#oc: Cato

[risingsh0t]

"hurtled into the chaos, you fight… and the world will shake before you."

—template ⭑ icons ⭑ vehra & tesni belong to @auricfog, cato is shared 💞

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[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ── | “Training” | ── *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Characters // Wren (they/them), Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

Wren didn’t mean to get distracted. 

That’s what they always seem to be saying. They meant to focus on their homework, they meant to do their chores, they meant to get their mom to sign their permission form, they meant to remember to study — it just slipped their mind. Somehow, by some sort of unfortunate miracle, it always did. 

Today, of course, is much different than a basic task like cleaning their room or remember to take the trash out. It might just be the most important day in their life. Because today…. they are on a mission. A critically vital mission. 

A mission to save the world. 

But for some reason, they can’t help but become sucked up with the rest of the crowd, their curiosity getting the better of them. They know they should be using this time to focus, to sneak off while everyone is preoccupied, but at the sight of the bustling crowd blocking their way, they find themself unable to push past it, but instead wander over to see what all the fuss is about. 

The crowd is all gathered in front of two thick-paneled glass walls, eager trainees pushing and shoving to get a better look at what is going on inside, shuffling and whispering with each other in excitement. Wren squishes through, their small stature coming in handy, as they finally find themself standing at the front, body pressed tight to the window. 

They peer through the glass, face tipped so close their nose almost brushes against the window, as they squint and attempt to get a better view of whatever was the cause of all the muttering. In the middle of the room, barreling through opponents like some sort of unkillable machine, is…

A boy. 

· · ───────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ───────── · ·

Atlas swings through the air, sweat slicking to the nape of his neck. He can feel the piercing gaze of each of the training officers locking onto his back, practically burning into him as he spins his staff, jabbing it into the gut of one of his opponents’ while delivering a harsh blow to the jugular to the other. They both go flying, one crashing into the wall with a yelp while the second bulldozes through two unsuspecting trainees, sending them all tumbling to the ground like bowling pins. Although he doesn’t dare lower his guard to check, he can already see the nods of approval he is undoubtedly getting from behind the observation glass, trainees and trainers alike watching in awe at his indupitable form, his unbeatable strength, his quick wit. His perfect score. 

Each training session prior has gone like this: Atlas’ unmatchable skills, next to his less-than-satisfactory classmates, each who are desperate to finally rise above lucky number 792 — the golden boy. And each training session, he easily overpowers them, knocking each opponent that dares to cross his path to the ground, his movements so swift and light that it appears to be effortless, the boy hardly breaking a sweat. The only one who is still left standing by the end of the hour, his figure radiating power above the bruised bodies all fallen at his feet. 

Today is no different. Atlas takes on opponent after opponent, not allowing himself a second of rest, as the crowd continues to gape at him in complete astonishment. It is only when the sharp whistle from the lead director cuts through the thick atmosphere does he finally allow himself to lower his guard. Relaxing his posture, staff clattering from his grip, the trainee he had in a tight headlock plummeting to the ground with it. It is only then, as he turns his attention away, that he is able to see the amount of people gathered outside, watching. 

A large horde of people stand in front of the observation glass, eyes all trained onto him. More faces than he can count are pressed close to the glass, trainees all excitedly trying to push their way to the front to see what all the fuss is about. Quite the turnout, he thinks dimly to himself as he steps past the rows of crumpled bodies and outstretched limbs, making his way outside. 

This isn’t unusual, of course. It seems that at all times there is someone or somebody watching him, inspecting. As much as he doesn’t like it, he has to get used to it, being at such a high rank now. It came with the territory. But a crowd this size, well, it is definitely not what he was expecting to see. He slides the door open, eying the rows and rows of eager, nervous faces anxiously before tipping his head down, averting his gaze. It wouldn’t have bothered him so much, if not for all the whispering. It is hard to all make out, in a crowd of this size, more a dull buzz of reverence, digging under his skin, turning his stomach to a mess of jitters. He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose, pushing down the nervous tension and muttering a quiet apology as he pushes his way through the crowd. 

He only makes it two feet before he is very rudely interrupted by someone crashing into him. They stumble back, letting out a loud huff of annoyance — like they hadn’t been the one to run into him — and glare up at him, eyebrows knit together. Their expression quickly morphs into one of panic, fear flickering between their eyes, as they realize exactly who they are looking at. It’s a look he knows well by now. 

He clears his throat, albeit a bit awkwardly. “Uh, excuse me.” 

