#paragraph rewriter

[chatgptopenai12]

Unveiling the Magic of Paragraph Rewriter: Transforming Text with Precision

In the realm of writing, the art of paraphrasing holds a significant place. It's not merely about changing words; it's about reshaping ideas, preserving meaning, and enhancing clarity. Amidst the plethora of tools available, one stands out as a beacon of efficiency – the Paragraph Rewriter. Let's delve into the intricacies of this transformative tool, exploring its functionalities and the impact it can have on written content.

At its core, a Paragraph Rewriter is a sophisticated algorithmic tool designed to restructure sentences and paragraphs while maintaining the original intent. Its primary function is to provide an alternative rendition of a given text, enriching it with diverse vocabulary and varied sentence structures. Whether you're a student aiming to avoid plagiarism, a blogger seeking fresh content ideas, or a professional writer looking to streamline the editing process, a Paragraph Rewriter can be a game-changer.

One of the key features of a Paragraph Rewriter is its ability to ensure coherence and flow within the text. By analyzing the context of each sentence, it can seamlessly integrate synonyms and rephrase expressions without compromising readability. This not only enhances the overall quality of the content but also saves valuable time that would otherwise be spent manually revising each sentence.

Moreover, a Paragraph Rewriter serves as a valuable tool for content optimization. In the digital age, where online visibility is paramount, the ability to generate unique and engaging content is indispensable. By utilizing a Paragraph Rewriter, writers can effortlessly produce multiple versions of a single piece, catering to different audiences and platforms. This versatility not only boosts SEO rankings but also enhances user engagement, ultimately driving traffic and conversions.

Furthermore, a Paragraph Rewriter fosters creativity by offering alternative perspectives on a given topic. It encourages writers to explore new ideas and experiment with language, thereby expanding their repertoire of writing skills. Additionally, by providing instant feedback on sentence structure and grammar, it serves as a valuable learning tool for writers of all proficiency levels.

However, it's essential to acknowledge the limitations of a Paragraph Rewriter. While it excels at syntactic manipulation, it may occasionally miss nuances in meaning or tone. Therefore, human oversight remains crucial to ensure the final output aligns with the writer's intentions. Moreover, reliance solely on automated tools may undermine the authenticity and voice of the writer, detracting from the personal connection between author and audience.

In conclusion, a Paragraph Rewriter represents a powerful tool in the arsenal of modern writers. Its ability to streamline the editing process, enhance content quality, and foster creativity makes it a valuable asset in today's digital landscape. By leveraging its capabilities judiciously, writers can unlock new possibilities in communication and storytelling, enriching the literary landscape one paragraph at a time.

[why-the-heck-not]

understanding academic concepts got me blushing swinging my legs giggling

[ai-sentence-rewriter]

How To Use AI Paragraph Rewriter tool For Blog Post Optimization

Utilising the AI Paragraph Rewriter couldn’t be simpler. The only thing you have to do is enter the text you want to change. The AI will start analysing the text after it has been entered and will then rewrite it automatically. The AI can change word orders, rearrange sentences, and even offer superior synonyms that are better suited for SEO.

[ai-article-rewriter]

Achieve Clarity and Conciseness with Our Paragraph Rewriter

One of the main advantages of using a simplified paragraph rewriter is that it makes the process of rewriting entire paragraphs much faster and more efficient. By automating the process and suggesting suitable replacements in real time, these tools can help you save time and energy while producing high-quality content that meets your needs. Additionally, a simplified ai paragraph rewriter can be a great way to experiment with different writing styles and see what works best for your audience.

[beatsheetromanroy]

body swap episode let’s go!!! it’s a cursed object or some nasty, powerful spellwork. it zaps rowena, dean, and cas who are all in the same room together. rowena becomes dean, cas becomes rowena, dean becomes cas. jack walks into the room and with the ability to see people’s souls, recognizes everyone immediately. poor sam now has to see the woman he has feelings for in the body of his brother and he’s NOT having a good time!! rowena in dean is all loose, confident, flirty, she charms cas in her own body which drives sam and dean INSANE (for totally different reasons obviously.) it would be so fun to see rowena-cas stiff, serious, and genuine. cas realizes the deep attachment he’s grown to his body. dean’s freaking out about the possibility of needing to pee or take a shower. “I’m not gonna look at some other dude’s junk, that’s not cool!” meanwhile cas informs him that he won’t need to, “there’s enough grace left over in my vessel that will eliminate the need for bodily functions” forcing dean to act disappointed “oh, good” (he says lying) while he tries to actively avoid feeling up cas’ pecs.

[skaters-art-blog]

a midnight billford sketch bc i finally found my sketchbook

[applestorms]

thinking about how near refers to light at the end of the series— not really as light yagami, not even really as kira, and not quite as L, but rather an amalgamation of titles: L-KIRA, a twisted mix of two personas, masks on top of masks. no longer a person but a series of letters, a filtered voice through a screen. a man who has built his entire life in the space between lies, who cannot let himself stop for a second without the weight of his own guilt, his sins, crushing him. regrets repressed because this is the only way it could ever be, it has to be worth it, it has to, it has to, because you can’t even bring yourself to consider what it all means otherwise.

i am a firm believer that light yagami, the son, the student, the average human person, dies at the same time that L does. at least at the beginning of the series he has some semblance of normalcy to hold himself to, the Serious Student persona that keeps him walking to and from school and talking to people and eating dinner with his family at home. how many times do we really see him going outside, post-L death? how often do we see him outside of some L-based police HQ, talking to people he isn’t trying to manipulate? really, it’s no wonder he falls so far, alienated as he is from the rest of humanity. when was the last time he breathed long enough to remember what the sky looks like? hugged his mom, laughed with his sister? did he ever visit his father’s grave? does he remember what the breeze smells like? was he ever really happy? did he deny himself his only chance?

at least in the case of L and near the isolation feels intentional, a preferable choice, carefully and logically considered for all the pros and cons. light never asked for the position he fell into, that fell upon him, that he created for himself. he denies the death note being a curse, but it’s not like he could ever admit it if it was.

light’s story arc in death note really feels like a tragedy to me, specifically in the sense that he never really gets the chance to change. on a plot level this is true, much of the second half of the story post-L death is light utilizing the exact same strategies as before (taking away his ownership of the DN to Strategize, romancing a woman he doesn’t care for to use her, fighting a snarky troll of a super genius hiding behind a letter whose real name & face he cannot find), but it’s true on an emotional level too. light never really gets to grow up, he never gets the chance to truly question his ideals or goals without the world he’s built by himself crashing down around him.

