don't know that?" I asked, a little hurt.

"You treat being Creed like a joke sometimes, like it's all one big joke and you're just out to have fun roller blading around town and fucking with random people. Endbringer fights, even the aftermath, they're not like that."

"I know, Ames. It's why I need to go. I have healing tech-"

"You? Healing? You're a biotinker."

"Figures you'd zero in on that. I'm an everything tinker, with some conditions. But yes, I have healing gloves. I can do a lot to help people, Ames."

"I… Fine… Are you sure you can heal?"

"You can check the first few if it'll put your mind at ease."

"It's really not as fun as it's cracked up to be, you know," she warned. "Being a healer. Having people need you. It sounds great, like you belong somewhere, and then you realize how exhausting it is. And endbringer fights are the worst."

"Well now I'm doubly sure I'm going," I told her gently. "Can't have my best friend go through that alone, can I?"

"Dick."

"How?"

"Corny, cheesy dick."

"I think dick-cheese is called smegma. Are you calling me smegma? That's very rude, Ames."

"Fuck off, Bryce."

"Heh, I'll see you later."

I ended the call and took a deep breath. That was everything squared away. Now it was time to work. I put on my gloves and dosed the rat before cutting into it. The alchemy circle on the back of my hands glowed dully as flesh began to knit back together. When Amy called, I'd be ready.

X

It was two in the afternoon when I received the message to head out. Between the week's worth of practice, my past as a PA, and research notes from the master alchemists of Xing and Amestris, I felt reasonably sure I could translate my work from rats to humans with minimal complications. There was always the risk of course, I couldn't account for every variable, but that was why I was doing it now. This was my chance to build my reputation and receive Amy's help, publicly, for the world to see.

Things would change. Amy probably felt a dozen conflicting feelings knowing I was a biotinker. The cape community would recognize that there was a third healer in the Bay. Most of all, Creed would no longer be a local power. People outside the city would now take notice of me as more than just a novelty.

More attention would be a mixed blessing. Maybe Uppercrust would finally see fit to answer my messages. Or, Accord would decide he didn't want to leave Brockton to Coil after all.

I took a deep breath and steadied my heart. There was no use worrying about what might yet be; I'd made up my mind to attend and that was that.

The bulk of these preparatory hours were spent testing out my new gloves, but I did have some time to make several thermoses full of coffee, all laced with enchanted honey. I also double checked to ensure that my helmet was fully soundproof from the outside when I switched the mic off, just in case I needed to chat with SAINT in private.

Ten minutes 'til pickup, I strapped the still unnamed Pledge Regalia to my back and headed out. I hadn't initially planned on taking it, but SAINT reminded me of the in-depth biometric scan it was able to provide. Given its range, he suggested I use it for search and rescue and he was right. By using the vibrations to scan beneath rubble, I ought to be able to pick up the heartbeats of those who were still living.

Unlike my usual MO, I didn't bother to cloak as I approached the PRT building. I could see that I was the last to arrive.

Truce or not, there were clear lines drawn between the factions. Armsmaster, Dauntless, and Velocity made up the Protectorate heroes. Next to them stood Gallant, Clockblocker, and to my surprise, Kid Win. My fellow tinker didn't look any different, then again, it had only been a few weeks since he figured out what his specialization was. It wasn't as though he intended to rebrand or anything. He also had that teleporter thing in canon so I didn't count him out.

Standing with them, and sending suspicious glances towards the Empire contingent, were the Newest Wave. Every one of them wore resolute expressions, having steeled themselves for what they'd see when we got there.

On the villains' side, the Empire contingent was made up of only three people: Othala, Victor, and Rune. That was more or less what I'd expected. They sent a team either to or after every endbringer fight to prove the "superior race" would fight for humanity, but the composition and quantity varied wildly based on where the attack occurred. Damascus? Brown people? The bare minimum would be fine: Victor for triage, Othala for healing, and Rune, probably to accompany her cousin than for any specific purpose.

No, what really caught me by surprise was the woman in a welder's mask and an orange lizard-boy leaning against a street sign. Seeing how I wasn't officially invited to sit with the heroes and the Empire was the Empire, I opted to join them.

"Creed, just in time for the party," Newter offered me a fist bump. He glanced in askance at the man-sized tombstone on my back. "I didn't know you were religious."