The trainee scrambles away from him, patting off their uniform and staring down at their feet sheepishly. They fumble with their hands, twisting and intertwining their fingers together, their entire body tensed up at once. “Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.” They grunt, not sounding very sorry. They’re already disappearing back into the crowd before Atlas can even register their rushed apology, cutting off any other conversation. 

Atlas watches them go, unmoving for a moment, a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips. Strange. Although he is used to the weird looks or the whispering or even the intimidation at just talking to him, something about this particular interaction stands out to him from the rest. Something about how the trainee behaved was just… completely unlike any other soldiers he had the privilege of speaking to. Most of those at Eden, not unlike himself, were level-headed, calm, and respectful. While this trainee in particular was none of these things: Running into him, not paying attention to where they were going, even looking like they were about to fight him. It wasn’t like anything he had seen from another person inside the warehouse before. How very strange. 

If he was to actually think about it, Atlas couldn’t remember ever seeing them around before. All their features were plain, with pin-straight jet black hair cropped short, dark brown eyes, and pale skin. Nothing to make them stand out in a crowd. Still, Atlas was sure he would have remembered seeing them around at least once. He’d been here for ten years, he would have remembered someone like them, so rude and scatterbrained. Unless they were new. It would explain away the attitude, and why he didn’t recognize them. But such a low rank, how could they have found their way to this level? Someone like them certainly wouldn’t be allowed to oversee training…

He quickly pushes those thoughts aside, briskly continuing through the crowd and ignoring the odd feeling that still pokes at him from their interaction, as short as it was. It wasn’t any of his business. Maybe they’re a special case, like him. Granted access to the higher levels due to their powers. Maybe he would find them in training soon. A proper opponent, now that would be nice. 

“Atlas.” All thoughts of the trainee are quickly forgotten at the sound of his name being called. He glances up, finding himself face-to-face with Cato, her crisp black badge engraved with silver lettering shining up at him, marking her as the head of the Task Force. She makes her way towards him, the crowd dispersing at her wake, creating a clear walkway for her as they press themselves up against the walls. It is only when she stands directly in front of him that she allows herself to properly greet him, giving him a curt nod. “Training went well, I assume?”

The attention from everyone else is only amplified tenfold with Cato at his side, the wide clearing she has made leaving him out in the open, exposed. All their eyes burn into him as he gives her a small nod and a smile, fingers twitching at his side, tapping against his thigh. He knows he should be used to it by now, but still with every time he is singled out like this, the center of attention, he can’t help but flush and stare down at his feet, silent. He loves his job, loves Eden, but this is always going to be one of those things he wishes to not be a part of it. 

Cato smiles, the look of approval lingering in her eyes distracting Atlas from all the attention on him, for only a moment. It is the smiles from her that makes it all worth it. He can take the stares, the whispers, the rumours, as long as he has Cato at the end of the day, eyes shining in pride. 

Cato glances around at the gaggle of people gathered in a wide circle around the two of them, and her expression quickly shifts to one of annoyance. Her sharp gaze pierces through each of the whispering, eavesdropping trainees as she raises a brow, as if to say move alone, before nodding to Atlas, motioning for him to follow. “Let’s walk.” She says, not waiting for a response as she moves forwards again. 

Atlas quickly scrambles to follow, falling in step beside her, taking extra care to match her sharp pace exactly. “You are on track then?” She asks, gaze trained straight ahead. “To advance.” 

“Yes,” he nods, rubbing his thumb and index finger together in a soothing motion as he speaks. “I should be ready for when the rest of the leaders come to observe at the end of the month.” 

Even now, as they walk further away from the training room, eyes still linger on them. Some murmur behind their hands, shooting Atlas envious looks before being silenced by Cato’s harsh gaze on them, while others, he can feel watching him, following his every movement, the glare in their eyes saying more than any whisper ever could. 

“Good,” Cato says, her voice calm and steady. “I’m sure they will be impressed.”

She falls quiet, letting the words sink in. Impressed. Cato thinks he is something to be impressed by. The thought brings a new type of jitters to his stomach — a good kind, this time. Atlas had been training for so long, restlessly improving his skills, rising above the odds, constantly fighting to be recognized for his talents; the fact that the day where he’d finally be something more than a lowly trainee from the warehouse is actually arriving… Well, it all felt surreal. Evaluation Day is only weeks away. Mere weeks, and he’ll finally have everything he had ever wanted. All of Cato’s lessons, the sleepless nights before tests, the drills and workouts and fights, they were all paying off. Just like they told him they would.

