stereophonicsoundspectacular

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Nasim is the type of person who sleeps in a well/researched fine long deep red silk gown with an open back. She lives in the -other- corporate skyscraper, not the one she’s a citizen of, under the penthouse, and she stands against the glass walls looking down while smoking a tiny vape.

Meg is her live-in bodyguard who never speaks until spoken to. Nasim is extremely curious about her employment history and boxing hobby, having met her once before her current position as a caterer in a tech conference.

Nasim tells meg everything in a monologue at the end of her day, implicating meg and forcing her to be complicit in the dirty industry secrets all the while naz is clearly developing feelings for her bodyguard.

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He wanted Max to tell him he was okay. He wanted Max to tell him that he was a normal person. That he was real. That he was worthy of being loved, despite his filthy brain. He wanted to disappear inside Max's arms, without a chance that Max would make him uncomfortable. He wanted it to be enough that he was still alive, still hanging on somehow. He wanted Max to know him completely and say to Leo, "There's nothing wrong with you. I love you."

He wanted to be able to cry while Max rubbed his back and said, "I know you've been suffering."

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Hol up, where did you say you was from?

Saow Philly.

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Y’all I read a lot of scripts. And the one note I give over and over and over and over to the point that I can pretty much copy and paste it from one review to another…. let your characters lie. Let them omit, stumble, and circumvent. Allow them to be completely unable to express what they’re feeling. Make them unable to admit a truth. Let them sit in silence because they can’t think of anything clever to say! Let them say the exact wrong thing!

Dee Rees talks about it in her BAFTA lecture (which you should ABSOLUTELY WATCH): that what your character actually says should be three degrees of separation away from what they mean to say.

I read script after script after script where characters articulate their needs, desires, and objectives with perfect accuracy off the cuff 24/7 and there is not one single human person on this planet who is actually able to do that. This is the #1 thing that’s going to make your script sound stilted and the #1 thing that’s going to make shit difficult on your actors. Let them shut up, and let them lie.

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Not only does Leo have low testosterone, he’s also super sensitive and does everything he can to ignore how fucking sensitive he is.

Side effects of low testosterone: Little body hair, predisposition towards pudginess, no sex drive, short stature.

Side effects of being sensitive: acting like a fucking pussy and hiding from problems.

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Nasim dated a guy in college who she met through her dnd friend group, a guy named John. They’d been seeing each other for a year when one day, he invited her over to his place with the anxious news that he wanted to Tell her Something. When she got there, wondering what could be wrong, he presented himself done up as a woman, makeup and hair styled and all. Nasims breath was taken away because he was so beautiful. For the next three years of their relationship, John spent some days male and some days female. When they decided to end it, Nasim needed a long time to get over it, remaining single for four years.

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trying to write a character smarter than you:

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Answer all these questions and you should have a fully-developed character for your audience to connect with. A strong character can carry a weak plot; but a strong plot can’t carry weak characters

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Three week daydream

Leo sat in Max's car with the windows up and the engine off for forty-five minutes after dropping him off at the therapist's office. He felt like he had just dumped Max in there on someone else for them to deal with, but Leo was uncomfortably struck with the fact that he didn't know how to handle someone having a schizophrenic relapse.

He had gotten home from work to see Max's car stopped haphazardly in the center of the street with the door flung open. Overcome with panic, Leo ran to their apartment only to find Max standing there in front of the door ranting about something. As he got closer, he understood Max to be complaining about traffic, trucks, and capitalism. He kept repeating the same lines over and over, using different tones of voice and awkward facial expressions. When Max noticed Leo standing there nervously, he directed his rant to him, striding over and getting in Leo's face with his passionate discourse. Leo avoided his eye contact and tried to nudge Max inside, but Max was resistant to him until Leo grabbed him and yanked him inside and locked the door. Max acted like he hadn't even noticed the change in environment until he wandered into the kitchen and started picking nothing off the floor. Leo hurried to the medicine cabinet but the space for Max's pill bottles was empty, cleared away with only the rings on the metal left behind. He slowly returned to the kitchen and tried to get Max's attention, but Max was wrapped up in his conversation and Leo knew he couldn't just be shaken out of it. The longer Leo stood there and watched Max, the more agitated Max became and the more frozen in place Leo felt. Leo tried to speak up again, but his heart was pounding in his throat. Max tried to sit down in a chair that wasn't there and crashed to the floor, and in this sudden shock he started yelling, first at nothing, then at Leo. Leo struggled with his own movement capabilities and managed to turn for the front door, which he left and locked behind him. He returned to Max's car where angry drivers were trying their best to go around it, and he found the keys still in the ignition. He grabbed them and went back inside, past Max lying on the ground, and into the bathroom again to grab his own tranquilizers. Somehow, he got Max to drink water diluted with tranquilizers, and his speech slurred and his body went limp. Leo was expecting someone to call the police on him as he dragged Max out to the car, pushed him into the back seat, and then drove off.

When Leo returned home, it was dark outside and he kept the lights off. He sat on the couch with his mind on standby until midnight, when he finally closed his eyes. He was awakened by his phone, and he barely managed to respond audibly to the therapist's news that Max had been returned to the asylum where they'd have an update on his situation by the end of the week. Leo called in sick to Max's work and his own, then went out to buy six huge bags of groceries and spent the rest of the day eating it all.

Until the end of the week, Leo alternatively binged or dissociated, sleeping in both Max's bed and his own. He only turned on the kitchen light to cook pasta or rice, then turned it off again to eat in the darkness. He wore Max's hat to work, but couldn't bring himself to say anything to anyone. In fact, he was struggling to say anything at all, feeling a returning pounding in his throat whenever a coworker tried to make small talk.

