Cato is a fictional character. He’s beginning to realize this, thanks to Writer, who occasionally picks him up just to torment him. Their workspace floats high up in the clouds, where they can conjure or dismiss anything they want. It’s almost too fantastical to be real, but he can’t deny how much it terrifies him.
Feel free to submit anything you want to torment or comfort Cato with! Torture is always more fun with company! Not for him, but for us it’s fun
Please read my tropes list before submitting
I’d also like to specify- Writer is a character, they’re not me.
Character bios: Cato Aspen
Part 1 Introduction
Part 2 minor revisions
Part 3 watched
Part 4 revelations
Part 5: Aspen
——
Drowning whipping sound torture whipping again cold and hot
Cato isn’t a real person. Of course he isn’t, he’s just a character in a story. And he knows this. But he tries to live a normal life anyway.
He works as a fish butcher, on the Marigold, a ship that is permanently docked near the boardwalk. Her vicinity to the market stalls, and appearance as a pirate vessel makes her a popular attraction, and the company Cato works for has placed vending stalls on her main deck.
Early mornings he cuts and stores the previous days catch, and late mornings to mid afternoons he works the stall.
He attends a community college, where most of his current classes are online. He’s hoping to finish with general studies and start taking in-person culinary classes, and later become a chef.
12+36 forrr writer mostly bc i think it would be silly
“Am I lonely? Up here in the clouds? Of course not! I’ve got the birds! And dear Cato.” They step behind him and squeeze his face controllingly. “And soon I’ll also meet his.. ‘friend”
Cato looks like he’s about to say something, probably a threat, to Writer. They cut him off.
“As for the second one- No. Cato has not ever scared me.” They seem like they could be lying.
“Wait stop that!” They’re startled by the description, not wanting certain details about themself to be revealed.
“Seriously stop! This isn’t funny.” They shouted, in a direction that wasn’t the audience or Cato, but was.. something else.
“Okay I’m leaving. Sorry not sorry Cato for leaving you up here, I’ll come back after I know they’re gone.” They gave a pointed look and disappeared.
Cw: emotional whump, begging, caretaker turned whumpee, beating, non con touch, manhandling, death threats, forced to watch.
Cato was caught up in a moment of distractedness, too busy gazing across the boardwalk to notice when the presence arrived.
The object of his focus, another vendor, was showing a display of soaps and oils to a customer. Their smile shone, and with a bat of their delicate eyelashes, the soap they pointed to was sold.
He couldn’t stop thinking about them. The light and clear sound of their laugh. They way they covered their mouth when they thought they were smiling too much. The way they looked at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.
Cato wanted nothing more than to pull them close and—
He shook himself from his thoughts, noticing the presence at last. Giving an annoyed huff, he turned his gaze down, and went back to his work.
“What do you want?” He said under his breath, scraping off his cutting board to cover the sound.
“I want to meet your friend.” An invisible finger bopped his nose.
“You can’t hurt them.” He said, looking ahead, trying to keep from snarling. If he could, he’d bite their hand.
“Oh but I can. At least I will be able to, the moment you tell me their name.” They brushed a hand against his cheek, and he turned his head sharply. “You already know it. I know you do. So tell me.”
“I won’t let you hurt them!” He muttered sharply.
“You don’t have to tell me. I just have to hear you think it.”
His eyes widened as he felt them drift away. The boardwalk seemed suddenly less crowded. They materialized on the table with the soaps, and delicately tipped over a bottle of essential oil with a single finger.
The soap vendor turned to see the mess. Writer squinted over at him, mad that he had found another title to call them besides their name.
They tapped the vender on the shoulder, making them turn again. Now frustrated, they tripped the vendor, sending them sprawling. The boardwalk was nearly empty.
They pointedly looked at Cato, trying to convey that they’d stop if he gave them the vendors name. Luckily, Cato was also aware of the descriptions, and only glared in response.
They sighed dramatically, putting their shoulders into it, and sharply kicked the vendor where they lay on the ground. A loud thud, and they cried out at the invisible assault, curling in on themself.
At this, Cato left his counter and ran over to help. As soon as he got near, Writer grabbed his arm, and golden chains materialized around him, pulling him away.
“Please! Writer please stop!” He yelled, now aware that no one besides the three of them were around. “They’re not a part of this!”
“Are you sure of that? Don’t you remember that prompt from earlier?” They grabbed the vendor by their hair, wrenching their head up.
“Cato— what’s- happening?” They searched wildly for whoever was attacking them, unaware of Writers presence.
“You know what you have to do to make this stop, Cato.” Writer slammed the vendors head against the side of the table. The dull bang was audible throughout the boardwalk.
“I’m sorry! I can’t do it! Writer- just please stop. Stop hurting them!” He sobbed, struggling at the chains.
“Fine. If you won’t say their name, do such a simple thing to protect them, then I guess you don’t need them.” Writer stormed over and plucked the knife from Cato’s belt.
“Wait no! You can’t do that!” He jerked to get out, the chains cutting into his wrists.
The vendors eyes widened, seeing the knife, but not it’s holder. They looked at Cato for an explanation. The knife moved to their throat, and in invisible hand grabbed their hair once again.
“Please!” Cato cried out, desperately. “Writer”
“You know what you have to do” they pressed the knife closer, and the vendor gasped.
Cato hung his head, not wanting to look as he betrayed the one he loved. “I’m sorry Aspen.”
Writer smiled and dropped the knife. “Aspen. So that’s your name. Very pretty.” They stepped in front of the vendor, who could see them now.
Aspen scrambled away from the swirling gold figure. They shut their eyes tightly, containing sobs, as the figure reached a hand to tilt their chin.
All at once, Writer dissipated, the chains vanishing with them.
I ❤️ reporting every ad I see that forces me to leave the app and interrupts my scrolling, when my finger accidentally gives it a very light touch, as a punishment
Giant sign that says “I have a visceral and unreasonable disgust for every tiny modicum of jkr’s ip, and anyone I see interacting with it gets insta blocked”
starting a new fuck/marry/kill called aro/crack/attack where you take three characters and decide who you're making aromantic, whose egg you're cracking, and who you're doing grievous bodily harm
