“Unlike traditional bracelets, which are either wide enough to slip them over the hand onto the wrist or can readily be opened in order to put them on, the Love bracelet is designed to be opened only using a special screwdriver that is supplied with every bracelet. The screwdriver is also available in the form of a necklace, allowing the bracelet to be “locked” onto one person while the “key” is kept around the neck of another as a symbol for their commitment to their relationship.”
“Plot springs from character… I’ve always sort of believed that these people inside me- these characters- know who they are and what they’re about and what happens, and they need me to help get it down on paper because they don’t type.”
real freedom includes the right to be a fucked-up dysfunctional weirdo. when you lack this right, your inability or refusal to comply with social norms will be used as a pretext to take away your other freedoms. all of us are fucked-up weirdos on the inside, so with sufficiently hostile and intrusive surveillance anyone can be unpersoned.
Fucked-up dysfunctional weirdo with full rights to and supports available to ensure whatever needs can be functionally met and are desired by said weirdo are filled.
If you don’t support the rights of kooks, weirdos, freaks, oddballs, and funky fellows then get out.
The pathologization and criminalization of pecularity doesn’t only affect the neurodivergent and the mentally ill, it can and will be used by the state against “normal” people the moment they step out of line.
Not only is it good to support the rights of freaks and weirdos on the grounds of protecting the rights of the neurodivergent and mentally ill, it’s also good on the grounds of cutting off a vector of state repression against the general public.
As soon as you start deeming it acceptable to take away the basic rights of “freaks”, you open the door to being deemed a “freak” yourself as soon as those in power decide you’re inconvenient.
Throwing “weirder” people under the bus will never guarantee you safety. You gotta park the bus so it stops running people over in general.
They returned past midnight, soaked to the bone by the unrelenting drizzle of London rain.
Yuujin stoked the fire back to life, while Sherlock shed his sodden clothes down to his underthings before shaking himself out like a dog. Yuujin gave him a fond– if bashful– look, moving for the stairs. Before he could take a step, the detective caught him by the shoulder and began to undress him, brooking no complaint and tutting with disapproval.
“You’ll catch your death up in that draughty attic.”
Th pair fell asleep on the sofa beside the fire, Sherlock’s head on Yuujin’s chest.