#the potato writes stuff

[potatoes-n-stuff]

Hewwo i tried to doodle them earlier :'3

Oh no the merformers thing is so interesting to me too... I do be clogging your inbox <:3

Sides and Sunny are like fighting/betta fish to me. Beautiful vibrant and striking colours, but highly aggressive and territorial. They have different tail types tho, Sideswipe maybe a crowntail or plakat, Sunstreaker is maybe a halfmoon

Mers like them are illegally held for their looks and fighting rings. They fetch a hefty sum at auctions

I think the twins are exchanged through many hands. Their physical conditions fluctuate wildly between seasons too. When they fight, they are well fed, but constantly injured, fins torn, plating cracked. On off seasons they are neglected, left to waste away and their colours fade. When the time comes for them to be sold, that is when they are treated best. They have to be healthy and properly nutritoined so their colours are as vibrant as can be.

All of this means they learn to trust no one. No one really cares for them. Just because someone is kind doesn't mean they will be tomorrow. Always bite the hand that feeds you, for tomorrow that hand will also literally throw you to the sharks

When the fighting ring they are held at is finally raided, obviously they don't know what happened. There's noise. There's shouting. Screaming. Energon is spilt. And then they are captured. Separated.

All the mers that are rescued and brought to a facility are kept in separate tanks obviously. They are all in various states of injury and sickness. They need to be quarantined and specially cared for. They are also understandably violent and are not fit for socialisation.

So when the twins wake up and can't find each other they go ballistic

Sideswipe bangs on the glass with his servos, shrieking and roaring at the bot that stands before him, just watching him. The black and white mech, annoyingly, doesn't even flinch. His appendages (fins?) on his back twitch at every bang on the glass, but there is no reaction otherwise. The mech seems to write something on a datapad and walks away, Sideswipe still threatening him from behind the glass.

Sunstreaker bares his long fangs and drags his claws along his glass. He's usually so careful about his beautiful claws, keeping them sharp and lustrous despite using them to tear his foes to shreds. But not right now. Now he pays no heed to his talons chipping on the hard glass as he snarls at the mech observing him. Black and white. Cold optics. Not a word from him when he walked over, and not a word as he leaves. Sunny doesn't care who that mech is but he wants to know what they did to his brother

Prowl is not quite a caretaker. He doesn't physically care for these rescued mers. But he coordinates. He oversees their care and watches them. He notes the health and behaviour of each mer and instructs their care. He notes the new red and yellow mers likely require sedatives so they do not hurt themselves. It's always a shame to see the states of the rescued mers that are brought in. But he's used to it now, it no longer tugs painfully at his spark to see them like this.

I don't actually know where this is going gjdhshd I just got carried away with the idea of it tbh. But eventually Prowl will notice something is not right with these two. As the other mers start to recover, these two do not. They remain violent, angry. No one is able to perform any physical checks on them without sedation. The way they throw themselves at the glass is hurting them. Prowl is the only one with senses keen enough to pick up on the way their fins twitch at every sound, the way their optics are always darting, but not in fear or paranoia. The way they seem to be looking for something rather than being driven by pure rage.

He knows something is missing from their tanks, but no one is able to figure out what since no one can even get near. One night, once he's clocked out, he's foolish enough to approach one of the tanks from above. No one is allowed up there, and for good reason. But maybe there is something he missed. He has seen everything there is to see from the outside, from the cameras, they must be missing something- And that's when a claw-tipped servo digs into his ankle and drags him into the water

He struggles and kicks and only barely makes it out with his spark. He's fished out of the water by other staff that thankfully had not left. A long and deep gash from the red mers claws stretches all the way from his optic, across his faceplate, and down his front. A chunk of his doorwing is bitten off

He only returns to the facility a few days later (much to the chagrin of literally everyone telling him to rest). He's no longer leaking energon, but not enough time has passed for him to be properly repaired. The painful claw marks and missing plating are still there. And he finally gets a different response from the yellow mer when it sees him

Sunstreaker recognises that attack pattern. The marks left behind from bites and scratches like that. His brother is alive

oh god this is amazing. i love all of this. normally i'd wait until i know what to say but then i'd just keep this ask forever.

i love the thought of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe not recovering at all, constantly on edge and aggressive and unresponsive to any of the research staff or other mers, constantly self-destructing against the glass of the tank, lashing out on the staff even though they know they'll be prodded and sedated.

when Prowl brings the claws from Sideswipe's attack to Sunstreaker, everything changes. The mer stops scratching at the glass and just... watches him, following around as Prowl walks, twisting his tail because he needs him to tell him where his brother was taken. Perhaps he curses and hits the glass a couple times, knowing the bot can't hear him and wouldn't have been able to understand him either, but he has to drag the information out of him somehow.

oh lord, i wonder how long it takes the staff to find out that they've separated co-dependent twins.

