#this is the worst one guys im sorry

[autisticlancemcclain]

prev chapter

———

There’s no alarm to wake him, this time. No blaring to startle him out of bed, no shrillness to dig into his head and distract him from the grief.

Nothing but him and the pain in his loss, sitting quietly and blankly together on his bed. 

He’s not shocked that there’s no alarm, really. What’s the point? It’s not like there’s any mission to do. Any universe they can save. It wasn’t just Lance they lost – Red was destroyed, too. There’s no Voltron without Red, and especially without Lance. They’re doomed. There’s nothing, no point to anything. They are as helpless as the smallest speck of dust. How are they supposed to stand up to Zarkon now? How is the universe’s greatest weapon supposed to destroy the universe’s greatest threat when it’s been destroyed?

Selfishly, Keith thinks that there’s no point, either. Why bother saving the universe when he doesn’t want to live in it after it’s been saved? What does he have to live for, anyway? Lance is – Lance is gone. Even just outside Keith’s feelings for him – and Keith doesn’t even want to think about that pain, that gaping hole in his chest, the crushing misery of missed opportunities and the only regretted words being the ones left unsaid – the team will never be the same. Never. Not without Lance there, a support, a smile, a laugh, the fucking endless and constant source of hope, even when he was hopeless himself. 

This isn’t something they can recover from. They will never be able to recover from this. There is no moving forward. 

Lance wanted to be cremated, Keith remembers. It wasn’t something they really talked about, death – each and every one of them avidly avoided the subject – but it had come up, randomly, on one of the nights when Keith had followed Lance to the observatory.

“They can do all sorts of weird shit with your ashes,” Lance had said the second Keith had sat down next to him, in lieu of any kind of normal greeting. 

Keith was used to it, though. If anything the non sequitur made him smile. “Yeah? Like what?”

“You can make it into art. Or a planter. Oh! Oh! Or tattoo ink!”

Keith made a face. “Don’t like that one.”

“Yeah, that one’s a little nasty,” Lance agreed, laughing softly. He was quiet for a while, chin resting on his knees, staring at the slowly-spinning projection of Earth, brown eyes soft and sad. “I want to be turned into a diamond.”

“Yeah?” Keith asked softly, scooching closer to Lance, hesitating a moment before putting an arm around his shoulders. Lance had smiled, fond and grateful, and leaned into him. 

“Yeah. So y’all can sell my remains for hundreds of thousands of dollars and dance around in the money.”

“Oh – Lance!” 

It takes Keith a moment to realise he’s smiling, feeling his tears drip down into the curve of his mouth. The smile fades immediately once he’s aware of it, once he realises that that’s all he has, now. Memories.

Seemingly out of nowhere, contrasting the blankness he’s felt since he woke up, his face crumbles, and he muffles a sob in his hands. He is never going to see Lance again. Fucking never. The nightmare was bad enough, but this is – real. Never again is he going to clasp Lance’s calloused hand in his when they pull off a particularly tricky manoeuver together. Never again is he going to see Lance smile, bright and loud and everywhere. Never again is he going to hear Lance’s voice, high and teasing, always with a pillar of support running through it, whether it be begrudging encouragement or a firm ‘here’s-how-you-fucked-up’ and then ‘here’s-how-we’ll-fix-it’. Never again is someone going to call him Mullet. Samurai. Batboy. Willie Nelson. God, Lance loved his nicknames, and Keith is never going to hear them again. Every reminder is like a boulder on his chest, getting heavier and heavier until he feels like he’s pinned to the bed, struggling to move, because there’s no point in waking up and living in a world without Lance McClain in it. 

But he gets up, eventually, because he has to. He can’t just lie there and let the world die. Voltron is…not Voltron, anymore. They’re missing their right hand. But there’s still something. There must be. Sitting here, choking on the pain of missing him – Keith can’t stand it anymore. The thought of it is suffocating. Missing Lance is suffocating. He has to get up. Up, out, he has to move, he has to be not here, in his bedroom, alone, looking at books Lance brought him every time they stopped on a planet and posters he insisted on putting up in Keith’s room and one of his sweaters still on the bedpost and the knife sheath he made for Keith on his birthday –

Keith throws himself off the bed with a gasp, stumbling down the hallway. He can’t be in his bedroom anymore. There’s too much of Lance in it.