i keep thinking back to the significance of matsuda asking him about his dad, how he could drag him to his death for the sake of all of this. light’s response, so truthful in its desperation, really sums it all up: he died for a reason. KIRA has to win, or his dad died for nothing. he cannot face the idea that he caused his own father’s death, so KIRA must be justice. there is no other alternative. KIRA is god, or light yagami killed his own father for a fairytale.

really, it’s so fitting that his name uses the kanji for moon. moonlight— not originating from the moon itself but a reflection, of something brighter, greater, more powerful than he could ever be. light dies the same way as every other criminal he passed his judgement upon, on his knees and desperate, pathetic, begging for life even as he knows he is doomed to the same fate of nothingness that he granted to everybody else. godhood denied. he said it himself, that he could never be anything more than a human, but somewhere in the fog he lost track of the person he once was. and it’s near’s cruelest observation that stands out the most to me in that final scene— that he never really had to be this. he could’ve stopped at any point, felt his guilt, paid his regrets, and moved on with his humanity still intact. light has spent far too long repressing and denying to ever consider that an option anymore— but there was still room for sympathy for the 17 year old kid who killed without thinking, long before he built up such a dedicated palace of lies to justify his actions and hide away his guilt.

L-KIRA dies on the floor of a dirty, abandoned building, surrounded by the people he spent years manipulating and lying to and betraying. light yagami dies in a helicopter, locked and chained to his only closest equal, holding a notebook that he would use to sound the death knell of his own fate and wearing his father’s gifted watch.

[turbofagstic]

been obsessed with wreck it ralph this week and got bored enough to work on a lil rewrite for breaks the internet. this guy just exists mostly for my rewrite/au and also i just wanted t omake something silly for myself alalalaaa

also as a bonus

instead of ralph being weirdly clingy its this random sewer rat ralph and vanellope met. instead of product placement bs, bti is more focused on the characters and world. vanellope doesnt go turbo however, her and ralph's friendship dynamic still changes by the end (tho they still hang out, its just more "oh wow over the 6 years we've known each other we've changed)

spamley's now the more "clingy" aspect of everything, he more or less mirrors what is now VANELLOPE'S struggles with ralph and her's friendship (shes scared to grow distant from her best friend who helped her so much, because she is still a child and does not handle things well i think because she is a child. less weird than ralph doing it)

still figuring out things but i will update. um. eventually and make things more readable alala

[kevinsdsy]

jeremy almost got a red card and jean absolutely loved™️ it (2024's version)

jean had been standing on the field for almost all of second half. he had only played a handful of games with his new team, but the few games he had played felt different to the ones with the ravens.

he was used to the fighting song he had heard for years with his old team. he was used to aggression and foul moves— not only from his opponents, but also from himself. with the trojans he had to hold back on the familiarity of his aggressive play. he had spend many of their practices trying to unlearn the moves that came so natural to him, so he could fit their playing style better. instead of the aggression the trojans were more strategic and had mastered a handful of moves that were less predictable.

this game wasn’t like that though. this game was full of rage and aggression. it was something familiar to jean— which he gladly accepted on the field. he was used to the foul moves during this game and sometimes when he got hit a little harder than necessary he could have sworn he heard the raven’s fighting chant in his ears.

jean tried his best to hold back on his aggressive moves. he remembers the many practices and amount of time he has devoted to playing like the colours he’s representing today. it doesn’t always work— sometimes his moves catch up with him before his thoughts are able to and the raven escapes, but he tries his best to keep it caged.

whenever he slips up though he tries his best to meet either jeremy’s or coach rhemann’s eyes to acknowledge he has caught his mistake. away, jean. you’re hurting me. those are the words he mutters to himself whenever he catches himself slipping. they’re not his words, but jeremy’s. words jeremy had said once upon a time during practice. words that would linger in his mind and surprisingly enough kept him grounded and helped him to alter his usual way of playing.

“away.” he reminds himself before making his move and so he successfully does. his opponent loses their ball and jean is pleased to hear himself getting cussed out. he just shrugs and keeps moving like he always does. he doesn’t even realise when he gets hit by one of the opponent’s sticks. the force and speed is enough to have him stumble and grasping for air, but he’s used to getting back up when he gets hurt.

he hates to admit it, but the pain is almost welcoming. it keeps him grounded to the field and helps him stand stronger to prove himself like he has done so many times before.

jean’s eyes find jeremy’s and he catches a glimpse of jeremy glaring at #11 of the other team before jeremy finally turns his glance to jean. jean nods to his captain to reassure he’s fine and he lets the referee handle the rest. it’s cody who takes the time between #11 and the referee as a chance to ask jean if he’s well. “i’m good,” jean reassures them. cody takes jean in for one more second and then nods in agreement. jean clicks his stick with his teammate’s and both of them find their places back on the field.

the game doesn’t necessarily continue smoothly after that, but jean is still standing and he figures that should at least count for something. it isn’t until there are only five minutes left on the clock when the game becomes a war field. both teams seem to be desperate to secure the win. it’s the trojans who are ahead right now, but only with one point and if there’s one thing everyone on this field knows, it’s that a lot can happen in five minutes.

the minutes are so rough it almost reminds jean of the games with the nest. as much as he tries to drown out the nonexistent ravens chant from the crowd he can’t help but mutter the words to himself.

his legs are hurting and his exy stick feels heavy in his hand, but the discomfort and pain is so familiar to him it’s almost welcoming in his desperate attempt to keep the ball away from the back of the field. in his moment of pain he allows himself one deep breath and decides if he wants to take control of this game and secure the win he will have to spend these last minutes playing rough. he’s sure he should be able to get out of the last three minutes without too much trouble.

his reminders to play like he has practiced are drowned by the raven’s fighting chant and a quick promise to repent one way or another after the game is done.

jean clicks his stick so hard against his opponent that they lose the ball. he leaves them to catch up with their pain and finds the ball for himself. it is nabil who is closest to the goal, so jean passes the ball to him and then before he can take his next breath his body hits the ground.

foul. jean thinks. he had already passed the ball to nabil when he got hit by #9 of the other team. jean tries his best to get himself up. it takes a lot more effort than he would have like and he needs both his hands to do so. he finds #9 grinning at jean, which almost reminds him of riko when he was pleased of himself after he had hurt jean.