[thelindenpapers]

∆ *Slogging through physical therapy*

∆ *Figure I'll try Misfits and Magic from the beginning, see what the fuss is all about*

∆ Ohh yay, with Lou Wilsooon!!! 🥳😃

∆ *As usual, an OC shows up* Carayiinedahtt (Ka-rai-EE-neh-daht) Clover Violet Birchthorn: Brains 20, Flight 12, Grit 10, Brawn 8, Charm 6, Fight 4

∆ Just say "Clover". Or "Violet". It hardly matters.

∆ 16. She/Her/Hers. Chubby, short, brown-skinned, big-eyed, perpetually-frowning, victorian-esque aura'ed, mostly silent little freak

∆ Constantly clutching a gigantic hardcover book to her chest and staring over top of it

∆ Big fluffy black Afro kept neatly back with a strip of pale-green brocade fabric.

Wearing vintage-esque, handmade, pale-green fit&flare dress, her missing biker uncle's beat-up black leather retro motorcycle jacket, black steel toe construction boots, and a big emerald green backpack

∆ This is basically that feral AF kid who walks blindingly fast down the hallways, never talks to anyone, and refuses to use her locker ever -- she just carries everything no matter how fucking heavy wtf

∆ *Best friend/Mom took sick with a type of illness-induced dementia when she was 10, and was put in a home....Uncle is nice enough, but he's in and out of the apartment unpredictably, never know when or if he's gonna be around*

∆ *tended only to interact with elderly people on writing workshop or seamstressing/tailoring forums*

∆ *Forged uncle's signature on wizarding school application*

∆ She came for the books.

She really only cares about books, she gave up on people a loooonnnnggggg time ago ...but boy, if the library here is how she dreams it might be?....SHE WILL NEVER LEAVE

∆ ZERO compunction telling the trio, "Go away, you suck. 😬😐" ....impatient because, ultimately, they're wasting her reading time and precious seconds of her attention span on being mean for no reason. Dolts. If you're going to waste time at least be friendly or interesting or helpful or fun or else what's the damned point?

∆ *intense, rude crow familiar with one wandering eye who side-eyes everyone just as much as she does*

∆ *glad about the sorting*

∆ *Does giggle with child-like delight at the sapient cauldron and is in deeply respectful awe of the nature teacher*

∆ Me: "Huh. Okay. ...Well I guess she'll get along with Jammer the most? He's the most encouraging among them....or maybe she'll see Sam Black as a big sister? ....🤔 At any rate, those two will probably be the ones to pry her out of that welded-closed shell...."

∆ NOPE.

∆ *watch her eyes get even bigger and sparkly whenever Evan talks knowledge/trivia*

∆ *watch her face cycle through indignant anger and sadness at Evan's struggles*

∆ *starts shadowing behind him and glaring at anyone who looks at him sideways, FIERCELY protective*

∆ *finally hugs Evan, clingy -- like a little kid with a trusted parent in uncertain company*

∆ *sees Dream get kinda' jealous*

∆ *Shadows and gets really close to Dream and looks up and points and goes, "🤨That's my big brother. He's really tall...Did you want to be his girlfriend?🤔 He knows a LOT of stuff; and he seems like he's at least TRYING, which most people don't even bother to do...I can give you some space.", just staring unblinking with her big victorian-orphan eyes*

∆ *I choke on my coffee 💀💀💀*

<3 frfrfr

[ilovedthestars]

i have. too many things to do.

[potatoesarecheese]

dads

I will never get over the trope of the Big Bad Villain or the Dark Edgy Scary Guy and his hoard of children that he loves very much. It's why I love the Batfam it's why I live Silco and Jinx.

I just think there's something so endearing about someone that seems completely evil and inhumane finding someone that they love and care about. It's a fun little juxtaposition that I will never get tired of.

