forum hurt people? hurt people! // CLOSED OxO with @im-with-stoopid

Started December 23, 2023 by @the-void-galactic language

tune

TW: mentions/implied acts of self-harm, suicidal character, mentions of suicidal thoughts/acts, character with a god complex/main character syndrome, and overall major mental instability. If any of these things upset you or make you uncomfortable, do not stalk. These are subject to change at the moment.

@im-with-stoopid heyyyyyy

So here’s the song I was mainly inspired by-

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(Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) but like the cover by Chonny Jash bc I’m a fraud <3)

Have you ever died in a nightmare? Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?
Have you ever felt like Atlas; threw your back out on the axis then collapsed and threw the planet away?
Everyone’s just blood in an ice tray. A vampire picking flowers out in the sun
Run your diagnostic tests. It’s posited nobody dies agnostic, but we still dial 9-1-1

And now you’re singing, oooh, could you take a look at me?
(It’s the norm for- It’s the norm for chemicals.)
Am I bad? Am I bad? Am I bad? Am I really that bad?
(It’s the norm for particles. Eye for eye for tooth.)
And now you’re singing oooh, whatever you think of me
(It’s the norm for chemicals. It’s the norm for particles.)
If you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do.
(Yes, it’s only natural.)

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I have an oc that’s like, perfectly fitting this? And he’s actually heavily inspired by another Chonny Jash song (more like a whole album cough) but if I explain more I’ll go on a huge tangent

So I was thinking:

Character A (me) is an absolute wreck. Like, major oof- he’s a depressed neurodivergent madman with an addiction to Monster energy drinks!! Yay!! He also may have killed a man but shhhh

Character B finds A and says, “hey bro maybe you should get your life together.” A says “lmao no” and B says “bitch fine I’ll make you” and essentially adopts this grown ass adult <3 (he’s like 19 tho so he’s allowed to be a bit silly. As a treat)

A bit bare-bones but I’m sure you get the idea.

Here’s the boy!! I can change things about him if anything here upsets you, btw. TW for s/h, suicidal thoughts, and mental health problems in general.

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Basic Info

Name: Atlas Hall
Nicknames (if any): whatever you want I guess
Age: 19
Gender and pronouns: male, he/him

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Appearance

Skin tone: pale af
Height: 5’10
Weight: 152 lbs
Eye color: reddish-brown
Hair color: deep brown
Hair style: shoulder length, v curly
Scars: numerous cuts on his arms and torso
Other blemishes: freckles!!
Body type: twink but not really a twink? Like he can still fold you like an omelet but??
Usual outfit: basically dark academia aesthetic

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Personality

Basic personality: oh boy. He’s a stubborn and sassy little fuck, first of all. Also he’s rude af. He’s that guy who says the most out of pocket and insulting things and then goes “it was just a joke bro” when you get upset. He also has major main character syndrome and is overall a terrible dude. But not to worry, he can be fixed!! He also has a wholesome side. He gets really excited by certain things and he loves chickens. And he nests. A lot. And perches on things. He’s a cat. BUT ALSO he will bite you.
Sexuality: he’s about as straight as a circle. that was drawn by a four year old child.
Physical conditions: none
Mental conditions: ADHD, depression, main character syndrome
Other: He is extremely problematic but I’m love he <333
Theme Songs: Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People? Hurt People!) - Chonny Jash, Crazy = Genius - Panic! At The Disco, The Soul Eclectic - Chonny Jash

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I will gladly make changes if needed, but here’s the idea 💃🕺

Ofc we can discuss details together bc this isn’t much to go off of 😶

Stealing your template haha-

Basic Info

Name: Tommahud Straystone
Nicknames (if any): Tomma / Tommad
Age: ≈ 20-21 years old
Gender and pronouns: Male - He/Him/His

Appearance

Skin tone: Almost sickly-looking - pale with the faintest tan possible.
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 166 lbs
Eye color: Sage-green
Hair color: Near-black auburn - hard to tell until he's in the light
Hair style: A mess - his bangs hang loose, and the rest is tied back into the world's laziest ponytail
Scars: Many. He could probably tell you where they all came from, though they're mostly from war.
Other blemishes: None
Body type: Muscular, built for working as a stonemason (aka carrying heavy stuff, like, always)
Usual outfit: He tends to wear neutral colors like, tans, browns, and grays. He doesn't like to draw much attention with his clothes.