“This will be good for you Atlas.” Cato’s gaze finally lands on him, sweeping him up and down, observing. Atlas goes stiff as a board, his posture straight. He waits for her to pick out an imperfection that he would need to hone in on before Evaluation Day, waits for the criticisms of his form or posture, or the little remarks about his unruly appearance. But for once, no such thing comes. No, for once, Cato is staring at him in nothing but pure, complete pride. “You’ve earned this.” 

Atlas’ lips part slightly, the praise — something Cato doesn’t hand out lightly — coming to him as a shock. He instantly brightens, chest puffing up in pleasure. “Right, of course.” He says quickly, the smallest smile quirking the corners of his lips. He had earned this. 

A whisper catches his ear, pricking the back of his neck: Look who it is. Cato’s little pet. 

The snickers take him off guard. Usually, he is good at disregarding the little snide remarks said behind cupped hands. They are insignificant, in the grand scheme of things. Just words. Harmless, when compared to the blow of a weapon, or the pierce of a dagger; they are nothing. But for some reason, being so out in the open, Cato staring at him so gently, the words almost… hurt. Of course, it isn’t anything he hasn’t heard before. He knows why life at the warehouse is always so lonely, why he gets the glares and looks of intimidation. He knows what they all think, what they say about him. 

792 only made it this far because he’s her favourite, he doesn’t know what true hardship is like. Not when he’s pampered by the commander herself. She’ll let him get anything he wants. He’s only ever been special because she dotes over him so much. He’d be nowhere without her. 

It was what made working under the Leader so… intriguing. Under her, there would be no judgement, under her they would see him for who he truly is, not just as an extension of Cato. Under her, he’d be surrounded by like-minded people, driven for power, to do true good in the world. They’d be equals. 

Unless…

The whispers worm their way under his skin like needle pricks, causing his expression of excitement to fade, eyebrows drawing together.

Despite himself, despite the praise Cato has given to him so softly — praise he could usually never expect from her — he finds himself doubting his place, wondering if maybe they are right. After all, the Elites, the Evaluation – they are hand-picked by Cato herself. If she didn’t like him so much, if she hadn’t kept such a close eye on him, given him personal lessons, allowed him to move up when others couldn’t… would he have even made it this far? Was he truly deserving of this? 

“They are jealous. You deserve this.” Cato’s voice cuts through again, practically reading Atlas’ thoughts.

He glances back up towards her, but this time her gaze is focused forwards again, not making eye contact with him. He wishes that she still was. He’d do anything to get that soft smile, the way her eyes crinkle up when she is pleased with him. He simply gives her a nod, lapsing back into silence beside her. She has to be right. Cato wouldn’t lie to him, and especially wouldn’t give him a freeride to the Elites. Only the best of the best made it through. And if she thought that even the other leaders would be impressed by his skills… Well then, he had to be the best of the best, didn’t he? 

The thought spurs something inside of him, and he turns back to face her, a flicker of doubt passing across his face. “Um,” he says, lowering his voice, almost hesitating. “Ira will be coming with me, won’t she?” 

At Atlas’ words, Cato casts her gaze down on him again, but only briefly. Her eyes are laced with something indescribable as she stares down at him, and then the look is gone, her face turned away. “To your evaluation with the other leaders?” She pauses. “Or moving forward to the Elites?”

Atlas stares down at his feet. “To the Elites.” He says, his words suddenly stuck in his throat, as he thinks desperately on how exactly to word his next question. It is a stupid question to bother Cato with, especially when she takes time out of her already-packed schedule to come visit him after training — to make sure he is alright. She doesn’t have time for questions about Ira Mawar. Still, he can’t stop himself from continuing. “You’re considering her too, right? They’ve fought so hard to finally be one of the selected — they’ve even been here almost as long as I have. I don’t know if…” He cuts himself short, the words lingering in the air as he looks towards Cato for her approval. 

Cato’s expression is now far from the soft, gentle look of pride. She shoots him a firm stare, stopping him in his tracks. He is sure that the next word from her lips will be a harsh “no” — he already knew the question was wrong to ask as soon as the words left his mouth. But surprisingly enough, Cato doesn’t shoot him down so fast. She hesitates for a moment, before saying in a quieter tone than before, “We are… considering them. Though, I suggest you don’t speak to her about this.” She adds, the ‘if you know what’s good for yourself’ goes unspoken. 

Atlas relaxes ever so slightly, relief flooding through him. “Understood.” 

The idea of having to leave his best friend behind had been the one problem that had been troubling him as Evaluation Day drew closer. Of course, he’s been waiting for the day to come since he was only a child; it was his one dream, the goal he’d been working towards for years, the thing he wanted the most. But the thought of going ahead and leaving Ira alone at the warehouse is unthinkable. She is always at his side, his rock through it all. They do everything together; an unbeatable duo. When he imagines being an Elite, she is right there at his side. 