And extra extra points because it's familial love.

Romance is great and whatever, but I think it's overrated. I can also enjoy when the Scary Guy gets all soft and loving around someone that they're attracted to.... but it has a completely different vibe, you know?

Especially since parents (and dads specifically) get a bad rep in fiction. Usually, they're dead or they're abusive and that's... fine. It's good for some plot reasons and trauma reasons and YA novels about independence. But if you don't see at least one story with a cute unconventional family then you're really missing out.

and there's so many different ways you can spin it!

Evil parent with a good kid? yes.

Evil parent with an equally as evil kid? absolutely.

Evil parent with a neutral kid that is fully aware of parent's evilness and simply Does Not Care, because whatever dad does at work doesn't matter? love it.

Evil parent with an actually evil kid that's just going through a rebellious phase and siding with the good guys because it would piss dad off? gimme.

[sevizzz]

I can't write. My brain won't let me. I wanna write. I can't. My brain hates me. That's the post. Goodbye.

[karnaca78]

Just some doodles because these characters plague me with thoughts.

[i-like-rocks22]

Dear non-UK fic writers; you're all wonderful and I love you, but if you ever want a native Brit to give your Harry Potter or GO fanfic (or hell, any fic with someone from the UK in) a read for Britishisms I am 100% happy to help.

It's just that I recently read a fic where someone said that bangers and mash is a breakfast food and I want to HELP.

[zyrafowe-sny]

Note to self: when editing things late at night, read them over again in the morning before sending them out. Preferably after a shower/coffee.

[suffarustuffaru]

Out of all the fanfiction you've ever written which one is your favorite

ooh good question anon :o mwuahaha probably self-l - *gets shot*

but anyway jokes aside i thinkkk my favorite fic out of the ones ive written probably changes to be like. the most recent one usually, just bc thats like what i wrote in the present and i usually try to really look over my writing before i post HAH.

but i do like a good number of my fics in different ways - im super fond of every collab ive ever done, they were super fun and i love working with pals, i also think ashes ashes (that one pride if subaru fic i made about his first 82 ish loops) was an important milestone for me bc it was the first time i wrote That much and really tried to extrapolate stuff from rezero canon so it's a big accomplishment for me!! kite academy also took a looot of work and juggling different stuff and it May be only one ch1 finished but its a really great piecee of work - and genuinely fics like self love i spent a looot of time on doing research and trying to figure out how to write. Everything. in it for my parts of it (you dont wanna know the heinous things i researched while writing that LMFAO). also genuinely people tell me they still like a lot of my older stuff too which always warms my heart.

i think my current top favorite would probably be Natsuki Subaru and the Tale of the Lost Names though :> it is like. 32k words of pure chaos with one of my favorite richard siken poems in it as like an excerpt and it was really Really hard to write for a variety of reasons and bc there was so many different things to tackle and handle with actual nuance but the end result i feel is pretty complex with a lot to look into!! i heard a lot of feedback on that fic bc i turned it in for a fic contest so a bunch of different people gave their thoughts on it so!! i thiiiink it got the intended effect i wanted :3 i remember rereading it a few weeks ago with a fresh mind bc i havent looked at it in so long and i was like GODDAMN HOW THE HELL DID I DO ALL OF THAT - bc its superrr funny to me most of my writing process was the messiest notes ever paired with me writing about 10k or so words in a whole week while high on dr. pepper specifically <3

also ig shoutout to hot potatoes. its my most popular fic still (i totally get it, its an rbd reveal fic HAH) but also like it's spread through my friends in this fandom like a virus. same with self love. except self love was like mostly my fault but like one of the funniest things thats happened to me in this fandom was definitely MULTIPLE MUTUALS QUOTING MY OWN FICS BACK AT ME...... this is like the stop posting about amogus rezero meme video all over again (i say this with love). but other than that i do appreciate how much people seem to like hot potatoes and a lot of my other fics!! and i definitely really enjoy the art my cowriters have made with our collabs <3

and shoutout to satellite. one of my proudest achievements (writing emilia content that i Like <3).

thanks for the ask anon hope you didnt mind my yapping :3

[theminecraftbee]

for the record I’m playing P3P on my switch right now and remembering the theoretical persona au like “man I could do something with that” like it would not, by necessity, be like 200k words and overwhelm me halfway through. but. I could do something with that,

[queerofthedagger]

everyone's always like "ohh writing research is so incriminating pls fbi man in my phone don't think the wrong thing aha"

meanwhile, my writing research:

pov you're writing fucking. stranger things fic. sigh

[toxicrevolver]

Tagged by @serendipminie thanks for the tag!!!