Personality

Basic personality: General pacifist, but he can hold his own when he needs to. He cares for his friends and will make them take care of themselves. He tends to worry about others before himself, though, and he doesn't really know how to accept help. Tommahud's generally well-meaning, and he has a strong "I can fix this" mentality. He blames himself for things going wrong unless it's blatantly someone else's fault.
Sexuality: gay? bi? pan? he's definitely queer, but I haven't fully decided on one.
Physical conditions: His left foot is twisted, so he often uses a cane. He can still move without it, but it's slower and more awkward.
Mental conditions: Nothing too major outside of a general poor memory and attention span. I'm hesitant to call it ADHD, because he doesn't have compulsive behaviors, he just can't focus.
Other: Not that I can think of atm-
Theme Songs: Bohemian Rhapsody, Little Dark Age

Atlas swung open the door to the library, startling a few people with how aggressive he was. Anyone could tell he wasn’t well, mentally or physically. His curls were awfully tangled, he practically had a death grip on his energy drink, and one could see the bag so under his eyes from a mile away. He walked past a few bookshelves, glancing around. He wasn’t really interested in borrowing a book, but he might as well look like it if he wanted to stick around.

He had grabbed a random book off one of the shelves, taking a long drink from the can he held while skimming the back. It was just a terrible supernatural romance with a cookie-cutter female protagonist and two dudes who were the exact same, but with different hair colors. Because everyone knows hair colors are the only thing that differentiate men. Atlas huffed to himself, then shoved the book back on the shelf.

He turned around a bit too quickly, and crashed directly into someone as he walked away from the shelf. ”Shit-“ The collision caused Atlas to drop the energy drink, and he’s looked down for a second, a bit stunned. He rolled his eyes and glared at the person, picking up the can from the floor. He was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn’t someone who littered.

“Yo, watch where the fuck you’re going, bitch,” He spat, venom lacing his tone. He was completely oblivious to the fact that the collision was technically his fault.

(oops my brain went woooooooeoeeooeoe with this)

"Uhm, thanks, you too."

Tommahud just blinked at him with an expression as blank as a fish, clutching his own book in his free hand and gripping his cane in another. It took a few beats for him to realize that that wasn't an adequate response. In his defense, it usually was. Occasionally.
Sometimes.

"I, wow, uh – sorry. About that," He didn't look like it, but he was about ready to start digging his own grave. It would be less awkward if he started chewing the waxy pages of the thin book in his hand.

Maybe it was best to give this stranger some space? A fair share of tavern fights started over less. Like that one time a someone threw a chair at the larder for less foam in his mug. That's where that squiggly scar on his arm came from – a broken pitcher came flying at him, and…

Focus, Tommad!

Oh, right. The clearly-miffed man glaring daggers at him. With a meek smile, he gave Atlas a wide berth.

"Sorry, just with this cane, and… y'know? S'been rough. For me, at least. And for you, too, probably. From the looks of it, yeah. I mean–"

(“Thanks, you too” bro is such a mood 😭😭)

Atlas furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Tommahud with a bewildered expression. He put a hand on his hip and leaned his weight to one side as the other man rambled. There was an awkward silence for a moment.

“. . . Really?” Atlas said, arching an eyebrow. He let out a short laugh. “I think anyone with eyes could tell that shit’s gone down the drain for me, mate.” He tilted his head as Tommahud backed away from him, then shrugged. He could really be mad now, the man didn’t really look like he was all there, and to be fair, neither was Atlas.

He sighed, then walked over to a different section of shelving, his hand hovering near a certain group of books before grabbing one, quite harshly. He scanned the back of that one as well. Same as the previous one, but only two people instead of three. He scoffed. Why was this shit so popular? He went to take another swig of his energy drink, then remembered that it had spilled when he dropped it. Fuck.

"Whatcha looking for?"

Conversation was always odd with Tommahud – sometimes he spoke before he thought, and other times, he thought too long to get anything out. Today was a no-thinking day, it seemed. He hobbled a few steps in Atlas's direction before remembering he was supposed to keep his distance.

Tommahud turned a sleepy glance over to the shelves, leaning slightly onto his cane. He couldn't read all too well, but the gaudy, flowery covers spoke loud enough.

"Romance, huh?" He kept his voice low. It was one of the few social norms he understood: most people didn't like other people yapping about their interests out loud. Especially not the broody folk, like the stranger was. Unless everyone around them liked that stuff, too – then it was fair game. Probably.

Was that a smile, or is he gritting his teeth?

"I, uh. Think is neat. Y'got any favorites?"

Tommahud certainly didn't, but he could pretend to. It was good manners to be polite, even if he thought the shelves were sappy enough to put a maple to shame.

Atlas glanced over his shoulder at Tommahud, then shoved the book back in its place. He crossed his arms, staring at him for a second before responding. “Nah, I’m just pretending to be interested in something so I don’t get kicked out.” He jerked his head towards the shelves. “Just reading the backs of these makes me wanna vomit.”