his opponent said something to him but jean had missed it over the sounds of nonexistent chants, old memories and banging sticks and bodies.

it is jeremy who catches the words instead and jean concludes it must have been something bad. jean expects jeremy to smile and shrug it off, but instead jeremy drops his stick. “what did you just say?” jeremy demanded aggressively, he uses his body to stand in between jean and #9– which would almost look like an attempt to stop a fight if it wasn’t for his own aggression. he pushes the bigger guy and #9 almost loses his balance, but he catches himself just in time.

jean grabs not only his own stick, but also jeremy’s. he knows the best thing to do right now is to tell jeremy he’s fine, but instead he lets the scene unfold. he’s too surprised by jeremy’s change in attitude and curious enough to want to know where it will take them. their opponent also seems willing enough to continue this fight, but it’s jeremy who pushes him again which leads to his first yellow card this game. the referee warns him, reminds them all of the clock and warns jeremy again about a potential red card if he continues this behaviour.

jean doesn’t know if it’s stupidity or a desperate attempt to get one last thing out this game, but #9 pushes jeremy with his stick the second the referee turns around, making jeremy scoff while looking for his own stick. he finds it in jean’s hand and doesn’t hesitate to put his hand out in a silent demand to get it back from him. “give me my stick and i’ll show him the things i can do with it.” he reaches for his stick, but jean takes a step back. as much as he would like to see jeremy continuing this fight, he makes sure he won’t be the reason to ruin the trojans’ reputation tonight. “jean, give me my…-“ jeremy doesn’t get a chance to finish his demand, because jean shakes his head.

“stop.” jean tells his partner. “we’re winning anyways. don’t ruin it with a red card. we need you with us next game.” jeremy sighs, glares at #9 and then decides jean is right. “fine,” jeremy agrees. “i don’t even know what got into me.” he tells jean. jean grins at him and hands him back his exy stick.

jean liked jeremy he suddenly realised. but then again, how could he not? jeremy had been patient and kind with jean’s adjustment to the team and jean couldn’t say he had always repaid him with the same kindness in return. but seeing jeremy lose his temper for once? he decided he enjoyed it greatly. it made him more likeable and tolerable.

sooo this is a rewritten version of a headcanon/one-shot i had written in 2019 when i finished aftg for the first time hehe and getting the sunshine court from nora inspired me to rewrite it as a proper one-shot :))

[bloody-cupcakes]

Hello, can I request something with JD with a reader who is visibly too crazy? As well as being too noticeable hahaha. Thank you so much

I made the reader to be the "yandere" one of the two but just to be clear this in no way means that I made JD healthy and/or well adjusted lmao, it's just that the reader is more unhinged than he is

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, the reader is visibly crazier than JD and not very good at hiding it, mentions of shooting someone (with blanks), mentions of threatening someone with a switchblade, swearing, light stalking, allusions to violence/murder

There was talk of the new boy who'd shot two of the biggest assholes at school in the middle of the lunch room without so much as flinching. They were blanks that he used, but still.

Because of this, a lot of people thought he was crazy, but when you looked at him all you could think about was the gorgeous depths of his watercolor eyes. You had to have him, you decided, no matter what anybody else said.

You tried to follow him around so you could see what his deal was, but you weren't very good at being subtle. Not to mention how you stuck out like a sore thumb, owing it to not having a lot of friends. You were certain it was through no fault of your own and that most people just couldn't handle your eccentric nature.

Really it was because you were bat shit crazy, to put it lightly. No one could seem to forget the one time you pulled a switchblade on Heather Duke in study hall because she kept chewing her gum too loud. I mean, you make one mistake and that's all anyone remembers you for. Honestly, the nerve of some people.

So yeah, JD definitely noticed you. Maybe not the same way you noticed him (new kids were usually only on display for a couple of weeks before falling under the radar, so your fixation on him was a lot more abnormal than most) but it was still something.

He seemed to genuinely be interested in you, unlike your fellow students who always seemed to have you in the back of their minds only out of wariness over what kind of stunt you might pull next. Maybe it was because of your crazy, over-the-top nature that he became so interested in you, but it wasn't in the same way you were interested in him.

See, he could go for a few hours without seeing you, but you? No, you had to know where he was at all times. Even if you two weren't really a couple, you thought of yourselves as one. JD would probably agree with that sentiment, he just thought it was funny to see how worked up you would get whenever he referred to you as just a friend.

Of course he was aware that you were always following him around, not wanting him to be out of your sight for even a second. He thought your commitment was cute, even if your skills in the art of subtlety needed some work.

Out of the two for you, he was much better at appearing "normal" and hiding whatever sort of dark tendencies he had beneath the surface; you couldn't do that. He realized that much when you showed up to his house in the middle of the night (in the pouring rain, I might add) covered in blood.

Before he could ask what happened, you threw something down at his feet and announced, "this is for you". It was the spiral bound notebook belonging to some random kid who's homework he asked to copy the day before. He raised an eyebrow as he picked it up, noticing how the front cover had some blood spatter on it.

"Now you won't need to ask to copy their notes anymore." You seemed so proud of yourself, happy even, a stark contrast to your grouchy attitude from earlier that day. He knew you were a little upset with him for giving someone else attention other than you, he just didn't know you'd go so far as to move that person from the equation entirely.

Still, he couldn't find it in himself to be mad. In all honesty, he'd talked to (and even flirted with) them on purpose just to see how far you would go for him, to figure out where your loyalty would lie. He was a bit worried that you only seemed obsessive on the surface and were actually normal underneath it all, so this was a pleasant surprise.

The grin on your face caused him to let out a slight chuckle, tossing the notebook to the side as he approached you. "You're amazing, did you know that?" He took note of the way you beamed with pride and joy, still looking as cute as ever even with someone else's blood all over you. You were a keeper for sure.

As he leaned in to give you a kiss, he smirked at the desperate and eager manner in which you kissed him back, the blood of your victim getting on his face and clothes when you pulled him closer to you. Nothing about this situation seemed at all out of the ordinary to either one of you, despite the somewhat morbid circumstances.

JD had finally found someone who seemed to be just as devoted to him as he was them, which begged the one question he never once thought he'd ever get to ask himself: is this what love felt like?