1) Make yourself as a villain

2) Write a simple origin story if you want (etc. what happened to drive you into becoming this way)

Have 2 pics bcs l couldn’t decide if I liked the top layer filter thingy or not. The concept was inspired by the fact I don’t sleep enough. (Heads up my pronouns are it/they hence the use of ‘it’ so often)

After suffering from so many sleepless nights, it finally gave in. It allowed the darkness to overtake them, hoping to finally end its sleepless suffering. But instead, the darkness consumed their soul, turning them into the thing everyone feared. It just wanted sleep, but alas, now they never will.

Now, instead of being tortured, tormented, and ridiculed by the monsters that go bump in the night, it became that very thing. Suffering more and more. Sleep now evading them for all eternity. Its red eyes pierce the darkness, shrouding those who see it in fear. Inky claws reach forward, yet they grasp at nothing, eventually scraping along the walls and floors.

It just wanted to sleep for fucks sake. But now. Now they’re the monster everyone will be raised to fear.

Tagging (no pressure!): @haahka @boysbeloving @loveable-sea-lemon @we-survive-endlessly @rainknow and anyone who wants to participate can blame me if they’d like!

[mejomonster]

Goodbye 2023. Wrote 30,000 words of my Danny story, 20,000 words of my Freyna story, 25,000 words of my Khan story, 13,000 words of my Celest story, 48,000 words of fanfiction, and including notes and scraps I wrote 211,007 words in 2023! >o<)/ a lot of fucking words!!!

(Also future me, now you can find this next year to find out how much more u wrote)

I did not hit last years goal of finishing one of my original stories. But on the bright side, I did write over one novel's Worth of words. So here's to hoping this new year I focus more on One story at a time so I can start finishing things. I'll count this as a kind of win. (I'd still like to finish at least one of my original stories before January ends just so I can say I've finally finished one asap lol)

In other news. This past year, sunday, I had italian bread with butter. I had lemon cake this year. I had pizza, the last two days in a row. I have had a waffle almost every day of the week. I still have to take benedryl if I overdo it, or more gi medicine if I really screw up. But this time last year I couldn't touch bread, pasta, waffles, any wheat. This time last year I was dreaming and hoping miserably I'd get to have toast and pizza again. That I'd be able to risk any dairy. Any wheat. My only severe allergy left now is potato. I'm still a ways away from being able to stop needing my gi meds to eat. But rhe fact I simply CAN eat, most days, relaibly without worrying I won't be able to the next day? Awesome. I had a bad flare in August and was on a liquid diet and feared I'd never eat yummy food again. And all of 2022 was awful mush. I'm so so grateful I can eat a waffle, and will probably still be able to eat the next day. I'm going to sincerely hope now this is the year I'll be able to transition off of needing gi meds.

[kingdom-creatin]

the timeline

If you've ever wondered just what the hell I was doing with the fics I was putting out and this timeline I kept talking about, this is what I meant lol

It's actually got quite a few more characters listed out to the right but for the sake of relevancy and size I just kept the first few columns.

The notes are either specific key events or (italicized) published fics. I started making this into an actual timeline sheet just a bit before I dropped out of the fandom entirely so I haven't been able to flesh it out as much as I like, but now that I feel like getting back into stuff I'm sure it will populate pretty quickly lol

Color meanings (majorly as relevant to Techno and his pov):

Maroon - Living in the Nether

Soft Green - Traveling with Phil

Yellow - Living in Hypixel

Blue - SMPE and the Antarctic Empire

Neon Green - DSMP

Red - If an MCM was held that year; If the character participated in an MCM that year

Black - Character is not yet born or is dead

[tallbluelady]

Oh? :3 Oh. 8I

[ehlnofay]

“Pax,” Martin says suddenly.

She looks up from the small seam tear in her gambeson. “What?”

