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maryellencarter · 2 months ago

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i think the hill i'm going to die on here is that lasting anti-fascist activism begins and ends with unrestricted social services.

protests are great. kind of indispensable right now. but in times when we can be less reactive, you want to know what you're protesting *for*, not just against.

today i saw a post elseweb saying "why aren't white women fleeing maga? they have to know by now that tradwife means sex slave". and like... it's very simple. they can't leave because they would end up like me.

they're, we're, deliberately made unemployable so that we'll have to marry whatever mediocre white man picks us out. as it happened, i was unappealingly intersex, fat, butch, and autistic, so none of the mediocre white boys of my generation ever took a second look at me, but that didn't give me job skills or career connections.

i knew multiple women whose husbands divorced them and took the house as part of their midlife crises. they had to send the kids to live with relatives and take dead-end jobs like bagging groceries because they were in their forties with zero job experience. if they'd rejected the worldview, if they'd alienated their families and what few friends didn't victim-blame them for the divorces, they'd have had nowhere to turn.

it's been over twelve years since i got out. psychologically, medically, i'm healthier. but i've chased a fresh start through half a dozen states. i spent my inheritance getting a degree. none of it helped. there are no supports for abandoning (or being abandoned by) your support network.

you won't defeat fascism until my people are free to leave the cult if they realize they want out. until we can access free housing to get away from financial abuse, free comprehensive job training and placement services to help us start careers, national healthcare so we can flee across state lines if necessary without losing any medical care we're lucky enough to have access to, protections for children and teens so they can flee without needing a parent's help... universal basic income would be really good but there are smaller steps that could help with financial independence.

and it all has to be available to everybody, including people you think are "unworthy". people who hold the wrong opinions. drug addicts. people whose husbands or parents make too much money. people who aren't from around here. unrepentant bigots. if they want out, you have to give them a path out. minds can change later, once people are less scared and less pressured.

(i'm ex-catholic. do you want to hear about what happens when you force people to profess certain beliefs in order to access basic assistance? i have two thousand years of examples.)

"but if they really wanted out they'd do the Right Thing and leave without support!" Better to be one man's sex slave than turning tricks on the street. "staying just proves they're actually evil and there for the bigotry!" Live in your car for six months in 100°F heat, twice, and then talk to me again. There's no virtue in cutting yourself off from society just to prove some kind of moral point. All that does is get you dead or worse.

("JT, you're not dead" I'm a fucking cockroach. Most people would be dead by now. Survival bias goes both ways; we're not all the same model of airplane.)

#uh how do i even tag this #us politics #anti facist #activism

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murvinnriservices · 5 months ago

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sabertoothwalrus · 4 months ago

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Ace Attorney: Trials in Paradise 🌅

— an AA7 fan concept —

Initial Premise:

Since it’s designed for the Switch 2 (and thus made for a larger screen), the game will almost always have 2-3 characters on screen at a time, and will feature dozens of unique interaction animations between all sorts of character combos.

There has been another 7 year timeskip.

The old judge retired, and the new judge is his granddaughter!

The jurist system is featured.

This concept is heavily based around these designs.

The characters would have multiple outfits throughout the game, which become unlockable costumes, much like the DLC costumes of DD, SoJ, and TGAA games.

While this is way too specific to truly be a "prediction" of what aa7 could be, I tried to keep it (mostly) realistic to what I thought could actually be in an ace attorney game!

📦 Case 1: Turnabout Homecoming

Trucy left the nest and Phoenix doesn’t like living alone anymore, so Phoenix is moving into Edgeworth’s house. Apollo— who recently got his driver's license— was driving the moving van, and was accused because a body had been found in the vehicle. The true killer was one of the movers. I like the idea that you'd have to look through boxes for evidence, maybe the murder weapon was hidden within their belongings.