[mcd-brainrot-hours]

im so normal about vylenix. they are not better off alone despite what they think. they are doomed in every universe. they would kill for eachother. they hate each other. they were destined for each other. they are hopelessly devoted to each other. zenix would tear the world apart if it meant vylad would be happy. but irene will never let them be together. devotion can’t last.

vylad can try desperately to change the past and reverse his mistake but regardless they’re doomed. zenix will always be devoted to him, no matter how difficult it is to face the one who abandoned him. vylad can only pretend to despise the boy they loved- they could never truly hate him.

the gods will never let them be happy.

[chatgptopenai12]

Enhancing Content with Paragraph Rewriter: A Comprehensive Guide

In the realm of content creation , the ability to articulate thoughts and ideas in a clear and engaging manner is paramount. However, often writers encounter the need to rephrase or restructure paragraphs to improve clarity, coherence, or originality. This is where the tool known as a "Paragraph Rewriter" comes into play, offering a solution to streamline this process efficiently.

Understanding Paragraph Rewriter:

A Paragraph Rewriter is a tool designed to assist writers in modifying the structure and wording of paragraphs while preserving the original meaning. It employs advanced algorithms and linguistic analysis to generate alternative versions of a given paragraph, providing writers with fresh perspectives and variations.

How Paragraph Rewriter Works:

Text Analysis: The Paragraph Rewriter analyzes the input text, breaking it down into individual sentences and identifying key phrases and concepts.

Rewriting Algorithm: Utilizing sophisticated algorithms, the tool rephrases sentences by substituting words with synonyms, rearranging clauses, or altering sentence structures.

Coherence and Clarity: The rewriter ensures that the revised paragraph maintains coherence and clarity, avoiding any distortions of the original message.

Multiple Outputs: Writers are often presented with multiple rewritten versions of the paragraph, allowing them to choose the most suitable one or combine elements from different iterations.

Benefits of Using Paragraph Rewriter:

Time Efficiency: By automating the process of paragraph rewriting, writers can save considerable time and effort, focusing more on generating quality content rather than laborious editing tasks.

Enhanced Creativity: The diverse range of alternatives provided by the rewriter stimulates creativity and encourages writers to explore different linguistic expressions and stylistic approaches.

Improved Quality: Paragraph Rewriter helps in enhancing the overall quality of content by offering polished and refined versions of paragraphs, free from grammatical errors or awkward phrasing.

Consistency: Writers can ensure consistency across their content by using the rewriter to maintain a uniform tone, style, and level of formality throughout their writing.

Best Practices for Using Paragraph Rewriter:

Review and Refinement: While Paragraph Rewriter can expedite the rewriting process, it's essential for writers to review the generated outputs and make any necessary refinements to ensure coherence and accuracy.

Contextual Understanding: Writers should provide context or guidelines to the rewriter tool to generate more relevant and contextually appropriate revisions.

Integration with Editing Process: Incorporating Paragraph Rewriter into the editing workflow can streamline the revision process and help writers polish their content effectively.

Conclusion:

In the digital age where content creation plays a pivotal role in various domains, tools like the Paragraph Rewriter offer invaluable assistance to writers seeking to enhance the quality and effectiveness of their writing. By leveraging advanced algorithms and linguistic analysis, these tools empower writers to streamline the process of paragraph rewriting, ultimately contributing to the creation of compelling and engaging content.

[willothewispwisteriadawn]

It’s been literally so long since Fire Emblem 3H came out. At this point, I’m a hair away from assuming people who say Rhea was running around murdering people of other religions are being intellectually dishonest. We have multiple support conversations just saying entirely uncryptically that she doesn’t do this, and we never even see strong evidence that she does? She executed people for active blasphemy and attempted assassination, it’s just that the context made her ruthless (the people executed were clearly pawns, scared, and suffering too) which is why the scenes depict her as cutthroat. But to say she’s killed people because they just casually didn’t think Sothis was real is more than just simplifying— it’s just incorrect. It’s because these people ultimately threatened the juggling act Rhea is doing to prevent another grand scale war and triggered her because they messed with things she considers sacred, final reminders of her mother.

It’s just so weird because I used to post like screenshots and STATEMENTS FROM THE WRITERS that confirm all this in no uncertain language and people would be like doing extreme mental gymnastics to explain why “Rhea doesn’t care that I don’t believe in Sothis” and “Rhea did what she did to prevent war” are not clear statements. I mean, I am so chill with having different takes on characters from people or viewing characters as more or less sympathetic. That involves personal code and ethics. But with 3H, I hit this wall where I’m like.. when do we admit that, for you, this conversation is not about actually understanding the character?

I swear, some people need to go take a break, grab a latte, and privately come to terms with their irl beefs with the Catholic Church before engaging with this game. Because, my friends, I do not have the ability or strength to shoulder/accommodate your external opinions on a real religion on top of my analyses of the motives of the green haired dragonfolk.

[m1d-45]

i gobbled and devoured the post imposter things. scrumptious!! but what if poor little xiao man feels guilty for hunting or scarring us in the hunt? and please don’t feel obligated to answer, i know you’re busy

burden to bear

word count: 2.7k

-> warnings: spoilers for liyue archon quest, canon typical violence…. minor body horror? blood mention.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist >

during the hunt itself, xiao is driven by a need to prove himself, pushing past his instinct and the way his karma flares around the one on the throne. he sees it as a way to redeem himself, to finally scrape some of the sin off his hands. it’s a way to prove himself, and one he takes eagerly.

it’s not correct to say he’s blinded by faith, but it’s not exactly wrong either. he definitely feels, subconsciously, that something’s… off, maybe, about his god. perhaps it’s the way his vision always seems to flutter and flare, or the ice in his veins when the command to hunt is given. he feels uneasy, unsettled, finding himself rolling his shoulders and wondering if he needed to add more stretches into his routines. and yet, despite the tension in his shoulders and the twist in his stomach, he kneels, bowing his head with a swear of fealty that goes unanswered.

unacknowledged.

perhaps he had delivered it wrong?

he doesn’t think much of it, quickly dissolving from the throne room and appearing besides the statue of the seven on the west edge of liyue. looking out over jueyun karst, he knows it’s a bit fruitless to start his search there due to the vicinity to the other adepti, but the spires there are tall, filled with wiry bushes and crags of rock that are easier to hide in than may seem at first glance.

he draws his pole arm, spinning it once over his hand before tapping the end to the stone beneath him. he’s not sure why he’s so nervous—is it the fact that this is technically the first order he’s been given? is it the idea of slaughtering somebody so identical to his creator that it nearly fooled morax, who’s been alive longer than he could fathom?