He makes his way to the training room — it’s better than nothing — eyes barely open, breath stuttering and short and pained. Training. It might – help, somehow, keep some of the pain at bay.

He opens the door and there’s Lance. 

Alive.

Smiling.

Waving.

Alive.

“Took you long enough, sleeping beauty,” he teases. “You said you’d be here at eight!”

Keith doesn’t know what to say. What to think.

“You’re — how —”

“...How am I so gracious and forgiving of your very rude tardiness?’ Lance interrupts. He pretends to tap his chin, feigning deep thought. Keith’s chest aches. He thought — he thought he’d never get this again.

How is Lance even here? Keith fucking – he saw the pieces! Of Red! Fragmented pieces of her, shattered, drifting through space!

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. it must — it must have been a nightmare. Again.

Why, then, can you not remember falling asleep? a traitorous voice whispers. 

Keith ignores it. He doesn't want to think of a world without Lance in it. He prefers the nightmare, despite how real and painful it felt. 

“Let’s just say you’re lucky I love ya, mullet,”’ Lance says with a grin, and Keith forces the knot in his chest to loosen. It's okay. Lance is here.

They spar, fighting each other to warm up, then eventually turning on the gladiators. They climb through the levels like it’s easy — and it is, for them, for Lance and Keith, neck and neck — but soon something — something’s not right.

Something feels wrong, and Keith can’t shake the feeling.

“Good old Glad’s not pulling any punches,” Lance pants, narrowly avoiding a slice to the face. “Like I know the levels are hard, but these bots feel like they’re genuinely trying to kill u—”

Lance gasps. He looks down. 

There’s a protrusion coming through his stomach, and for a moment it looks so strange that Keith can't place it for a moment, but then the red blooms around it and — oh.

“Oh,” Lance repeats, looking down. “That’s — that’s not right.”

Keith watches, frozen, paralyzed, as the gladiator’s sword suddenly yanks upward, slicing Lance's spine, ripping through his intestines and stomach and spleen, until it yanks right back out. Lance's hand slowly makes its way to the wound, and he touches it almost curiously.

“I don’t —I — Keith?” The last word is a breathy question, like he’s asking Keith what’s going on. And Keith is —

“Lance,” he says, and finally snaps out of it. He rushes forward, just in time to catch Lance before he collapses to the ground. “We have to get you to a healing pod, we have to —”

“I don’t think — hm. I don’t —” Lance’s eyes are shut. His breathing is slow and lethargic, he’s struggling to get the words out. “Too late, I think,” he whispers.

“No, no, no, we can’t — I can’t lose you — not again — Lance —” 

The last word is almost a moan, his own moan of pain, because Keith cannot lose Lance again. He can’t. And not like this, not with Lance in pieces, rapidly bleeding out in his arms —

“It’s okay,” Lance whispers. It’s not even a whisper, really. It’s barely even words, he’s so faint. “We’re good.”

“No, Lance, no no no no, stay with me, Lance —” 

But nothing Keith could say could stop him from fading. Lance's eyes close and the only movement from his body is the rushing of his blood, spilling out onto Keith and the floor. 

The life running out of him.

Keith swallows. “Help,” he croaks, but it’s too late. It was too late before it even started. It's too late when Pidge finally wanders in, screaming at the very top of her lungs, and the rest of the team rushes in after her. Hunk throws up. Allura freezes. Coran steps forward, gently, as if he’s afraid the sound of his footsteps will somehow cause more damage.

Keith stays where he is long after Lance's ruined corpse is pried from his arms, after he’s put somewhere. After Shiro brings a bucket and a washcloth and gently wipes the blood from Keith's skin. Keith stays long after Shiro leaves, sobs caught in his throat, and uses the rag to scrub at the floor and thinks of nothing.