Defendant: Apollo Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Edgeworth Prosecutor: Diana Payne (Winston’s daughter) Detective: (drumroll…) Godot!! Witnesses: Larry (he was helping with the move), Leslie (one of the movers) Victim: Bee(another one of the movers) Killer: Anne(third mover)

(rest of the cases and a lotttt more art under the cut ↓ )

🎢 Case 2: Rollercoaster Turnabout

Maya and Pearl are on vacation at Blue Badger Land. Pearl is accused of murder after a body is found on an unpopular attraction that only Pearl enjoys going on. As an aside, Gumshoe is retired from detective work, and now works as a dog trainer. He trained Armando's service dog, Spot O'Coffee. Wendy Oldbag also serves as a witness, but she's pretty old at this point. Her memory has become fuzzy with age, and her testimonies begin to mix up information from other trials (which will be little references to previous games).

Defendant: Pearl Defense: Apollo Weird Girl: Maya Prosecutor: Klavier Detective: Godot Witnesses: Gumshoe (and his kids, Callum & Beau), Wendy Oldbag, Ride Operator Victim: Ride Safety Inspector Killer: Park Manager

💍 Case 3: My Love, Turnabout

Klavier has arranged a collab performance between Trucy and Lamiroir. Hugh Dini, Trucy's assistant and boyfriend, is accused when his stunt double is found dead. Hugh is very cagey about his alibi, but it's because he was planning to propose and didn't want Trucy to know yet. Franziska takes this and spins it into a jealousy plot, and insinuates he killed his stunt double out of envy. Because Hugh is actually pretty shy, he has a habit of not speaking up, which only incriminates him further. A twist in the case is revealed during a cross-examination when it turns out the "gold band" the witness is referring to wasn't Hugh's engagement ring, but instead about a gold bangle. This immediately puts Apollo under suspicion, until Phoenix drops a hint that someone else (Lamiroir) has a gold bracelet as well. The truth about Trucy and Apollo's sibling relationship is revealed when Athena finds an unexpected emotion in Phoenix's mood matrix, and Lamiroir decides it’s time to break the news.

Defendant: Hugh Dini Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Phoenix, Apollo (← steps in when Phoenix has to get cross-examined) Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema Witnesses: Lamiroir, Trucy, Hugh Dini Fangirl Victim: Hugh's Stunt Double Killer: Jealous Trucy Stan

🏝️ Case 4: The Getaway

This one isn’t a traditional case.

After Manfred Von Karma divorced his first wife, Bianka, he moved to Europe, and his previous home was left uninhabited until his eldest daughter, Karla Von Karma, discovers she has inherited it. She decides to turn the beachside property into a bed & breakfast, and invites her half-sister Franziska and adoptive brother Edgeworth to give the manor a trial run and let her know if it’s suitable for visitors. Edgeworth brings along Wright Anything Agency, because… why not treat them to a break?

But of course, their vacation quickly takes a turn when they find a literal skeleton in the closet.

Not all of the rooms in the estate had been searched. Manfred’s study has a large, padlocked safe, and Karla hadn’t gotten around to hiring a locksmith to open it for her. Phoenix tries “0001” for the hell of it, and the only thing more surprising than that combination successfully opening the safe is the body folded up inside.

They can’t imagine the killer was anyone other than Manfred Von Karma, but— since he’s already been executed— they’re not sure if a trial even needs to be held. They need to investigate the situation to determine with absolute certainty it was, in fact, Von Karma, because otherwise they’d need to find a new suspect. Obviously, the group of criminal justice lawyers aren’t not going to get to the bottom of it.

Except Apollo, who has decided he wants nothing to do with solving the murder. He came on this trip for a vacation, dammit, and that's exactly what he's gonna do. He heads back outside to the beach, and leaves everyone else to the investigation.

The first mystery is figuring out when the murder happened. The police arrive, and Ema estimates that the remains are about 30-40 years old, which is around the time the Von Karma family moved out. Since Manfred & Bianka had divorced in 1999, they start to wonder if Manfred had even still been residing here when the murder took place, but the body is found with a train ticket dated for January of 2002. A time period that just so happens to line up with the one singular vacation Manfred took during his entire career— to recover from a gunshot wound that he couldn’t even trust a doctor with knowing about.

The body is wearing a housekeeper's uniform, and they identify her as Ophelia Falsch. They conclude that she was killed because she had discovered Manfred’s injury, and he wanted to eliminate the witness. They think they have the case over and done with, but then Ema comes back with the dental analysis. She explains there was no dental record of an "Ophelia Falsch", but the teeth did match Bianka Von Karma.