To hear that Ira might be one of the selected instantly eases his worries. He knows it was foolish to wish to have Ira as his partner, always, but he is glad that there might be a possibility that the two of them won’t have to part ways. Of course, he is never going to tell Ira this. He is fortunate enough that Cato is willing to allow him such classified information. No one knew who the top picks for the Elites were, not even the other commanding officers. Only Cato and the leaders had access to those files. To think Cato trusted him enough to tell him…. He wasn’t going to dare disobey her, not when she thought he was special enough to know. He could never break her trust like that. 

Cato nods at Atlas’ affirmative. “You have a good heart… thinking of them like that.” She says slowly, falling quiet for another long moment. “I understand your closeness with Ira. However, you would do well to maintain your own success as your number one priority.” 

“Right.” 

“Keep training. Don’t let yourself get too relaxed now that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve.” She reaches a hand up and gives Atlas a brief pat on the shoulder, causing his ears to go pink. “I’ll see you at your next training session.” 

And with that, she disappears down the hall again. His time with Cato is finally up.

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✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Credits go to @ohagiwrites as she helped co-write this. Wren is also co-owned with @ohagiwrites ੈ✩‧₊˚

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

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[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ─ | “Who To Believe” | ─ *•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*

Characters // Atlas (he/him), Cato (she/her)

Atlas isn’t sure he believes his eyes. 

Sitting criss-crossed on his bed, crouched over a crisp file the precise shade of seaweed, he doesn’t think he’s ever read something quite so outrageous. Eden Inc. is a company built for the protection of Magicae and humankind alike, working in silent secrecy as they rescue forgotten children off the streets, providing them shelter, food, and clothes on their backs. A place to call home. The evidence in these reports is the clear opposite of that. 

The sentences inside these files are too gruesome for Atlas to even name, descriptions and illustrations of a series of reports so vile Atlas is sure that he can’t possibly be reading the right thing. This couldn’t have come from inside the drawers of one of Eden’s own filing cabinets, from inside the warehouse he has grown up and lived in his entire life. Eden has offered him nothing but warmth and love, with open acceptance and plentiful gifts. He would be nowhere, nothing, if it weren’t for Eden’s generosity. 

Yet through the dark green lettering along these pages, Atlas finds himself face-to-face with an organization a clear opposite of that; an organization built on the blood of the poor, the labour of the vulnerable. These missions have no rhyme or reason, no explanation to the horrors and atrocities committed. They don’t follow Eden’s strict rule code, their straight-lined regulations of order, justice, and structure. No, all of these reports, these missions, they’re only after one thing: Complete and total power. 

This can’t be right. 

Surely there’s another explanation for this, a reason behind it. How many times has he sat through lectures, heard stories from real-life survivors of the brutality committed against vulnerable Magicae, seen how Eden saved them? They give people purpose, give people a life. He’s witnessed it himself, his own life a clear example of all the good that the company brings to a nation so divided and at war with each other. He’s been on missions since he was only a child, and he’s never taken part in anything bad — Eden protects innocents and silences terrorists hellbent on destroying peaceful society as they know it. This is how it has always been. 

Perhaps that spy planted these here, just for him to find. They’ve been so obvious about who they are, how they don’t belong. Surely they had been trying to get him to follow. Distract him, plant seeds of doubt… just as all evil rebels would do. 

Or maybe this is a test. A part of his training for Evaluation day all along, set up by Cato herself. Having a soldier serve as a distraction, to see if he was truly suited for the Elites. Even giving them the time of day to just consider their lies would be unacceptable, no doubt. He’s always been good at assessments. So a surprise one, something that none of the trainees have knowledge of; questioning their loyalties, their dedication… That would be the true test. The one to weed out the weak from the strong, the faithless from the devoted. 

Of course. That has to be it. 

This was all a test, and he’s already on the path of failure, allowing the spy to go loose. Next thing tomorrow, he must go down and report them to Cato. He’ll be rewarded highly, granted a sure spot along the Elites. Everything he has ever dreamed for. 

It’ll be perfect. 

Yet staring at the evidence in these files, Atlas can’t help but feel like he’s grasping at straws, trying to find reason in these monstrosities. Would Cato really set all this up to see if it would dissuade him from his mission? Would he really be wrong for feeling wary of it, after all of this, after the torture he has witnessed, displayed between these lines. 

Does he really believe that it’s all made up? 