"I reckon we're a few hours late actually," I replied. "I didn't expect to see you two here. And I'm agnostic, but that's not what this is."

"Ehh, fair enough. Charity's good for business once in a while. It's good advertising."

Faultline inclined her head in a professional nod. "We're a business. Everything is a message. I think Newter can do a lot of good pacifying civilians and I will be joining the hazard management team to help clear rubble."

I paused at the way she said that. She'd never cared enough to show up before. Melanie Fitts wasn't heartless, far from it, but she was nonetheless a viciously pragmatic person. You were part of her crew, friend, client, obstacle, or a nonentity; I didn't think she gave a damn what civilians in Damascus thought of her, and only marginally more about the PRT's opinion.

Everything is a message, which meant, in this case, this was a message for me. "You knew I'd show."

"I could guess. You're not someone who can resist making an appearance."

"You make me sound like a diva."

"Are you not?" she spoke calmly, but I'd interacted with her enough to hear the light teasing in her voice.

"I'm not, I just happen to have some tech that might come in handy. Like you said, it's free advertisement."

"Ugh, is it always about money to you?" Victoria glared. She hovered a foot into the air. With her arms crossed and aura flaring, she cut an imposing figure. "People are dying and you think it's a chance to make money?"

Her revulsion washed over me like the rising tide. I didn't think I could remain stoic without the face-covering helmet. It stung a little; Vicky was a friend. She was a horrifically flawed person, but also someone who really believed in being a hero. If there was something Carol did right, it was instilling a sense of justice in her daughter. The accusatory glare she sent me made me feel like garbage.

Then I allowed a weak Thunder Wave to surge through my body, zapping me back into focus. The aura was still there, but the jolt was enough to reorient my focus, remind me that this feeling wasn't real.

"Please mind your aura, Glory Girl," I chided firmly. I couldn't be her friend, not now, not here. "Others might consider that an attack."

"You're lucky we're under truce. I'd twist you into a pretzel."

"Enough," Armsmaster barked. "We are attending a humanitarian mission. The heroes will not be the ones to break the truce."

"The Empire abides by the truce, even to uplift lessers," Victor scoffed. Behind him, Rune shuffled nervously. She didn't look happy to be here but stuck close to Othala anyway.

"Can I trust the mercenaries to understand the terms?"

The three of us nodded. Faultline spoke for us, "We're mercenaries; our word is our law. We are defined by the contracts we make, and the least likely to break it without cause."

The leader of the Protectorate studied us closely but nodded. It wasn't his place to deny help, no matter how much distaste he held for villains. He looked between me and Faultline and decided she spoke for me.

I knew what she was doing: Faultline associated me with her organization. Like she said, everything was a message. In attending, in responding for me, and in me not correcting her, she was telling the world I was her ally, and that our interests were aligned closely enough that she could speak on my behalf.

It should have annoyed me, but it didn't. She'd done a lot for me and I did consider Newter a friend. Just as important, this was a message to me as well: She'd been chiding in her previous letter, rightly so considering Lung turned her into a messenger, but was reaffirming our alliance. Or maybe she was reminding me that we were allies at all. We hadn't interacted in a while after all.

Then Strider appeared and I shelved thoughts of cape politics and implicit messages. He looked as he always did, like a hotel concierge or pilot with his expanded luggage. He did look a little tired though. I didn't know what toll his power took with repeated usage, but it couldn't be nothing; Shards just weren't that nice.

"Hey everyone," he greeted. "Ready to go?"

"We are," Armsmaster took charge. "What can you tell us about the situation?"

"There are three groups right now: healers, rescue, and hazard management. I don't know much about that though, I just drop people off. There'll be people to get you sorted there."

"Understood."

"Good, then hold hands for a moment and we'll be off."

X

2010, November 26: Damascus, Syria

Strider's teleportation was surprisingly uneventful. I wasn't sure what I was expecting. Maybe those streaks of light that sci-fi movies always used to denote warp travel? Or maybe feeling like being squeezed through a tube like with Harry Potter's apparition? There was none of that. One minute, we were standing outside PRT HQ holding hands in the most awkward kumbaya I'd ever experienced, and then it was dark outside.

Then a wave of vertigo struck us, forcing most of us into a queasy crouch. Armsmaster remained standing, but I was fairly certain it was his armor's exoskeleton doing the work.