or is it simply the prospect of failure?

xiao grits his teeth and steps off the edge of the floating stone, halting his fall with anemo at nearly the last possible moment.

his feelings meant nothing. orders were given, and he had to follow them.

why else was he there, if he couldn’t?

it takes him longer than he expected to find you. he’s almost impressed, really, that you managed to evade his searching eyes, that you dodged not only him but the other adepti as well, all without taking refuge in any villages or otherwise civilized areas due to the orders the millelith put out. you hid well, he could attest to that, and though he was the one to find you, it was only on accident.

he was clearing out a group of hilichurls north of the inn. he was surprised so many had settled so close to the statue of the seven, as hilichurls usually avoided concentrated elemental energy, but didn’t think too hard about it. he simply unhooked his mask from his belt, noticing the difference in strength between these hilichurls and the average, and teleported into the middle of the camp.

the first thing he heard was a spotter’s cry. the second was the mitachurls’—archons, there were three—roar as they hefted their weapons. the final one was the intricate chanting of the abyss, but not any incantation he recognized.

he kept himself half in smoke as he danced around the edge of the camp, taking out the archers while he tried to find the abyss mage. he could catch glimpses of hydro bubbles through the walls of the hut, but the steps were covered in frost-

he barely ducked under the swing of a mitachurl’s axe, slashing his spear along its side as he slipped away, darting across the path of one charging with a large stone shield. it clipped his shoulder despite his efforts, pain spiking down his arm, but he didn’t pay attention to the injurh. normally he wouldn’t be this distracted, but two abyss mages and three mitachurls in one camp could only spell bad news. the best he could likely do was to leave and grab back-up, but who? the millelith were busy, morax and the adepti were on their own search…

xiao quickly climbed onto the roof of the hut, jamming his spear between two of the logs to keep grip on the woven roofing. the grass was damp, squishing uber this feet, likely from whatever hydro magic the mage was busy with within it. it likely wasn’t the smartest idea to stand on the roof, but this area of liyue was mostly plains, with little cover from the charging mitachurls. he needed a moment, if only a short one, to hash out a plan to deal with the camp.

the three mitachurls were standing besides the hut, two with shields and one with a crackling axe, electro dancing along the blade. xiao shifted, pivoting around the peak of the hut to move away from that one, the grass roof squishing below his feet.

the mitachurl’s ear twitched.

he shoved himself off the roof just as the mitachurl slammed the flat of its blade onto the roof, the whole shack shaking. electricity swarmed across the waterlogged roofing, reaching the opposite edge just as xiao dropped off it, landing between the other two mitachurls. they didn’t charge, nor attack, their motivations only made clear when the hiss of cryo froze out the lingering moisture in the air in front of him, effectively boxing him in.

the abyss mage swayed in its circle, staff glowing a sharp blue from within its bubble of frost.

“leave, adeptus,” it hissed, waving its staff in a circle. “you have no place here.”

xiao didn’t reply, instead picking apart his options. he couldn’t do significant damage to the shield mitachurls without utilizing his burst to destroy their shields, but that didn’t cover the mage at all… and he was still wet from the roof, so the mage would be able to freeze him within the time he had drawn in enough anemo energy to wield his mask with any level of efficiency…

he flexed his hand around his polearm. how had he gotten into this situation? his only options were to get lucky or teleport away, but even the latter of those relied on the first.

luck. how useless was he, to rely on luck-?

“‘adeptus’?”

the abyss mage startled at the voice, the cryo it had been swirling dissipating. both he and it turned to the side, to the entrance to the hut, where a figure could be seen just beyond the mitachurl.

his first instinct was that it was his god, and he briefly relaxed under the knowledge that he’d get out of this in mostly one piece.

his second was to recognize the torn clothing and dirt-smeared skin, and realize that you could never be his god.

xiao’s eyes narrowed, his spear twisting towards you faster than the distracted mage could react. you, his target, the one he had been seeking out, were hiding behind the abyss. he should have expected it, in truth, figured out the one known for going against the rules of nature would side with the most unnatural force, but that was not for now.

not now, when he was launched forward by the power of anemo, his spear driving him forward, barely skimming the mitachurl in favor of his true target: you.

your eyes barely had the chance to dart in his direction.

xiao was, in truth, not the first one to see you.

many villagers had glimpsed you running around the outskirts of their villages, plucking apples and sunsettias off trees and taking mint from their gardens and leaving bundles of sweet flowers behind instead. they’d seen you, face half-covered in a poor mask made of scraps, your clothes that of the haphazard stitches of the hilichurls, which helped you blend into teyvat a bit more at the price of comfort. many had seen you and assumed you were a run of the mill thief, perhaps one taking advantage of the current hunt since the millelith were occupied. they wryly called you clever, warning the traveling merchants about you, the one they glimpsed at inane hours of night.

he wasn’t the first to see you, by far. he was, however, the first to recognize you.

he was the first to lay eyes upon your form and realize the truth, to realize that the blood seeping into your clothes was the color of stars and galaxies, to recognize that your heart beat blue.

the argument could be made that the hilichurls were the first, or perhaps the mages that had taken you in and brought you food, but it was not them that gathered you into their arms and whisked you away in a flash of teal, uncaring of the spike of cryo that drove into their side at the last minute. the hilichurls did not walk with frosted-over limbs, the abyss did not cry with a throat full of ice, calling for assistance in undoing their own crime.

xiao couldn’t decide whether it was lucky or not that baizhu was in the pharmacy, speaking with herbalist gui over the front desk. on one hand, it was best to have the most experienced healer in liyue at your side, but on the other..

“adeptus xiao, what is-…..”

confusion, then anger, then realization, all flashing over his face in an instant before he tilted his head and walked quickly to a back room, xiao following.

he busied himself with picking the ice off his body and clothes, ignoring the shake of his hands and the stench of blood in the room. the mage had pulled you from the point of his spear, but he still hit the side of your stomach, and he could tell it was messy.

knocks sounded at the door but baizhu turned them away sharply, only allowing qiqi to pass him a bowl of lotus seeds. he was focused, changsheng slithering off his shoulders to grab supplies as needed. time seemed to slow to a crawl, like xiao had entered a domain without an exit, filled with the iron smell of blood and the never ending chips of ice he peeled from his skin. it left behind stinging wounds and red marks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

what was his brief moment of injury compared to a scar upon his god?

the moment that baizhu had stopped, all but collapsing into a chair and wiping off his hands with a tired call of ‘it’s done. the foundation will be okay.’ xiao had stood and left, biting his tongue through the protests of both his own body and the doctor.

he’d given changsheng his confession, but he did not wish to stick around and hear his verdict.

weeks later, morax came and visited him at the inn, carrying with him a plate of almond tofu and an apology. xiao leaned against the furthest edge of the balcony, curled around the plate, staying as far as he could from the one with your aura imprinted upon him.

he felt it, when zhongli had first come up the stairs. the shock, then the warmth, the all-encompassing comfort that soothed the pain from the bruising on his shoulder. he felt it, and knew that he did not deserve it.