Staring at the satchel placed haphazardly across from him, he can’t fight the feeling probing inside of him that this is all wrong. That perhaps that spy may have been telling him the—

An abrupt rap against his door cuts him off from finishing that thought. He flinches, hands scrambling at lightning speed to shove everything back into the bag, swiftly stowing it under his mattress. What was he thinking, bringing these files back into his room? What will become of him, if someone finds them here? They’re classified information — he’s breaking so many rules by just daring to peek inside of them. He’s going to be in so much trouble. 

Atlas sucks in a sharp breath, patting down his sheets and trying to hide the tremble in his hands at just the thought of someone finding out what he’s done, what he’s been doing in here. He straightens up, face a perfect mask of neutrality, and crosses the room over to the door, praying the sound of his heart thumping from inside his chest isn’t as obvious to his visitor as it is in his head. 

He finds himself staring straight at Cato. Her lips are drawn into a firm line as she glares, the tenseness in her expression instantly notifying Atlas of the fact that she is absolutely pissed, her mismatched eyes stormy. He has to hold back the urge to shiver, the sight of her glass eye staring through him enough to send fear spiking straight through his spine. He has always felt like that eye has a magic of its own, being able to just pull the thoughts from his head with a terrifying ease. 

Cato’s eyes narrow and Atlas instantly moves in response, opening the door wider and stepping back to make room. She is brisk as she walks into the room, the clack of her heels the only sound to be heard through the chill of the atmosphere. Her hands are folded behind her back as she surveys his dorm, eyes sweeping across his belongings. She focuses on his bed for half a millisecond too long and Atlas holds his breath, dread filling up his already-queasy stomach. 

Oh fuck, she knows. 

He is just about to bow and beg for her forgiveness when Cato’s voice cuts through his spiralling thoughts, her tone clipped and harsh. “You missed training.” She states, head turning an inch as she eyes him again, gaze cold and piercing. “Do you have a good excuse?” 

Atlas feels relief flood through him at her question, though the comfort is only momentary. His face pales as it suddenly dawns on him that he has allowed himself to be so carried away by this spy business that the thought of training or any of his other daily activities completely slipped his mind. 

He’s never missed training. Never misses training. He’s never tardy or behind, perfectly on time and perfectly prepared for each one of his sessions. How could he ever forget? 

His tongue seems to be stuck in place for a moment too long, before Atlas finally manages to find his voice. “I, um, I forgot.” He mumbles, his cheeks burning red in shame. “I’m sorry, there’s no excuse.” 

Cato straightens her back a bit to stand taller, crossing her arms over her chest as she arches a brow in his direction. Her frown only seems to deepen at his words, eyes dark and unreadable. “Atlas, this kind of thing is already not acceptable — but just before your evaluation?” She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose, letting out a heavy sigh. “Are you really trying your hardest here?” 

Atlas stares down at his feet, avoiding Cato’s gaze. Guilt bubbles up inside his gut, slowly eating away at his insides. How could he be so careless? So… worthless. What will happen to his position now, that he’s gone and broken one of the simplest rules Cato has ever set for him? 

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, voice near-silent. 

Cato tips her chin up, brows drawn into a tight line. “Sorry does not make up for the loss of time. You are going to put in extra training hours tonight to make up for it.” She instructs, voice firm and unwavering. “This will not happen again.” 

Atlas silently nods, still not meeting her gaze. He can’t believe he let himself become so carried away with that stranger. What was wrong with him? 

He was never usually like this, so preoccupied by other things. How could he ever allow himself to concern himself with anything other than his mission? Nothing else was important, nothing else mattered. All he lived for was his mission. Why did he let it occupy his thoughts for a mere second?

Now he’d disappointed Cato. 

There is a beat of silence between them, Cato’s eyes searching his face. Atlas half-expects her to criticize him, to critique his appearance or lecture him on the importance of timing — and his contributions to Eden. He’s heard the lecture a million times over. How vital he is to the company, how he isn’t like everyone else. Slacking off will just squander his high potential. 

But instead, she places a singular finger underneath his chin, slowly tipping his head up to be level with hers. It’s only now that he meets her gaze. Her eyes are still dark and gloomy, unforgiving; yet, beneath them, another emotion lingers. Something Atlas is sure is akin to… worry. 

“Is there something on your mind?” She asks, voice deadly quiet. Her hand cradles his cheek, soft against his skin — tender, almost. The slight rub of the thumb against his jaw is enough to make him shiver.

Atlas fears he’ll break right then and there, that all of his fears, the storm of questions currently brewing in his mind, will come spilling right out. Cato is never so affectionate with him. 

You’re being trained for the Elites too aren’t you? They’ll do the same thing to you.