This raises some questions. Why was Bianka dressed as Ophelia? Was there a more personal reason Manfred could have killed his ex-wife? Could Ophelia have been involved as well?

Since the murder happened so long ago, they don't even know where to begin with finding witnesses. Karla was 18 at the time of the murder, and had just moved out, so she wasn't present. Edgeworth, of all people, is the one to suggest an unconventional idea: why not ask Von Karma himself?

The manor is in a remote location that's only accessible by train or boat, and since it's late, Maya won't be able to get there until the next morning. In the meantime, they check up on Apollo, only to find him getting scolded by a woman about having his chair on the beach. She explains that she's Karla's daughter, Angelika Von Karma, and that she's impassioned about marine ecology. She just discovered the beach had become a nesting site for an endangered species of sea turtles, and is worried about disrupting it.

The next morning, Maya arrives, and Phoenix and Edgeworth hold a mock trial in the foyer. Manfred is channeled, but is uncooperative, so they try... a different method. Phoenix and Edgeworth perform a reenactment of how they think the murder happened, while Trucy and Athena watch Manfred to see if they can glean any information based on his reactions.

Manfred breaks down and confesses to the murder, but is telling the truth when he says that he didn't know the victim was Bianka; he did, in fact, think he had killed a housekeeper who found out about his gunshot wound. After this, his spirit is released.

As puzzling as this is— who was Ophelia, anyway?— they can't do anymore investigating because Karla has become very upset. The whole ordeal has caused long-repressed emotions to resurface. She's always felt a little bit resentful towards Franziska because their father left Bianka for Franziska's mother, Levina, and always felt like she had her family taken from her. On top of that, Manfred had done everything he could to get full custody of Karla in the divorce, and she never saw her mother again. She's angry that that wasn't enough— he'd gone and killed her too.

Karla and Franziska get into a big fight, and the whole trip ends up cancelled.

🚂 Case 5: Turnabout Train Car

They all board the train to head home. The mood is really awkward and it's kind of a bummer. Since the train is only way out of the area, Karla has to board as well, albeit in another car.

And because nothing is ever easy, there’s a murder on the train.

The victim was the owner of the train, Diesel Porter. He was found in his private sleeping room, and the only other room on that train car was being occupied by Karla, so naturally, she is accused.

Since Ema and the police are already on the train, they’re able to take control of the situation until the train makes it back to town. The Wright Anything Agency isn’t allowed to investigate the crime scene much, so they opt to interrogate the other odd passengers.

They get a helpful tip from the train’s bartender that Cole Porter, son of Diesel Porter, had been making plans to build a resort. They also find out that the train company had been losing money, since they weren’t getting many passengers.

The next day in court, Phoenix claims Cole killed his father to inherit the company, but Cole denies it because, why would he want to inherit a dying company? And Phoenix turns it around by bringing up the resort plans and how he wanted to build it on Karla’s property. He couldn’t just kill Karla, because then they’d have to take care of Angelika and Franziska too, so they needed Karla to feel like she had no choice but to sell it.

The trial goes to recess and Cole is apprehended for questioning, but at that moment they get word that someone else has just been murdered on the train— the bartender from before.

Phoenix goes back to the train investigate and boards when it’s stopped on the mountaintop station. While he’s investigating the train’s caboose, Cole’s wife, Electra, detaches it from the rest of the train. Cole and his wife were in cahoots! Phoenix is sent hurtling backwards down the mountain in the runaway car, and manages to pull the emergency brake just before reaching the bottom. He’s ended up back by the manor, and calls to have a boat sent to pick him up.

While he waits, he finds Angelika is still here studying the turtles. She gives him permission to go inside the manor again to investigate. He finds the deed to the house, along with an old photo that has a letter written on the back. It’s addressed to Bianka from Levina (Franziska’s mother).

The case is solved when Phoenix proves that both Cole & Electra Porter were involved in the murders. The land becomes protected by the government in order to keep the sea turtles safe, since they are endangered.

After the trial, Phoenix shows Karla and Franziska the letter he’d found. It turns out Levina hired Bianka as a housekeeper under the alias “Ophelia” so that she could still see her daughter Karla. The photo depicts a teenage Karla playing with a baby Franziska. Levina and Bianka had a good relationship, and had made efforts to keep their families together.