A quick use of Recover put me back on track.

I looked around and the city was… in one piece…?

A man in military fatigues and a sky-blue helmet walked over to us with a clipboard. "Capes form Brockton Bay, right?" he asked.

"Yes. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Dauntless, Velocity, Kid Win, Clockblocker, and Gallant from the Protectorate and Wards. Laserdream, Shielder, Glory Girl, and Panacea from New Wave. Victor, Othala, and Rune from the Empire Eighty-Eight. Faultline, Newter, and Creed are independent mercenaries," Armsmaster introduced us, gesturing to each as he spoke.

The man introduced himself as Lt. Torres of the Guild's non-cape arm. He passed out a bracelet to each of us. These lacked the bombs for Simurgh battles, but were otherwise the same as communicators used during the fights. After a quick tutorial, he began to describe the situation.

"Landing Zone-Delta, here, has been established a half-mile from Behemoth's trail of destruction so as to be close enough to coordinate relief efforts while remaining away from irradiated areas," he explained as he ushered us away. "There are three groups: medical, rescue, and hazard management. The latter two will be provided with hazmat suits. If you can locate or stabilize people, you belong in rescue. If you can remove obstacles or put out gas fires, you belong in hazard management. If you do not know how to help, speak to one of my assistants; they will sort you out. Otherwise, please separate yourselves accordingly."

As they did that, I flagged down an aide. I shrugged off the Pledge Regalia and lodged it on the ground. I unhooked the pokenav from my costume and held it out to him. Given the circumstances, I felt it was best to loan the Pledge Regalia. "Please bring me a Guild cape on search and rescue. Or an unpowered aid worker is fine too. I have tech that belongs there but will be joining the medical team."

"I can help," Kid Win volunteered. He looked at me with a complicated expression. It wasn't animosity, not quite, but there was an intensity there.

"Not a chance. No tinkers. I don't trust one of you to try and fiddle with the settings or enter a fugue in the middle of operations to try and dismantle my work."

"We'll find someone," the aide said. He spoke into a mic for a moment. "Is Wieldmaiden acceptable?"

I nodded. "That's fine. She has a solid reputation."

We hung around for a bit while Wieldmaiden got back to us. She rode a motorcycle that looked like it had been taken from someone local. Not all capes were movers.

Her costume had obvious Nordic or Celtic influences, though I wasn't cultured enough to say which beyond "vaguely fantasy barbaric." She looked more or less like the valkyrie twins, but with more layers. There was a haunted, bone-deep exhaustion in her body language but she did her best to offer me a tired smile.

"So you're the one Glyph's been on about, huh?"

"Hello, Wieldmaiden. I'd like to join the medics so let me brief you on how this works," I said in a no-nonsense tone. Brockton Bay knew me as a bit of a joker, a troll, and I was happy with that, but this wasn't the time or place. I activated the hologram on the pokenav and interfaced it with the Pledge Regalia. A map of the local surroundings appeared. Slapping the tombstone, I said, "This is the Pledge Regalia. It's a high-end scanner that should be able to detect the heartbeats of those buried under rubble. I trust you to direct rescue efforts accordingly."

"Sounds good. How do I use it?"

"Activation phrase is 'Pledge Regalia: Access.' It will then unfold and scatter, forming nodes to amplify its sensory capabilities. Say 'Pledge Regalia: Collapse,' to bring it all in again. Heartbeats will appear on the map here."

She nodded gratefully. "Good, easy to use."

"Please be advised that if you attempt to tamper with it, you will be locked out and incapacitated," I warned her. Then, shutting off my mic, I spoke to SAINT, "Go with her and filter the data for her. Stop anyone who tries to study it."

"Pory."

That settled, I skated to catch up to the medical team. It was finally time for a little bit of aggressive experimentation.

Author's Note

People were asking what happened to Behemoth. Well, here he is. And yes, that was a Shrek meme. Would Bryce give up the chance to make a Shrek reference?

Sky-blue helmets are unique to UN peacekeepers. I doubt they exist in the same capacity on Earth-Bet since Leviathan more or less ended globalism, but I thought it was a nice homage.

Thank you for reading. To reach a wider audience, and because I enjoy a more forum-like setup to facilitate discussion, I like to crosspost to a wide variety of websites. You can find them all on my Link Tree: https://linktr.ee/fabled.webs.