The thought of that spy, teeth bared, eyes bright with defiance, is what stops him. He doesn’t know what they’re here for, how they even managed to sneak their way in. But someone against both Eden and the Congregation of the Chosen is an anomaly that he didn’t know existed. He needs to find out more. Needs to find out what they know.

The next words out of his mouth are a surprise to both he and Cato: 

“I just lost track of time.”

Cato exhales, the moment broken within an instant. Her touch is gone as soon as it came, expression closed off in mere seconds.

“Training. Tonight.” She says, sharply turning on her heel and marching back towards the door. “Don’t lose track of time.”

Atlas closes the door behind her, allowing it to shut with an almost silent click. He waits until he’s positive she has made her way back down the hall before he returns to his bed, slowly pulling the files back out. His head buzzes with a million questions, all of them a complete betrayal to the mission he has sought so hard after. 

He hates himself for getting distracted by the stranger, for letting them pull him away from training. But on the other hand, the stuff he’s seen inside these files…. It’s disgusting. 

He’s not sure what he believes anymore. 

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A big thanks to @ohagiwrites for helping me write this chapter ⋆˚࿔

─ O.A. .ᐟ

[weretoad-art]

gun's out, guns out

or alternately:

(this game isn't a comedy, but it has its moments XD)

[papabirdurskeks]

I decided to revamp all my Halo OCs and color them finally because I never actually DID give them official color schemes in the 12 years I've had them.

Shame on me but meh, good for practice

In order as goes: Zigor and Sorrow on top

Zosimos and Cato at the bottom

Taking a break before starting commissions

[stridingwriter]

👻 ghost: can you tease some wip ideas that have been haunting you/something you want to write in the future?

Okay so my whole thing is that I have chronic and continuous brainrot in regards to Ares and Viktor. Specifically their time together. Which means, while yes, Ares is dead in the main WIP, I do have so many notes about their time together. They are the OTP of all of my OC ships.

Basically their whole history and their intersections with Leo from Sacrificial Lamb as well as Julius. Just the Cardinals in general have been itching at me very much. Like they were basically their own little found family of sorts who were super protective of each other who had a terrible fallout after their Captain dies.

Similarly, I have ideas for the three ex-military men as well as Ophelia who is more of player in Leo's storyline (they're the one m/f ship that I really do enjoy). Which involves Cato coming back from the dead to go home, Julius dealing with the fact that Cato comes back wrong and the three trying to fix their relationship again. Which then brings up another WIP.

Namely, the existence of Lucas Liu who's a detective who has his storyline in parallel to Viktor's. Also is the one who actually gets Leo to open up again after Sacrificial Lamb. Which also means that Sebastian and Orion are also a thing, specifically Lucas is trying to catch Sebastian to prove himself while dragging Leo around for the ride. That means Sebastian's whole crew also exists and they have their own story.

So... you can see that I have many WIPs who grow on top of each other... There is just, so much to explore in the universe (mainly the city itself) which doesn't even include the ones that happen outside of the city itself. Such as my professor/student ship (Yang Fu and Hugo Wright) that happens a couple hours outside of the main city so they aren't even impacted too much by the happenings.

And there's the most disjointed little story I have about an obsessed artist (a director) and his muse who are off doing their own things. Riley and Jules are busy trying to learn how to communicate through the arts while shit is hitting the fan around them.

[shibopandadoodles]

Something else stupid I needed to draw that no one will look at but me

[sneebl]

cato's back, but in this one, he's less of a being of straight chaos and instead accidentally adopts a bunch of queer teenagers and goes "this isn't your fight"

[nereidof40k]

Silly thought with Rose and Cato. Instead of encountering nekkid shouty Astartes at her house imagine the Shenanigans if she'd been traveling for work or niece rescue. Oh no the car broke down near your oc/si's farm. There doth the proud nudist Cato Sicarious appear. Oh no he must rescue the poor baseline/s (Rose and maybe Kara) from the approaching Night Lord in the tacky salicious shirt. And this unlucky fucer runs into the woods.

That’s a great idea. I’m laughing so hard. And then he runs into Konrad. 😂

[junodoom]

it’s finally mermay, which means i now have an excuse to shove my oc size-difference mer-yaoi in everyone’s faces!!!

*drops a giant pile of old & new arts here*

[syrospit]

the two freaks and their chaperone

[danart501]

Ok I confess…that im a fan of bully sicarius and diplomatic reader😔

@moodymisty

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 24 || “Forced to Beg”

TW: Descriptions of violence

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

“Cato…”

The boy laid out before her was one she did not recognize. 