“it’s not your fault,” zhongli insisted, baritone words colored with unreturned sympathy. “the fake… had fooled us all. even me. i cannot hold your actions against you when i myself would have done the same.”

and maybe that was true. maybe he would have drawn his own weapon, pierced your skin himself, acting on the orders of one who dared to take the place of the divine, but that was irrelevant.

xiao was the one who had hurt you. and it was entirely his fault.

almond tofu, his favorite dish, tasted bitter and sour on his tongue, almost akin to the pain medication that zhongli had made him drink after noticing how cautious he was with his injured arm. he’d made him take the first dose in front of him and swear to take the rest, with a long monologue about taking care of himself tacked on afterwards, but it was for nothing. aside from the first night he had it, xiao hadn’t touched the bottle. it sat on his nightstand, beside a bed he hardly used, taunting him when he returned earlier than usual.

he could take it. there was nothing stopping him from doing so, and he probably should if he wanted to return to his duties quicker. but every time he picked up the glass, thumb tracing over the engravings as he undid the top, he hesitated.

he could take it. he probably should. but did he deserve to?

you were still recovering, possibly still bedridden weeks later. your blood still stained his spear, dripping down to his palms, pale and scarred skin marked further with the blue and purple swirls of his sin. you were still in pain, still healing from a spear to your side, and he was here, reaching for medicine for a sore shoulder?

(it was worse than that. bone had knocked against bone, bruising beneath where muscle could reach. it ached even when he sat as still as possible, dragging him out of every attempt to meditate. the dark purple splotches stretched beyond his clothing, reaching across his back and up his neck, making nearly any action flare the wound. it was far beyond an over-exerted muscle or a particularly tiring day, and yet even the worst nights of his pain were staved off by the memory of having to wash blue off his blade. even as the latch on the bottle was undone, the lip pressed to his, he could never bring himself to drink it)

(even the small droplet of it on the rim, tasting of qingxin extract and violet grass, threatened to make him sick. how dare he?)

yes, it would likely only get him into more trouble were he found out, but he was careful not to be. whenever the wind brought him the heavy presence of geo, zhongli’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, he snatched the bottle and emptied it into the stone carving on the balcony, letting the medicine soak into the soil beneath it. it splashed when he was sloppy, the deep purple medicine appearing blue on the stone, sparking a memory that weighed harder on the pit in his stomach.

even as he handed the bottle over to zhongli, his jaw clenched from the strain on his shoulder. the action was stiff, jerky, but evidently smooth enough that it had passed his assessment.

zhongli tucked the bottle away, surprisingly not drawing out a new one.

“i am proud of you, and of the progress you have made,” he said, golden eyes softening in the light of dusk. “well done, xiao.”

how strange, he thought, watching him leave, that the very action that made his vision swim with unshed tears was one that was praised.

he wouldn’t complain, of course. he never would. this pain was his to bear, just as the burden of your bloodshed was his to shoulder. he was well aware his pain could never take back yours—though he wished, desperately, that he could move your injury to him. he wanted to be able to take on the physical reminder of his defect, to take the hit of his own spear to spare you from his lapse in judgement. he would take it, take ten times the pain you endured, if only it meant that your skin was free of his scars.

it would be an honor to assist the divine, even at the price of his own life.

[lumpsbumpsandwhumps]

"Bitch who is 'we'!? You speakin' French!?"

New year, new whump OCs to help me flesh out their current vibes for a fic

fresh as fuck whumper forcing an overworked-underpaid nurse to fix up his various whumpees or risk the same treatment and also maybe kiss kiss fall in love :)? (she would push him into oncoming traffic if given the chance) ((why does he pay her more to stitch up one dude's wrench-beaten face than the hospital pays her in a month))

[justaz]

lance who has always hidden his insecurities under grandeur and humor. a huge ego paired with an inflated sense of pride. he is someone who is confident and cocky, but he exaggerates it in response to the deep rooted belief that he is not enough, that he is ordinary at best, lackluster at worst. he grew up as the baby in a huge family which came with a lot of coddling, yes, but his achievements had been made time and time again which made them expectations rather than milestones. the first time he truly shone was when he got into the garrison, something no one in his family had done before, something to be celebrated. he worked his ass off at the garrison to be top of his class, to be a fighter pilot, to reach the stars - to be the first of his family to reach space. who could too that? no matter how long he spent studying or training, he still tested into the cargo pilot class. it wasn’t the worst but it wasn’t what he wanted. he fell short by a measly three points. it was infuriating.

lance worked his ass off even more. he wanted to be something, he wanted to be noticed, he wanted to be praised, he wanted to be celebrated. he never made it. there was one student that caught his eye though - keith kogane. a living, breathing legend. he tested at the top of their class. miles above the other students. completely untouchable. despite his reputation, his grand achievements, keith never cared. he was never in the library studying or spending his free time on the flight sims. he rarely made it to class on time. he didn’t care. yet he was the best of the best. iverson gave him a hard time but it was clear to everyone that even iverson admired him and his skill, his talent. even lance admired him. he wanted to be like him, he wanted to be him. he was rejoiced, he was celebrated, he was praised, he was admired and he didn’t even try. lance pushed harder and harder but only ended in burning himself out. he crumbled under the pressure while keith didn’t seem to notice it. lance loved him but also hated him. then he was gone. and lance was a fighter pilot. barely.