Martin opens his mouth, closes it again. They’re sitting in his too-big room, Pax cross-legged and stitching on his cushy bed, Martin fidgeting in the chair next to the cupboard. He still doesn’t have many things here, though it’s been months. Not much more than a stack of books, a few changes of clothes, exactly two items of sentimental value. It can’t be nice to rest in such a cavernously empty room. Pax should really get him some more little knick-knacks, the kind a person has when they stay in the same place for a while. A paperweight shaped like a cat or some such nonsense. They wouldn’t know.

The bareness of the room makes it feel a little stark, uncomfortable, like all Martin’s awkward restraint is pressed into the walls. Pax will freely own that they don’t know what a normal person would do in this scenario, but they don’t think it would be whatever Martin’s doing. They’d at least get a paperweight or something.

At least the Xarxes isn’t here, radiating whatever fiendish miasma bothers everyone so much and poisoning the air of the room further. (Pax is willing to bet he would have brought it in here to study, but apparently the Blades wouldn’t let him.)

Martin still hasn’t said anything. Pax jabs the needle back into the padded wool fabric. “Spit it out.”

Martin wrings his hands.

He says, “Jauffre tells me you’re getting to be quite renowned throughout Cyrodiil.”

“Mm-hm.” The needle is sticking near the seam – Pax brings the cloth to his face and shoves it through with his teeth. “Can’t go three steps in the Kvatch gambeson without someone asking if it’s me. Talk like I’m going to fight off Oblivion single-handed. Black Horse Courier wrote a pamphlet about me and all.”

Martin nods – then keeps nodding, head bobbling up and down like a socially inept chicken. “Right,” he says, pauses again – spit it out, Pax wants to say again, he gets so ridiculous sometimes – “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Doesn’t what bother me?” Pax pulls the thread taut. “The pamphlet? It’s a bit early in the day for them to write a whole book about me, Martin Priest.”

“I mean – the way people talk, as you say, like you’ll end the crisis single-handed. Like you’re a hero.”

Pax’s eyes flicker over to Martin’s drawn face.

“I am a hero,” she says, tugging the needle sharply enough that the thread almost snaps.

“Of course!” Martin practically trips over himself trying to eat his words; the tight set of Pax’s jaw softens. “That isn’t what I meant, Pax, of course you are. Just.”

He’s visibly struggling again.

Pax shuffles to the end of the bed and thumps the mattress with his foot. “Come on,” he says. “Sit.”

“I am sitting.”

“Over here, you git.”

Martin sits.

“All right. Now spit it out.”

Martin sighs, hands flexing on his knees. “Just. You are a hero, Pax, but you aren’t like heroes are supposed to be – you’re just a person. And yet everyone acts as though you’re not, as though you’re more an idol to be glorified than you are you. Doesn’t it grate on your nerves after a while?”

Pax says, “Nah.”

Martin cants his head. Pax stares at the rip in the gambeson – it’s almost all mended now.

When Martin doesn’t speak, they stick the needle in the wool and take a rustling breath. “I ever tell you,” they say, “that my parents were highwaymen?”

They can feel Martin’s watery old-man eyes on their scalp.

“No, you did not.”

“Well, they were.” Pax is painfully uncomfortable. “Are, I guess. They’re probably still kicking around the lower Niben.”

“I assumed they were dead.”

Pax shrugs, still staring down the eye of the needle. “Reasonable assumption, but no. And they weren’t bad – weren’t bad parents. Bad people. Fine parents.”

Martin shifts so that Pax just gets the rustling of his blue skirts out the edges of her eyes. He says, “Why did you leave?”

“Don’t push it, Martin Priest.” This is already more personal than Pax would like. “I’m just answering your question, I think. No-one’s ever what the stories say they are, you know? My mother terrorised the Yellow Road for years, I saw posters when I was in Leyawiin, but. She was my mother, you know? There’s always a person behind the myth.”

“So you’re already more comfortable with being misinterpreted?” Martin tries.