———

next chapter

[kendyroy]

really need to see what goes on in logan’s head whenever he interacts with wade.

i know it’s a lot of “he’s so fucking stupid” and “i can’t fucking believe this guy”

but i also imagine it’s a lot of “i love him so much. i can’t imagine life without him” and “what have i ever done to deserve this guy’s love. i don’t deserve him. he’s too good for me”

(ALL of these are affectionate btw)

[mintypsii]

people don't even say i love you anymore they just

[budugaapologist]

still dont see how so many people say that dawntrail is poorly written in comparison to other expansions like. what, did you realize you had to learn about a new culture and immediately not care anymore lmao? you've done it before, was this one not white enough for you?

genuinely i think more people should do side quests during msq so idk you can form a heart about the characters you're interacting with if you struggle with that and understand the land better so when impactful shit happens your illiterate ass can actually read and have empathy. theres no excuse for this.

if you can't handle storybuilding and character introductions from the expansion that feels like stormblood and shadowbringers had passionate gay sex that got one of them pregnant and birthed a beautiful daughter they both love and care about then idk what to tell you, maybe youre just lame and can't read. best of luck with that.

[dreadfuldevotee]

literally live your truth, I actually cannot stop you. But I must say, to earnestly try and argue the position that Loustat/Loumand is better than the other because either Lestat/Armand is the lesser evil, is not only the dumbest thing you could be doing with your time; But also maybe you need to watch a different show. I'm saying this for your own good.

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[fyodior]

.

[bonebabbles]

God the new ultimate guide sucks

It's not JUST the awful art, either. The art's just worth mentioning because even if the book's info had been terrible or contained nothing new, really cute art can make it still worth having.

But, no, it's even full of recycled lines we've been hearing for years like "Bramblestar Can Match Squirrelflight's Fire Not Contain It," and that's when it DOES get everything right. These entries leave out major, important details (making them bad summaries) and are sometimes even straight-up incorrect.

SUMMARY THOUGHTS

Leafpool is said to have watched Brambleclaw kill Hawkfrost to save Firestar-- but for one, no, she was not there because Ashfur was still leading her and Squilf towards the scene. For two, no, Brambleclaw did not kill Hawkfrost just to save Firestar, it was self-defense. Hawkfrost had him pinned and was going to kill him.

They're REAL cute about Leafpool's death, too, neglecting to mention WHY the Sisters needed to be saved at all and just saying Leafpool's "generosity" lead to her death in that cave-in.

I'm not even going to get into everything on Bramble's entry jesus christ.

Sagewhisker's entry is ESPECIALLY fucken' dandy, framing Yellowfang's Secret like she was simply waiting patiently for Yellow to realize her 'destiny' and not actively shoving it on her at every opportunity.

Leopardstar's entry states that romantic interest in Tigerstar was part of her motivation. "Perhaps she'd hoped he would be her mate" please speak to a woman irl for once in your life.

Gray Wing's entry forgot that the reason he "blamed himself" for Bright Stream's death is because he was literally staring at his big strong brother too much and tripped on a root in front of him. It IS his fault she died.

Clear Sky/Skystar's entry is just obscene. "He regretted abandoning his son and after a fire, he encouraged him to live with him" instead of "saw his teenage child was useful now and bullied and belittled the kid and his uncle into letting Thunder come with him." "Retaining his fierceness towards his cats and outsiders which caused his son to leave" instead of "murdering, brutalizing, and abusing everyone around him caused Thunder to leave." I'll just say this tho; "Fierce" is an interesting way to spell "Cruel."

It's interesting that they don't point out that a major part of Jagged Peak's arc was proving he was "Just As Good" as every other cat in spite of his disability, thanks to his introduced-and-pregnant-in-the-same-book wife becoming his life coach, only earning Clear Sky's respect after being allowed to physically lead a patrol in Blazing Star. Instead they frame him finding his place through taking care of kits, which... was something he seemed to resent in the actual series, considering how the books suddenly treat Gray Wing's protective treatment of him as a terrible thing in Blazing Star because he "didn't give him a chance". But at the same time I actually strongly dislike Jagged Peak and his messy, frustrating character arc so I'm not really UPSET with it. Just... noting it. I suppose this is the official direction they're taking away from it?

Shadowstar's entry is barely even 3 paragraphs yikes.

SHORT STORY THOUGHTS

And if you're wondering if the 4 brand new stories they smooshed into the end in a desperate attempt to make the rush job worth buying are good? No. Of course not. They're all slop.

Story 1: Firestar and Graystripe

First one's a marginally cute story about Graystripe and Firestar which is setting up the framing device linking the mini-tales together. They both remember this situation where Firestar fell into a ditch wrong. The punchline is that Thunderstar remembers it perfectly and they're both like, "WOW! Too bad Thunderstar's memory sucks!"