iverson, now with one less eye, loathed that. he gave lance scorn and belittlement, compared him to keith at every turn and went on and on about his failings, about how he’d never be keith, about how he didn’t deserve keith’s space in the class. lance hated iverson, lance hated keith, lance hated himself. he just had to try harder. he was more deserving of all of it than keith. he never cared, he didn’t want what he was blessed with. lance fought tooth and nail for it. he deserved it. he rose a bit in the fighter pilot class and kept fighting, iverson kept ridiculing and humiliating, keith’s name remained at the top of the boards. as the year passed, his name overtook name after name until he was below keith, three points behind. almost, almost, almost, almost…

then they were in space. kidnapped by giant, sentient, mechalions. fighting in an intergalactic war. unable to return home. the years of resentment lance held for keith came to surface in close quarters with the man and he relished in every challenge that he won and despised every challenge he lost. he worked his ass off to get better until he could rechallenge keith until he won. he wasn’t sure when their rivalry became tinged with friendship, but he didn’t hate it. he should’ve, but he didn’t. it was keith’s disregard for his own amazement that infuriated lance. he was gifted and never cared for it. he was everything lance wanted and it was like it meant nothing to him. like he would trade it all at the drop of a hat if he could. yet, keith was fun, in an odd way. awkward and funny, a little prickly around the edges but a soft, gooey marshmallow heart under it all. lance knew it. he saw keith tear up at a couple of cute babies of some species on some planet as they played.

then shiro went missing and keith was forced into the role of leader and he very clearly did not want it. again, lance felt a flicker of annoyance. the role of black paladin, the pilot of the black lion, that was something lance had wanted. not at the expense of shiro, not at the expense of anyone, but he could be leader. he could lead the paladins of voltron in the fight against the galran empire. he could be revered on every planet they freed from tyranny, his name would live on forever. no one would overshadow him. yet, now keith stood in the shadow of the black lion, his face pinched and his eyes dark. he had lost his brother twice now and was being forced into leadership, he was now the one to make all the decisions for the team of (mostly) teenagers against the empire that had terrorized the universe for over ten thousand years.

lance stomped on the flicker of annoyance and put it out as he strode forward and stood beside keith. he spoke lowly, gently. he wasn’t sure how, but the right words spilled forth. keith’s shoulders relaxed and his scowl eased to a faint frown. he stepped into his role as leader. he was still as impatient and impulsive, he was quick to anger and often blinded by it. lance was there for it all. he held keith back, became his patience and impulse control. he quelled his anger when he could and talked sense into him when keith was already fired up. in return, keith gave him trust and gave him power. to outsiders, it seemed like it always had since the birth of voltron - the black paladin, the leader, and the red paladin, the right hand. but in all actuality, it was more the black and red paladins, leaders of voltron. the final decision rested with keith, but he never made a choice without lance’s input. lance made the plans and keith approved of them. lance talked at the diplomatic meetings while keith put on a brave face and played nice for a few hours.

then shiro came back and keith stepped down. lance felt as if he had finally found his footing. lance and keith, leaders of voltron, best friends. and now keith was leaving. lance watched keith walk away as he supported hunk and his tears. lance retreated to his own room and found traces of keith in every nook and cranny. hell, the damn castle ship could be traced back to keith in lance’s mind. ever since he stepped foot in the garrison, everything was tied to keith - the school legend, top of the class, best fighter pilot in their generation, the crazy man breaking into a government facility to kidnap legend takashi shirogane, the conspiracy theorist with the odd sounds in the desert, finding the blue lion, ending up in space fighting a war, red paladin of voltron. it was all keith. yet he wasn’t here. lance loved him, but he also hated him. he wasn’t sure how many more times he’d end up feeling that same sentiment.

the team…drifted. hunk and pidge paired off while allura and shiro paired off leaving lance and coran. coran was a nice, funny, odd man that reminded lance of his father back home. coran’s crazy, kooky exterior melted away when it was just them two and lance felt the same happen with him. coran talked of altea before it all, his husband and their son. lance talked of home too, every detail he could remember from earth and his family. lance busied himself with training or helping coran around the castle. he tried with the rest of the team, but things were pretty tense and his loud, jovial nature wasn’t exactly welcome all things considered. he tried to be shiro’s second as he had been keith’s. he offered his input and his plans but they were tossed aside without a moments thought. he was belittled for sticking his nose where it didn’t belong when he tried to speak up at their meetings. he was not shiro’s second, he was keith’s piss poor replacement as he had been at the garrison. he quieted and kept to himself. he stuck to the walls with crossed arms or locked himself on the training deck for hours at a time. shiro was off, a but different but lance couldn’t put his finger on it. the way he looked at them all sometimes was eerie. his eyes were empty and void and unsettling. after being shouted at on the bridge during a meeting,

he really couldn’t keep his thoughts to himself. he thought getting it out in the open would ease the worry off his shoulders and, if it didn’t, then whoever he spoke to could laugh off his worries to properly ease his mind, help him see sense. lance told coran. coran did not laugh. he did not brush off lance’s worries. he all but confirmed them. he said how he had found shiro’s behavior odd and the shouting really sent the point home. shiro before had never yelled, not like that (bar slav but that was understandable). the rest of the team also sought lance out to share their same opinions. lance took it all in stride despite the heavy dread settling over his shoulders. in agreement, the team trailed down to the bay and sat in front of the black lion. instead of the slow, patient meditation where they would ascend into the astral plane, it felt more like they were snatched and hauled up into it. they found shiro there, the real shiro, the dead shiro. they weren’t sure who was on the ship, but it wasn’t their leader. they all remained in the astral plane as they talked over a plan.

lotor considered their line of questioning and shared the witch’s experiments while he was there and gathered that if shiro was anything, he was most likely a clone. there were other options such as shapeshifter or droid disguised as shiro but both were easily disproven as if shiro were a shapeshifter, there would’ve been moments when he tripped up and either didn’t remember something or acted too different from the shiro they knew. if shiro were a droid disguised as shiro, well…their capabilities of such a thing were lacking. the droids the galran empire had were only good for fighting and even then they were pretty lackluster. the witch had an odd fascination with life and death so the chances of shiro being one of her experiments at recreating life were incredibly high.

lance didn’t trust lotor either but he knew they needed all the aid they could get so he bit his tongue and allowed lotor to remain in close cohorts with all of them. they staged a coup and overpowered the shiro on the ship. unable to kill him, they froze him in a pod and kept him locked in the floor of the infirmary. with the loss of her spy, haggar launched an attack on voltron. tens of hundreds of galran ships warped to their position but their appearance was quickly followed by hundreds of thousands of rebel ships and military ships from those in the coalition. the blade managed to send a few ships, though at lance’s poking and prodding, kolivan relayed that keith wouldn’t be there as he hd been out of a mission for the past couple of weeks and hadn’t returned yet. heavier dread settled over lance but he had no choice then to ignore it and fight with the rest of his team against the galran attack.