Of course Atlas wound up oversharing to someone he’d barely even been talking to. He scowled, and it looks could kill, the bookshelves in front of Atlas might as well have disintegrated right then and there. He did somewhat appreciate that Tommahud didn’t broadcast that assumption to the whole library, though. At least he could do that.

He turned to face Tommahud again, narrowing his eyes. “Why are so interested, anyway? Aren’t you lookin’ for your own shit?” Well, the man was carrying a book, so Atlas assumed he actually did like reading. He twirled his empty can slightly, the motion seeming involuntary.

" 'M not looking for anything in particular. Jus', um. Wandering? Pickin' up anything that strikes my fancy, I s'pose."

He plucked a novel off the shelf, one much larger the coin-thin book he was already holding, and he looked over the covers. Oh, this one's special – now there were three guys bickering over the girl. How innovative. Tommahud held it up with an incredulous look, and it was the first time he'd really emoted since he'd met Atlas.

"What's next? Four guys after the same girl? Five? Y'think someday they'll write up a book with a thousand-and-twelve guys, and it'll still get that little 'best seller' stamp on it? Hope not."

He'd hoped that some nice conversation would lighten up the stranger's mood. If Tommahud was honest, he felt a tad guilty about spilling their drink, even if it was their own fault.

But it wasn't like him to just leave someone mad. More manners, less enemies. Less enemies, more aliving.

Atlas snorted at Tommahud’s comment. “Jesus, you’d think that trope’s been tired out by now. I almost feel sorry for those girls.” He made sure to emphasize the almost, because why would he feel bad for a fictional character? He doesn’t even like the real people.

“One thousand and twelve guys. They’d probably start killin’ each other. What, do we have another Hunger Games rip-off on our hands?” Atlas wasn’t smiling—quite the opposite, actually—but he didn’t look so pissed off anymore. He just had a resting bitch face, which he didn’t mind. It normally kept people away.

Except for this person in particular. Atlas was hoping he’d have gone away by now, but he was clearly very insistent on talking. Eh, at least he was funny. Atlas checked his nails, which were sloppily painted, so it wasn’t an unusual gesture. Each one was a different color- yellow, red, gray, green, and blue, in that order. They were Tally Hall’s colors, a band that Atlas was somewhat fond of.

(“Somewhat fond of” is Atlas code for “YES YES YES RRDHFHHDJG I EATED THIS”)

By comparison, Tommahud's nails were dirtied and chipped like weathered stone. Like he hadn't noticed how painful they'd looked. Actually, all of Tommahud looked somewhat drab – an earthy-brown poncho draped his top-half, and solid gray slacks covered his bottoms. He was hard to read, and he took pride in that.

He followed Atlas's glance, but the colors on the other man's nails meant nothing. They looked nice, but meant nothing. Like small pools of dye. Like flowers. Flowers were nice. Tommahud felt himself wandering. A tall stalk of fuzzy winterfat. A cool bloom of mint leaves. A warm splash of sun. It was soft. And nice.

Focus. Please.

Right, right. The here and the now.

"I… I think yer colors are neat. What's they mean?"

(slithers from the void yo I’m alive)
(Also I’d like you to know that Atlas is judging Tomma’s fashion so harshly that it would kill several small Victorian children)

Atlas glanced back at Tommahud, arching an eyebrow. He looked slightly judgmental—though, “slightly” was an understatement. He hummed, then angled his hand a bit so the colors would be easier to see.

“Nothing much,” Atlas said dismissively. “There’s this band I listen to sometimes, and these are their colors. Thought it was a fun choice.” He shrugged, then dropped his hand back to his side. He tapped his foot irritably. Maybe he should leave before he got dragged into even more conversation.

Atlas looked around, his gaze falling on a clock nearby. He barely even registered what time it was before he spoke. “Oh, hey, look at the time,” he mumbled. “I should get going. Don’t wanna stay here too long.” He didn’t seem to notice how unconvincing he sounded.

He's leaving already? Oh dear.

"Well, uh – where ya off to, now?"

Maybe that was a bit too desperate.

"I mean, y'know, what's a folk like you gotta do so soon? Still round noonish, eynah?"

Urgh. If today'd been a thinking day, maybe Tommahud would've thought long enough to just stay home. Maybe having one enemy – just one – wouldn't be too bad. Hopefully. Right?

No, he'd keep this up. He just had to find the right wording. Think. Think.

"…Hey, listen. I feel real guilty about your drink."

Atlas also looked about half-a-heartbeat away from knocking Tommahud sideways, but he didn't mention that, of course.

"I wanna help, y'know. Even if it's just giving you a couple of bucks for another few. M'flexible, yeah?"

Equal parts friendly and creepy. Yikes.