It's not terrible, but it does feel a bit pointless. But, hey, if you want more Firestar and Graystripe in the series that tosses them fanservice at every turn, who am I to judge?

Story 2: Dovewing and Ivypool

The next one is the Dovewing/Ivypool reconciliation passage everyone's talking about. It's... fine, but immensely dissatisfying to me.

Dovewing is apparently having problems adjusting to her Clan, grapples a little bit with the fact she has no friends but is going to be finding meaning in helping tigerHeartstar "bring the new ShadowClan into existence." She ultimately decides that she needs to talk to her sister, and begs for reassurance that Ivypool believes in her, feeling that her support can help her get through this difficult time in her life.

I think its biggest problem is that Dovewing was not the right choice for the POV here.

Dove was never the one responsible for the rift in their relationship. Ivypool is. Ivypool is the one who was jealous, willing to sabotage anything that would put Dovewing closer to Tigerheart, and continues to be generally aggressive towards her. So when Dovewing is reaching out to Ivypool in hopes of them reconciling, it feels wrong because Ivypool is the one that should be reaching out to Dovewing. SHE is the one who has some things to apologize for, and to show how much she loves and misses her.

It's even kind of frustrating, because Dovewing can never catch a break. She has to have these problems to force her to reach out, Ivypool even ends up suggesting that she leave and come home and take her kids with her, but in the end even a LITTLE bit of assurance from her aggressive sister helps.

I feel super bad for Dovewing, man. She deserves better than this cheap writing. What was the point of such an unsatisfying, rushed reconciliation, shoved into a crummy field guide, when we KNOW from the newest book that they're just going to use tension between them as part of the drama anyway?

shouldn't have even been written, imo. Even ends off with, "They'll always have each other :)" which is so... cliche. It's TIRED. Are any of you really happy with just getting a retconned platitude in a good-for-nothing field guide, instead of seeing complicated, INTERESTING feelings in a main book?

Story 3: Alderheart and Twigbranch

A tale of Cherryfall getting sick during TBC and Alderheart sneaks back into the territory to treat her. Also Crowfeather has a scene where he yells at him. Charming.

Twigbranch comes up with a diversion while Alderheart does his work, which is cute. It's a fine story.

Story 4: Clear Sky

Trash. Three dogs spawn in the middle of a gathering so that Skystar can have an uwu big boy sendoff saving his grandkit. Then he goes to StarClan and throws a fit because they can't give him ANOTHER life, becoming so upset that he attacks the nearest woman. Naturally, Shadowstar brushes it off because it's not the first time Clear Sky has pummeled her in the midst of an adult tantrum and this book series thinks violence is fine if their favorite sadboy does it.

Then Gray Wing brings him to the magic mirror pool where you can see the living, to confirm that Star Flower is ok and that makes him feel better.

Then it launches into Firestar saying "ouuuugh yum I LOVE the taste of his butthole. Clear Sky is so misunderstood, He Just Loved Too Much."

to which Graystripe responds, "Yes, he was a good and amazing person and his farts smells SO good, and can you believe that some people think StarClan punished his Clan for his arrogance? As if he ever did anything wrong, ever?"

Firestar, indignant, refutes it with, "Ugh!! StarClan would NEVER be interesting, we don't punish living cats we just float around and make vague, frustrating prophecies that do nothing but pad the word count. Why cant ppl understand that, gosh."

who wrote this? Gray Wing??

[jin-zixun]

*people hate on xue yang*: yeah ok he does some questionable shit like i dont like it but i get it hes an edgy boy

*people hate on su she*: i mean kind of performative. more cringe than you think su she is but i guess i get wanting to emulate jin zixun ❤️

*people hate on jin guangyao*: stop the fucking presses this is a CRIME

[aziraphales-lawyer]

Literally no other way I could describe it right now.

[nat-20s]

Me, a known Deadpool fan: god I hope nobody thinks I'm a Deadpool fan

[artinvain]

supernatural is interesting because the writers really did their research so the episodic lore and detective work is always really capturing - and you know what they did the best? subtle racism!! stealing lore from every culture while demonising the people who originated it. oh and the micro-agressions?? don’t get me started. but they also make america look like the no-man’s-land-facist-shit-bucket country it actually is. and I love a good stupid show I don’t need to focus on because it’s so expository.