with a great sense of deja vu, lance found himself locked out of the red lion. he groaned and complained to him as they didn’t have time for this but red didn’t budge. lance spoke to coran through his comms that red wouldn’t let him in and the older man appeared in the bay at frightening speed. they talked it over and red allowed coran to enter and pilot him. as coran stepped into red’s maw, black let out an ear-shattering roar. the deja vu was never ending as lance found himself rushing toward black and taking a seat at the helm. the castle ship was put on autopilot, it kept its shield up as it fired at passing galran ships whilst the rest of the team flew around in their lions taking on ship after ship. as rebel and coalition ships began to fall, the team formed voltron and took out the ships with ease.

it was odd, finally being in charge. finally being recognized. being turned to for guidance with unwavering trust. it was something he had always dreamed of, something he envied keith for, something he truly didn’t want when he finally got it. how could they look to him? how could black choose him? he was just a boy from cuba, one out of a family of seven, twelve counting his sister in law, niece and nephew, and grandma and grandpa. he was a cargo pilot who had no business being in the fighter pilot class. he became a paladin by sheer luck, luck attributed to keith kogane. even now, as black paladin, he only received that position because shiro was out of commission and keith was on a mission for the blade. the moment keith returned, the lion would return to keith and lance would go back to being his second, ignored at best, yelled at at worst. as of now, he was keith’s stand in. he just had to make it until keith returned. problems arose practically ever minute and lance tried to imagine keith and how he would respond before making a decision. he’d stand still as he took in the information, pointer finger and thumb brushing together as he thought it over, and finally respond.

he checked practically every minute of every day for a response from keith or a change in status from kolivan, but neither ever came. keith was still on a mission. he had been for weeks. lance stood on shaky legs as he led the team. he hesitated and was indecisive. he froze up when they turned to him to make a decision. he was not a leader. he wasn’t who they were looking for. they needed keith. he needed keith. lance would spend his time in the bridge, a line ringing endlessly in hopes of keith finally picking up, as he looked over the battle plans and made tweaks and adjustments as he saw fit. allura joined him once and merely watched as he worked. she chuckled to herself suddenly and mentioned how with the clone as their leader, she had forgotten what it was like with keith as their leader. she had forgotten that lance was once their strategist, that he had been part of the duo that made all the decisions for the team.

coran also joined him after allura left. he let lance ramble aloud about the plans until he ran into an issue he couldn’t resolve quite yet. he stood still as he rubbed his thumb and pointer finger together. coran smiled and exhaled sharply. he said softly how he had not seen lance “like this” in quite some time. at lance’s questioning look, coran explained how lance had been so confident and sure of himself when he led with keith. under the clone’s leadership, lance had been shaken and wasn’t sure of himself anymore. the lance of the past few months was quiet and hesitant, unsure and unsteady, whilst the lance who led with keith was confident and self-assured. he made these decisions for the team and didn’t second guess himself once. yes, he thought over his plans from every angle to ensure the team was as safe as could be, but he never doubted himself. coran supposed it was keith’s unwavering faith, loyalty, and trust in lance. keith followed lance’s decisions just as much as the team followed keith’s.

lance watched coran leave after ruffling his hair and slowly turned back to the messy draft of a battle plan. lance’s gaze shifted over to his stilled hand where he had been rubbing his thumb and pointer together since running into the issue. he had been doing the same motion since becoming black paladin. it was oddly familiar. he swore he had seen…keith do it. it was keith’s unique tick that he did when stressed or emotional and trying to compose himself. lance had stolen it. allura and coran’s words echoed in his mind as he thought back to the short period of time with keith as black paladin. lance had felt like he finally found his footing there. he felt seen and heard and appreciated as he and keith led the team together. keith’s trust in his decisions, lance’s ability to match each of keith’s weaknesses to balance the team. here lance was now, leading the team all on his own, and he felt his own weaknesses exposed to the elements at the loss of his samurai.

well, the whole time he had been thinking what would keith do. he had been leading like he still had keith. perhaps that was the problem. he was leading like half of a whole rather than black paladin. lance looked up at the trilling line on the screen of the bridge. keith was on a mission. he was not on the ship. it was lance and his team. lance reached up and ended the ringing line. he had to lead like it. lance watched lotor closely for days but still couldn’t find any issue with him. weeks passed and things sailed smoother than before. lance still froze up in meetings and hesitated before making big decisions, but he stopped looking to his side for keith’s input. just as they fell into the new normal, keith returned. he flew into the castleship with a teleporting black and blue wolf, a tall galran woman that looked suspiciously like him, and (most peculiar) an altean. as well as a growth spurt that came with bulging muscles. not that that was important. what was important was that keith finally gave lance the reason why lotor was so hard to trust.

in the hours waiting for lotor and allura to return, lance lead keith to the infirmary to see the still clone body and retold everything that had happened while he was gone. keith’s face cycled through a few emotions but he quickly forced them back behind a mask of indifference and he nodded. the two of the returned to the bridge to wait for lotor to return to confront him. allura was heartbroken and enraged at the news and had taken to fighting lotor herself. outnumbered and surrounded, lotor surrendered and allowed himself to be taken to the dungeons of the castle. it was unnerving that the castle had dungeons and lance never knew despite his wanderings over the years, but he let it go. lotor was taken into the belly of the castle in chains while keith mourned his brother once more. maybe it was the news of her people that had survived only to be farmed for experiments that gave her the idea, but allura thought of a way to bring shiro, their shiro, back.

the clone’s body was taken down to the bay where allura pressed her hands to the black lion. she began to glow and she walked toward the limp body and placed her hands to it’s chest and head. the light around her body flowed down her arms and hands and into the body on the table. after a few seconds, the body took a breath and cracked open it’s eyes. lively eyes. loving, kind, and caring eyes. shiro’s eyes. shiro was put back in the infirmary as he got used to being alive again. coran stepped back from the red lion and turned the mantle back over to lance without complaint. lance did the same with the black lion to keith. instead of it feeling bitter, lance felt more at peace. being a nobody was horrible, unbearable, but being the somebody that everyone turned to for help and guidance was not very fun either. he was content to be second in command, right hand man, three points behind keith. only, keith took back the black lion but didn’t let lance fall back into the shadows. they fell back into the same dynamic they had before, two halves of one whole, two leaders that complimented each other, that met one another’s weakness with their strengths, that balanced each other, that made a damn good team.