Karla and Franziska apologize to each other, and agree to get along better.

Defendant: Karla Von Karma Defense: Phoenix Weird Girl: Athena & Apollo Prosecutor: Franziska Detective: Ema & Godot Witnesses: Train Conductor, Old Passenger, Tain Bartender Victim: Diesel Porter Killer: Cole & Electra Porter

💃 (DLC) Case 6: Turnabout Runway

Klavier has been invited as a guest judge for a fashion tv competition. He invites Pearl (and Apollo) to the shooting as an apology for accusing her for murder & because of their shared interest in fashion. "Lip sync for your life" but literally.

Defendant: Lady Killer Defense: Athena Weird Girl: Pearl Prosecutor: Blackquill Detective: Ema Witnesses: ensemble of drag queens/models, Klavier Victim: Taxi Macabre Killer: Paul Rue

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filfoxsharesolutions · 11 months ago

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beloveds-embrace · 3 days ago

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(john price x reader who basically manifests him into her life)

It all started with a pie.

A blackberry pie, to be exact. One that you’d spent a good part of the morning perfecting- balancing the sweetness and tartness with the precision of a master alchemist concocting a love potion. You were almost convinced that this particular pie might finally be the answer to your mother’s prayers: an offering so mouthwatering that it would distract her from once again insisting you marry that insufferably dull miller’s son, Thomas.

You had just placed it on the windowsill to cool, the aroma curling through the cottage like a siren’s song, when your mother barged in, cheeks flushed with determination. “I’ve invited Thomas for supper.” She announced, as if she was a witch summoning a dark spirit.

You almost dropped the teapot. “Mother, no.”

“Mother, yes. Darling, you’re not getting any younger.” She clasped her hands like a pious martyr, staring heavenward as if appealing for divine assistance. “Why, you are practically ancient now. Do you know how many children I had at your age? Three! And you- still unmarried. People are talking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but that’s when inspiration struck. Perhaps it was the sweetness of the pie that made your thoughts reckless, or perhaps the desperation of avoiding Thomas’s endless ramblings about grain prices, and so you straightened your spine. “… But I already have a suitor.”

Your mother paused, mouth pursed like she’d bitten into a particularly sour lemon. “You what?”

“Yes.” You adjusted your apron with all the gravitas of a queen revealing her long-lost heir, except you were revealing a beloved. “He’s a soldier. Off fighting bravely in the war. Captain… John Price.” You plucked the name from thin air, thinking it sounded stalwart, military-ish and utterly believable.

Your mother’s eyes narrowed. “And why haven’t I heard of this… Captain before?”

“Well, we didn’t want to make a fuss. You know how people talk.”

Her suspicion melted, replaced with gleaming hope. “A soldier, you say? A captain?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice growing bolder. Let ir never be said that you did not inherit some of your father’s love for theatrics. “He writes to me. Beautiful letters, whenever he has the chance to, and I always reply. I’ll… I’ll show you one!”

That’s how you found yourself hunched over your rickety desk that night, ink staining your fingers, spinning an epic tale of love and longing so good you justknew Shakespeare was probably rolling in his grave

Dear Captain John Price,

My heart is but a lonely swallow without you. The days stretch long and tiresome in your absence, but I hold steadfast, knowing that one day you will return to me- my brave, rugged soldier.

Yours, faithfully.

You took great care in writing the letter, wanting it to look as if it had been penned by a devoted girl waiting patiently for her beloved captain. Before folding it, you pressed a dried flower between the pages and lightly scented the paper with a dab of your favorite perfume, the fragrance soft and sweet, leaving no doubt that the writer was a gentle, affectionate soul and not an absolutely insane woman tricking her parents. You even tied it with a delicate ribbon, imagining how any soldier would feel cherished to receive such a letter.

To your utter (non)surprise, it worked. Your mother clutched the letter to her chest with a tearful sigh, whispering something about true love. And from that moment on, Captain John Price became your imaginary lover, a sturdy bulwark against matchmaking attempts.