[cosmicskittlez]

Yknow I feel like Void gets villainized a lot more than he deserves. Like yeah he was kind of a dick in the first week and genuinely dangerous in the second one, but BF was also the one egging him on and then tried to do that shit again without a crowd around. Yes void is egotistical but he's sure not a bad guy. Dudes just a little mentally unwell and seems like he was doing just fine until BF started one-upping him both privately and publicly.

Which now that I think about it, wasn't BF legit trespassing on stage during one of his concerts? And then after beating him multiples times went to find him again purely for a rematch? That is so close to just insane fan behavior tbh. Most I can really fault Void for is letting BF continue to do what he was doing and not kick him out when the Accretions thought that he should. He probably knew that it wouldn't go well for him but also didn't want to stop and never know if he actually couldn't have beat him at full strength. I think at the end of the day Void is just someone who's a little egotistical and stubborn, but his breakdown was majorly influenced more by the fact that someone just kept pushing their own luck and tried to beat Void at his own game, even when it was clearly sending him into a mental breakdown.

[mothbeasts]

i miss posting and making and engaging with ieytd content but I will be honest sometimes it feels alienating. as a lesbian.

[mushyfart]

help I accidentally drank spoiled milk ahain

soz for all the messy doodleleedees Im motivated to draw everything and anything except if it includes rendering and anything more than a sketch

[rhythmic-idealist]

Chase Trinaeste POV Shepherds of Haven fic? Yeah………….. Chase x MC fic? Yeah.......

And another friend’s OC is also mentioned in here? …..Yeah…………… dw about it..........

Listen though. L-listen:

---

You gotta learn to braid.

Thinking about it, your head is immediately gifted with images of him irritatedly brushing it out in the morning and chewing you out for bad technique. Better yet, he wears it to breakfast, thinks it’s good, and then chews you out only after Trouble makes some no-brained comment and he looks in a mirror for the first time. After all, you’ve got nimble fingers, makes sense to assume you were trustable.

Rock’s head is in your lap.

And his hair is going everywhere, and he’s always clearly taken his time with it (at your best guess he uses five different products at least), so that’s why you’re thinking about it. Don’t people with long hair sleep with braids, sometimes? Lavinet would probably teach you, and do you the favor of not announcing that you’re about to use your skills for evil.

He’s been like this since about five in the morning. You’re a light sleeper. As needs be, you rise either with the sunset or with the sun. Or elsewise, if you’ve got to— you have what some might call an uncanny sense for a well-timed catnap.

So you’re up again, working out the couple little kinks in your back from dozing upright like that. It’s another of the perks of the job: learn to sleep anywhere. You have a lot of little resume filler skills like that, just a tragic lack of resume to put it on. Idly, you wonder over the nonsensical notion of putting one together for the Order once your writing gets good enough to, and you’re kind of attached to the idea now. Blade wouldn’t read it, especially considering you’re already in, but there’s some small giddy joy you get out of the idea of putting it in his possession anyway. Maybe Trouble would read it. Maybe Shery would think it’s juicy enough that she can’t keep her hands off it, and then roll in the guilt about it for a few weeks after. ...No, you can’t do that to her. Funny as that is, she could read with permission. You might be cruel, but she’s a horrible choice of target.

Anyway— So you’ve been watching him be like this since about five in the morning, and thus have evidence of him being like this since about five in the morning. You remember falling asleep late last night, though. Waiting for him to drift first. It was probably one, two AM.

When six-thirty rolls around, you’ll have to wake him, you have a bright and early morning dose of espionage on the schedule today (it’s why the two of you are all the way out here, plus Lavinet and Ottilie graciously hosted in another wing) and you can’t have a grouchy Hero of Haven who hasn’t had a good hour or more awake to put his silver tongue back on.

Something something joke about that tongue’s many talents.

Head in lap is a surprise at all. It’s one of those things— Rock has done this thing to you where all your defenses are the ones that keep coming down first.

It feels a little like getting grifted. When you’ve caught onto a grift, though, and you’re playing along to see what or whom or where they take you to, you don’t feel like you’re in danger, because you’re good. You’re in as much danger as you want to be, or more like: when there are unpredictable variables, you know more or less where they’re going. Rock makes you feel like you’re teetering on the edge of something you don’t fucking play with, and it doesn’t help that he likes to open his mouth sometimes just to remind you you’re rolling off a cliff.