Sprawled out on the ground, curled in on himself, he looked more like a fragile creature of prey than the soldier she knew him to be – the one he was told to be. Loose giggles bubbled up from his lips, his expression a caricature of pain, expression so twisted and warped that it was unrecognizable, merely a display of pure torture. 

Bruises and cuts wracked his frame, deep colours blossoming along the exposed tan of his skin. His uniform was a disarray, rumpled and torn, the fabric dirty and stained, crimson splattered along the jade. His hair was kept unkempt, greasy and knotted, grown out from the proper regulated haircut that he had been allowed, one that he previously had taken special care in keeping absolutely perfect and in order, not a strand out of place. 

He was doubled over on the ground, wearing this tormented smile that was not his own whatsoever, his limbs twisted and swollen, snapped out of place. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks, splashing to the ground beside him, mixing in with the blood that had pooled there from his injuries, this utter disgusting mess that Cato would never have expected from him. 

And he was begging. Truly begging. 

“P-please.” 

The word was choked, shuddering out of him in no more than a whisper, cut off by another bout of laughter, just as uncontrolled and manic as the rest. A sound that was something akin to a sob seemed to escape him, his fingers twitching as the noise left his throat, an unspoken plea for help. 

Cato could not muster up even the slightest pity at the scene before her. The boy, once her pride and joy, her Atlas, was suddenly insignificant in her eyes. He was weak, pathetic. Grovelling at her feet, the persona that they had created for him cracking away to reveal a boy broken by it all, desperate. And out of everyone, he was looking to her to solve it. To save him. 

How had she ever felt soft towards a creature so utterly pathetic?

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry,” he croaked. “Please. Please, Cato.” 

He had once been her golden boy. Strong, intelligent, and resourceful, he was perfect. Obedient, silent, he followed every order without question, giddy to make her proud. He allowed them to push and prod at him, erasing his imperfections and straightening his personality, molding him until he was the epitome of what Eden expected, what Eden stood for.

Her glorious creation. A natural-born fighter, she couldn't have asked for something more wondrous. He had risen above his station, leaving each of the recruits in his rank behind in the dust. He was once-in-a-lifetime, something that no soldier could replicate. He could do it all, do it like no other had done it before. He was their missing puzzle piece, ready to end the war.

He was going to lead Eden to victory.

But staring at him now, she saw him for what he truly was:

A stray.

The others had warned her about this, told her the consequences of picking up mutts. These things never worked out in the end, not in the way that they should. Someone as guarded as her, the merciless ways of life having hardened her to the world, should have known better. 

He was no champion. No great thing, invincible and unkillable, a soldier like no other. He was not any different than the rest of these wretched Elites, made to be used and discarded. And Atlas Zieliński was no longer, replaced by someone that could not even live up to his namesake of Maximus. He was not the greatest. He was not even a speck of dust along Eden’s long and bloody history. He truly amounted to nothing.

“Help me, Cato…”

The boy she had raised was no longer. Lost, with the rest of her weak attempts at a perfect life, a good life. It was useless to try. It wasn’t like he was ever going to survive. No, someone as weak minded as he was only destined to fail. It had been a fantasy to think otherwise. 

Cato turned sharply on her heel, leaving the trembling boy alone with his grinning companion, fallen.

What a mistake.

TAGLIST || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

[chrysalis-thestateofchange]

..─＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆Character Bio⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊ ─..

🛡️˙★ ── Cato, the General ──★ ˙🛡️

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

“If I relaxed my body now, I’d fall apart. I’ve always lived like this, and it’s the only way I know how to go on living. If I relaxed for a second, I’d never find my way back. I’d go to pieces, and the pieces would be blown away.

Why can’t you see that?”

⟢⠀Haruki Murakami, “Norwegian Wood”

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Basics ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Name || Cato

⁀➴༯ Name meaning || Cato is a gender-neutral name of Latin and Roman origin, meaning “wise”. Finding its beginnings in Ancient Rome, with Marcus Porcius Cato, or “Cato the Elder”, being the first to bear this title. He was a soldier, senator, and historian who remains one of the most influential people in Roman History.

Nicknames || None

Age || 36 years old

Birthdate || November 23, 877 (Sagittarius)

Gender and Pronouns || Cisgender (she/her)

Sexuality || Heterosexual, Aromantic

Ethnicity || Russian

Classification || Human

Occupation || Cato serves Eden Inc., a Magicus-run corporation that focuses on the protection of Magicae and the seclusion of magic from Humans. She works directly under the Leader, acting as one of the seven CEO’s inside the company, assigned to the Task Force Branch. Living inside warehouse #004, she makes sure that soldiers are prepped for battle and everything to do with their military runs smoothly. She was recruited to the organization when she was 24 years old.