When the end of the week came, nobody called, so Leo called the asylum. He stuttered his way through a request to ask about Max's wellbeing, and the secretary was impatient with him but eventually gave him the visiting hours. Leo hated the idea of going back there, even as a visitor. It made him think about how familiar he was with the place, but unfamiliar with the visiting process since literally nobody saw him while he was in there.

The visiting room was small, but it had two couches and a table, and Max was already in there. Leo went in and stood there awkwardly, waiting for Max to say something first. Max didn't say anything, and Leo noticed his stupor and the way Max looked at the ground but also through the ground. His beard was shaved off which looked odd, and his arms hung limp at his sides. Leo sat beside him and said, "Hi." When Max responded by looking up the slightest amount, Leo took his hand and held it tightly, stroking it with his other hand.

Leo remembered the few times Max had mentioned to him how it had been like, growing up with a mother with schizophrenia. He'd have to navigate her paranoias as a child and watch as she degenerated mentally until she was sent away when he was thirteen. When Max started showing similar symptoms in his late teens, he had tried to kill himself over and over again, but his father kept stopping him. He would rather be dead than like his mother. But miraculously, he took to treatment well enough that he could live a normal life while taking medicine all day long and having therapy twice a week.

Leo sat with Max for half an hour without either of them speaking, but Leo rubbed his hand until Max had gripped back. When Leo got up to leave, Max didn't look his way.

It felt as though visiting him and being inside the mental hospital again made everything worse, but Leo hoped it had done something good for Max at least. He called out of work again and didn't return for a week, as he found himself unable to do much of anything. He wondered if the way he'd seen Max in a stupor was just like the way he'd been in a stupor for months and months before they figured out how to stabilize him. He also wondered what Max had done with his medicine, and what his odd reasoning was for it.

After an additional two weeks and no further visits to the asylum, Max called Leo and asked him to pick him up. Once they got home, Max began to apologize incessantly, talking about his doctor and his therapist and his father. He explained in rapid detail everything that happened to him while he was back in the hospital, jumping back and forth from day to day. He didn't remember Leo's visit, but he remembered every other little random detail from the background noise in the doctor's office to the names of all the other patients who came and went while he was there. He said the name of the antipsychotic he was on, a brand new one, and the dosage, which was variable to the hour of the day, and how it made him feel from day one. He didn't pause for a breath for two hours, after which he got up to shower, and Leo, who hadn't said anything more than "hey" heard Max sobbing behind the rushing water.

When he came out, he continued as if he left off in mid-sentence, rambling for the rest of the night, as Leo sat next to him hugging a pillow and zoning out. At one point, Max seemed to finish a thought, and looked at Leo and said "Are you hungry?" Leo silently shook his head. Eventually Max went to bed, and after it sounded quiet, Leo retrieved his binge stash that he'd bought specifically for that day. He ate and ate until he felt sick and then sat on the couch holding himself until he went to bed.

In the middle of the night, Max knocked on the door. Leo stirred a bit, but didn't say anything, until Max peeked his head in and said, "Leo..." It was a twin size bed, and Leo took up all of it, but he moved to the edge to make space. Max crawled under the blanket and settled in behind Leo, holding him around the waist. Leo almost fell back asleep when he felt the dampness at his back and pulled away to turn and look back at Max, who pressed his face into the pillow indent Leo left behind. Leo lay on his back and dug Max away from the pillow to rest on his chest instead. It was more comfortable anyway, Max on top of him with his tears dribbling into Leo's shirt while they squeezed each other. Leo rubbed his back and between his shoulders slowly until he couldn't remember anymore.

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shout out to fat boys

not just the lil bit chubby boys. they deserve love too. but theres not enough love for TRULY fat boys. so.

Fat boys who have tummy rolls  💕

Fat boys who are trans or nb   💕

Fat boys who are over 200 pounds (90.7 kg)   💕

Fat boys who are obese  💕

Fat boys who are mentally ill  💕

Fat boys who are fat because of a medical condition or genetics 💕

Fat boys who are fat because they just like to eat  💕

Fat boys who love the fact that they’re fat 💕

Fat boys who hate the fact that they’re fat and are trying to lose it 💕

Fat gay boys 💕

Fat bi boys  💕

Fat aro/ace boys 💕

Fat lgbt boys of any kind 💕

Fat boys who feel pressured by medias displays of them being ‘lazy’ 💕

Fat boys who are just fat because of a bad metabolism 💕

Fat boys who are soft 💕

Fat boys who are punk rock 💕

Fat boys who are physically disabled 💕

Fat boys who are bed ridden for any reason 💕

Fat boys with stretch marks 💕

Fat boys with cellulite 💕

Fat poc boys 💕

Fat feminine boys 💕

Fat boys 💕

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Honestly my writing style is so sedate.

I know I’m writing for myself but do I want it to be so sad and slow-burn? Is that okay with me?

It’s just my own dysthymia and I write for my mood

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What if

Lin got really hurt by Leo and when m comes to visit her in the icu she recommends his help instead of hers knowing that they won’t take no for an answer

She plays him up but warns that he’ll be resistant because he’s anti corporation

Then they go after him but the truth is he’s not that great at what Lin was doing but m thinks he’s just being insolent

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Maybe there doesn’t need to be a plot. Maybe it can just be a character study with a common time and place. After all, I’m putting 150% of my soul into the characters. I mean, there will still be a plot, but it can be composed like four separate stories about four lives that intermingle occasionally, and the setting is in a state of sci-fi crisis.

Also I want to incorporate some other genres into the overall narrative. Chinese sci-fi and afrofuturism. I love these concepts so much, and I wanna use Lin and James to explore them.

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쿠키냠냠

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I have a setting, some characters but

NO PLOT

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Between 2092 and 2187 nothing happened