Anyway. Then you get this, and you wanna be a charming shit about it, as usual (and you intend to), you just also wonder how much he’s falling off a cliff.

He gets bad nightmares. You know that because of the trip to the Reach. You do also know it because of the tightness in Blade’s lip when you mentioned it offhand later— there’s history there; they’ve been worse than that. You also know it because you picked the brains of a couple recruits who were standing around griping after Trouble sent them for something like twenty laps around the compound (not a real intuitive head for numbers on that man): apparently, it was Captain Nomura they’d been gossiping about, and Trouble was a hardass about it.

It’s the one thing that makes you feel borderline… even. If not even, then at least okay with it.

That’s a lie, you’d probably feel okay with it anyway, you got down to being okay with whatever he’s doing to you the minute you realized you were this invested. It’s just something you use to put things in perspective. There are things you didn’t exactly expect to peel open for him, about you. But there are also things he’s not asking to broadcast publicly to every hard-luck-fleer who wanders onto the Shepherds compound to recruit. Rumors about the head of the Thieves Guild abound, but the unflattering ones are usually less true, and the untrue ones abound so plentifully that no one knows heads or tails of that, anyway.

Feels fair he should have secrets from someone. You’re still gonna fucking dig your way into them before they bury him alive, it’s just. Yeah, you haven’t had your brain pulled open onto a projection screen.

So he has nightmares. You’re not actually sure how often. Technically, you don’t have proof they haven’t gotten better since you last heard. But since you’re not bound to the same evidence requirements as a court of law, and since it’s become a roulette game of how grouchy Rock’s gonna be minute-to-minute, he was dodgy about the prospect of rooming with you or anyone on this mission at all, and he’s recently had a god or demon or trick of the light try to tell him (plus all of the rest of you) that he’s less Mage and more something else’s torn out rib, you can look at two plus two plus two and say probably.

You’ve learned how not to dream. It’s basically the same as learning how to wake up when you want to. When you did dream, you dreamt of mutiny, imaginary holes you left and getting torn down through them. You were always yourself in your dreams—some people are characters, tropes, or other people they know, apparently; you wouldn’t know. Now you keep that in the waking world, and you keep ten paces ahead of it.

That’s the thing you’re deadly sure about in him. That he’s keeping ten paces ahead of something. You—your whole tether to his side—account for anything from like one to like eight of them, as far as you can tell. That’s all you know.

…Well that’s the quick way to tell it. He’s keeping ten paces ahead of something inside the Shepherds. Could be Blade, but you’re not sure why. Could be the Autarchy, but that’s too simple for you. Doesn’t feel like it. Could be Ottilie’s God-given plans for a pretty obvious heathen, but your nose also says it’s not that easy.

He looks dead asleep right now. Comfy, you’d kind of go so far as to hope. And anyway you look at his face, still waters, and you’re a little afraid to even brush his hair out of it.

You don’t even know if he meant to lay his head down on you at all, if that’s a cliff he made his shaky peace with (or if it’s a cliff at all, if means anything to him, Hael if you know) or if he was just miserable.

You don’t know if it’s you, like the stillness might be the effect of having another body in the room that he’s willing to lay his head against— …or if maybe he just doesn’t get them every night. Or if there is one under there. But you hope he’s not dreaming.

You try to bask in it, for now. Try to pose like a king with a sweet little kitten in his lap, like a guy painted on the front of a romance novel with the sweet, innocent angel he’s seduced to lay over him, nightgown slipping down her shoulder. You spend an hour with only walls to watch, dutifully still so he can finish sleeping, and it’s only a small handful of times that you have to stop and breathe through a creep of bile up your throat.

Six-thirty hits.

“Good morning, Sunshine.”

“Mmf. What.” Rock spits a strand of hair out of his face. Yeah, you probably could have done him a favor on that instead of leaving it there for him to wake up to. But it’s funny, so, you know. Win-win.

“The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Ottilie’s slaughtering her morning chicken—” (she is not).

Rock seems to parse the reality of where he is, and peels himself up from you, sitting facing away from you— and then he glances at you over his shoulder, for a moment, and everything about it is horribly, disressingly raw.

He looks at you a little too long. The thing about Rock is his rules are a lot like yours, and you are not supposed to say anything about it, but he’s looking at you, like he’s asking you to, and it lasts a long time.

Then he goes to brush his teeth.