Pax shakes his head. “No. Well – yeah, kind of, but. I think.” He doesn’t know how to say this part – how to explain why being idolised never bothers him, why he remembers it all so well, the stew and the talking and the smell of the paper, the stain the candlewax left on the table. “I’m six years old, right? And I’m telling strangers I’m lost so they dismount and my parents can rob them, and my father’s training me with a bow so I can help when I’m older, and the travellers always look so upset with me when they find out. And I’ve never seen a dead body up close but I know the smell of blood well enough to know when it’s time to close my eyes. And we go back to the wagon and the adults are laughing and I’m reading Pelinal by candlelight.” And now he’s just recounting his childhood memories and it’s weird and he hates it, and Martin looks all sympathetic when he peeks up and it’s weird and he hates it, but the only way out is through and Pax pushes along through his terrible nightmare explanation. (He’s not even sure Martin understands what he’s trying to get at.) “And I don’t mind stealing but the blood turns my stomach and I don’t like how they always act betrayed because I lied. Even though I don’t owe them anything. And I’m reading Pelinal and at least the blood has a point. And at least there’s a song at the end of it. And then I put myself to bed and my parents say goodnight and I know if we all dropped dead in the night no-one would care, and I get older and I know that if I left they probably wouldn’t follow me. And no-one would remember me. You know?”

Martin, stymied, lays a compassionate hand on Pax’s shoulder and says, “I definitely don’t.”

Pax knocks it off.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, ever earnest. Pax groans.

“Forget it,” she says, and tips her head back. Revises her answer. “No, it doesn’t bother me. It’s nice. The Hero of Kvatch is important. People are happy when I show up.”

“It’s nice to be wanted,” Martin says softly.

Before they have time to think better of it, Pax replies, “Yeah.”

They press their chin to their chest to hide their face and resume sewing.

Martin, because he’s annoying, does not tacitly agree to stop talking and never bring it up again. “But at least people want you because you – did something. You earned your reputation.”

His face is pinched and pale, brow furrowed, and he’s beginning to wave his hands about in the way he does when he’s getting het up. Pax screws up their face. He’s been fidgety the last few days, tucking himself and his books into odd corners and wincing whenever someone addresses him –

“Ah,” Pax says, and they lift their head, aggressively grateful to pass over the spotlight. “This is about your doubts.”

He presses his lips tight together, a strand of hair falling in his face. He’s got to do something with that, it’s getting too long to just leave loose all the time. “Pax, I’m really doing my best, but I still don’t feel –”

He huffs and goes quiet. He’s getting himself into a proper state about this. Pax stretches out her legs and drops her feet in his lap, much more comfortable now they’ve returned to the status quo of Martin being the weird and weepy one. He gives her a look.

“Emperors are supposed to be – mighty,” he manages. “Blood of kings, the divine right to rule, they know what they’re doing. I’m no Emperor. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

Pax knots off his stitching and drops the gambeson on the floor. “Martin, I met the last Emperor.” He spreads his arms, makes sure Martin’s paying attention. “He was literally just a weird old man.”

“Pax.”

“You’re a slightly less weird, slightly less old man. I’m pretty sure you’re fine.” Martin is staring, aghast, as though they just told him they ate a divine relic – or something else ridiculous bordering on blasphemous. “I don’t think Emperors are that special, Martin, they’re just lucky. You’re the same as all of them.”

He still looks shocked. Pax crawls over the mattress so she can prod him in the chest.

“Ow,” he says. “Rude.”

“Calm down, Martin Priest. I promise you the Blades won’t arrest me for treason for saying you’re just a person.”

He frowns, pushes his hair back behind his ears. “I don’t know that you’re wrong,” he says reluctantly. “But I don’t want to believe you.”

Pax sits back on their heels. “Why?”

“I don’t know what it means if you’re right.”

They are quiet for a bit before Pax reaches around him and steals his pillow.

“Doesn’t make much difference, does it?” she says as he snatches it back out of her arms. “We have to do what we have to do anyway.”

Martin clutches the pillow to his chest. “I just wish I had a little more certainty.” He cracks an awkward smile. “Or some of your confidence, if you’ve any spare.”

Pax is not a touchy feely person. They flop against his side. “You know I’m not – I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, right, like you said?” they ask. Martin nods. “It’s just that I want to be. I like that they think that. I’m going to keep going in that direction because I want to be what people think I am.”

Martin’s hair is really too long; they can feel it brushing the top of their head.

“I want to be a good Emperor,” Martin says quietly. “I want to do this right.”

“Then you’ve got a good start,” Pax says. He draws his knees up to his chest. “Just keep going in that direction.”

I’m with you all the way, he doesn’t say, because he’s said far more than he likes to already.

It doesn’t need to be said, anyway. They both know.