And so, the years passed, and John Price became a part of your life. You wrote letters to him whenever the pressure to marry reached critical mass, each one a little more elaborate than the last. You even took to carrying one of his supposed letters (which you also wrote yourself) in your apron pocket, just in case anyone questioned your devotion.

You never expected, however, for the Captain himself to show up at your doorstep.

It was a crisp autumn evening when the knock came. You barely registered it, too busy trying to salvage the stew that was steadfastly refusing to thicken. When the knock came again, louder and more insistent, you huffed and flung open the door, still clutching your wooden spoon like a weapon and a mighty glare on your face.

There stood a man. A mountain of a man, truthfully. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a commanding presence that seemed to make the very air hold its breath. His face was framed by a well-groomed beard, his eyes a piercing blue beneath a well-worn cap. And clutched in his large hand was a bundle of letters- scarily familiar letters, actually.

His mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Well, love. You’ve got some explainin’ to do.”

You froze, spoon hovering mid-air. “You- how- who are you?”

He chuckled, the sound more than a little smug. “Name’s Captain John Price. You might recognize me from your rather… heartfelt correspondence.” He held up one of the letters, the familiar scrawl of your handwriting a stark betrayal.

Your stomach dropped. “…Coincidence.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he drawled, stepping inside as if he owned the place. “Imagine my surprise when your letters kept landing in my hands. At first, I thought it was just some lonely girl scribbling fantasies. But the boys kept handin’ them to me- said they lifted spirits, readin’ how you were waitin’ for me.”

You spluttered, backing up as he prowled forward. “But- how did they-“

He shrugged, almost casual. “You put my name and rank on the letters. Found their way to me eventually. You’ve been rather… devoted, haven’t you?”

You sputtered. “Devoted? I was just- avoiding marriage!”

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. “Didn’t stop me from thinking about it. About you. When I read how you longed for me- waited so faithfully- made a man think. Would’ve kept any other bastard from sniffin’ around, I’d hope.”

Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. “I didn’t think you were real!”

He leaned closer, the scent of tobacco and gunpowder curling around you like a trap. “Oh, I’m real, love. And now I’m here. Reckon you owe me a bit of hospitality after all those love letters, no?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.

“Didn’t matter if you didn’t mean it, you still wrote it. Made me think of comin’ home to you, of claimin’ what’s mine.” His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb tracing your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You made yourself mine. And now, I’ve come to collect.”

Before you can muster a protest, he leans down, capturing the corner of your lips in a kiss, your face frozen solid in shock. When he finally pulls back, his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

“That clear enough for you, wife?”

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tender-rosiey · 3 months ago

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Everyone loves girl dad Suguru, but what if he has a stubborn headed son

block battle — geto suguru x f!reader

a/n: suguru, you shall always have a special place in mi heart + reminder that suguru IS a menace just a hidden one

you’re sat in the living room when you glance up from where you’re folding laundry on the couch, catching sight of your husband sitting cross-legged on the floor with your son.

suguru’s dark hair is tied up, though a few strands have fallen loose, framing his face as he gestures animatedly at the boy who is very clearly not listening as he builds his blocks.

“s/n, I’m just saying,” suguru begins, his tone edged with exasperation,

“if you’d actually let me help, we could finish this thing before your mom gives me the look for the mess.”

your son, a spitting image of suguru down to the determined furrow of his brows, doesn’t even glance up.

“it’s not a thing,” he corrects matter-of-factly, his little hands carefully balancing another block on top of an already teetering pile.

“it’s a fortress. and you’re doing it wrong.”

suguru stares at him, clearly trying to keep his composure.

he takes a deep breath before leaning back slightly. “oh, I’m doing it wrong? alright, young master, show me how it’s done since you’re clearly the expert.”

s/n straightens his back, fully embracing the challenge.

“like this,” he declares, adjusting the block with the seriousness of someone presenting architectural blueprints.

suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering just loud enough for you to hear, “why does this feel like dealing with satoru during mission prep?”

he glances at you over his shoulder, and you can see the faintest twitch of a smile threatening to break through his otherwise tired expression.

“hear that, babe? I’ve been reduced to the role of a laborer. guess I’m not qualified for fortress-building anymore.”

you hum, folding the last shirt. “well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, assistant. just don’t let him run you into the ground.”

your son’s head snaps up, his eyes widening with righteous indignation. “I’m not bossy! dad’s just slow!”

suguru’s eyebrows twitch at the accusation.

“slow?” he repeats, his tone almost comically even. “me? me?”

he glances back at you, pointing at himself with exaggerated disbelief.

“do you hear this? our son, who couldn’t even hold his own chopsticks until six months ago, is calling me slow.”

you bite your lip to stifle a laugh, but the glimmer in your eyes gives you away. “to be fair,” you say, folding another shirt, “you are taking an awfully long time to help with his…fortress.”

suguru shoots you a look, one part betrayed and two parts pleading, but before he can retort, s/n pipes up again, his voice brimming with the conviction only a five-year-old can muster.

“because he’s not doing it right!” his tiny hands flap in the air in frustration as he points at the blocks. “I said the blue one goes here, and he put it there!”

suguru drags a hand down his face, leaning back against the couch.

“you’re killing me, kid,” he mutters under his breath before plastering on a painfully forced smile. “alright, buddy. let’s start over. where exactly does the blue block go?”

s/n clambers over to the pile of blocks and holds one up like it’s the crown jewel. “here,” he says with utter certainty, placing it on the most precarious part of the structure.

suguru stares at the wobbly creation, his forced smile faltering. “that’s…that’s not gonna hold, s/n.”

“yes, it will!”

“no, it won’t.”

“yes, it will!”

suguru groans, rubbing his temples.

“it really does remind me of him,” he mutters under his breath, throwing you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and helpless.

“why couldn’t he have inherited your agreeable nature? or at least some common sense?”

you snort, unable to hold back your laughter now. “oh, I don’t know about that,” you tease, leaning back against the cushions.

“I seem to recall you, suguru, being pretty stubborn when we were dating. remember the time you insisted you could build that bookshelf without reading the instructions?”

“that’s different,” suguru huffs, crossing his arms like a sulking child. “that was about pride.”

“exactly.” you grin, motioning toward your son, who is now enthusiastically rebuilding the fortress with zero regard for suguru’s input. “and where do you think he gets his pride from, hm?”

suguru opens his mouth to argue but stops, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “this is my karma, isn’t it?”

“absolutely,” you say cheerfully, tossing a balled-up sock at him.

suguru catches it with ease, leaning his head back against the couch as your son continues to fuss over his masterpiece.

“you know, this would be so much easier if he actually listened for five seconds,” he grumbles. “talks a lot, doesn’t listen, and refuses to admit when he’s wrong.”

“I’m not wrong!” s/n shouts without looking up, clearly having inherited his father’s excellent hearing as well.

suguru groans dramatically, flopping sideways onto the floor. “see?” he waves a hand in your direction, presenting the evidence of his misery.

you’re laughing so hard now that tears prick the corners of your eyes. “oh, come on, suguru,” you say between breaths. “he’s five. you can’t let him break you already.”

“easy for you to say,” he grumbles, sitting up and giving you a half-hearted glare. “you’re not the one being micromanaged by someone who still needs help tying his shoes.”

“then stop fighting him on it,” you say with a shrug, walking over to ruffle s/n’s hair. “you know he’s not going to back down. he’s just as stubborn as you are.”

suguru sighs, brushing a hand through his loose strands of hair. “yeah, yeah. I get it. he’s my mini-me, complete with the attitude and confidence.”

he leans back, looking at your son, who is now proudly adjusting the blocks again. despite his grumbling, there’s a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

you kneel beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “at least he has your heart too,” you say quietly, watching as your son holds up the structure triumphantly.

suguru tilts his head, looking up at you with warm eyes. “guess I can’t be too mad about that,” he murmurs, his tone softening.

“papa, look!” your son calls out, running over to tug at suguru’s sleeve. “it’s done!”

suguru looks over at the fortress—or rather, a colorful mess of blocks barely holding together—and gives a small nod of approval. “looks sturdy, buddy. good job.”

s/n beams, his earlier frustration forgotten, and suguru finally manages a genuine smile.

“see?” you say, nudging him playfully. “you survived.”

“barely,” he replies, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer. he presses a few kiss across your cheek before pausing and grimacing.

“let’s never make him spend time with satoru.”

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