Role || Secondary character, mentor

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Personality ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Cato is very rigid and set in her ways.

Coming from a negligent family where she had to pave her way to success, always seeming to fall short of her goals, she has been since hardened by a life of poverty and hardship. She's cold and brutal, appearing to be apathetic at times, but for good reason. In the past decade she has lost almost everything inside her life that she has loved or cared for, and it’s caused her to hold everyone who comes near at an arms length. She prefers to live her days out alone, rather than risk another loss. Anything to keep herself from getting hurt again.

Her mission to Eden is the only thing that she cares about anymore. She holds its values on a high pedestal, modelling her own life around its beliefs and ideologies. She’ll do anything to help support the company, having risen to the top in record time from her pure dedication alone.

She’s what can be defined as a workaholic, dividing all her time and attention to her job at Eden. Everything else is an afterthought, meaningless and unimportant. She expects all those that work under her to do the same, forgetting about anything that may distract them from their duties to the company.

She is driven and ambitious, ready to do anything if it means reaching her goal. She won’t accept anything less than it. And she certainly won’t allow herself to fail.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

Cato is the head commander over the Task Force Branch inside Eden. Working at the company for twelve years, she has fought her way to the top, serving as their most revered soldier as of current. She is deadly loyal to their mission, swearing revenge on the company’s sworn enemy, the Congregation of the Chosen. Taking up residence in warehouse #004, with her disciple Atlas at her side, headed on track to become an Elite, she is certain victory is around the corner. With their secret weapon, there's no doubt the Congregation will fall. There has not been a day in the past seventeen years where she has not thought about tearing that church down, brick by brick, soldier by soldier. She’s determined to put a stop to their crimes — by any means necessary. She will succeed.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

Traits || Strict, intimidating, guarded, serious, dry, determined, harsh, driven, closed-off

Alignment || Lawful evil

Likes || Atlas, kids, Eden Inc., winning, working, sincerity, schedules, fighting, being busy

Dislikes || The Congregation of the Chosen, weakness, incompetency, most of the other leaders (namely Sasha), failure, liars, meetings, most people

Fears || ?

Hobbies || Overseeing training, missions, fighting, working, writing reports, reading paperwork, training new recruits, going to meetings, cooking

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Appearance ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Cato is quite a petite person, standing at barely average height, with a build that is on the smaller side. Yet despite her short stature, Cato is still a presence not to be contended with. She’s very muscular, to the point that it instantly catches your attention, despite whatever clothes she’s in. She has what can be considered as a swimmers build.

She has dark, wavy brunette hair that can always be found pulled into a tight, firm bun that rests atop her head. Occasionally a few loose strands escape and frame her face. She has very sharp and pointed features, with heart-shaped lips, precisely plucked eyebrows a shade darker than her hair, and pale skin. Her eyes are mismatched, with one being a deep chocolate brown and the other being a silvery, pale blue.

She has a singular tattoo, found on the back of her left hand. It is the symbol of Eden, marked in black ink.

Height || 5’5”

Aesthetic || Cato can be most frequently found in a uniform similar to the rest of the CEOs of Eden, which is a black in colour, with jade accents. She prefers to wear outfits that are fairly tightly-fitted to her figure, most of her closet being made up of black and dark colours.

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

My primary instinct is to protect the child / Girl singing in the wreckage / My dress is torn, my hair is wild / Girl singing in the wreckage

“Girl Singing in the Wreckage” by Black Box Recorder

..✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧..

⚖️⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Extra Tidbits ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆🗡️

Her last name is actually Cato. No one knows what her first name was, and she refuses to speak about it.

Cato is skilled in many different types of combat, but prefers to use a staff as her weapon of choice. This is subsequently why it is also Atlas’ favourite.

When she was 19 years old she and her younger sister were attacked by the Congregation of the Chosen, resulting in Cato losing her eye. She’s sworn revenge ever since.

Her glass eye is personally crafted by some of Eden’s greatest minds, and has special abilities of its own. She can scan information about a person, whether it be their powers, classification, age, name, background, family, ideals, et cetera. It can also see through most magic, such as illusions. This gives her a higher up in battle, despite being human.

She personally trained Atlas herself, something that she doesn’t do often.

She dislikes most of her coworkers and prefers to complete her missions by herself. It annoys her deeply to be assigned with someone that she didn’t request.

Her favourite food is cucumber salad.

୧ ‧₊˚ ⚔️ ⋅ ☆

|| CHARACTER SONGS

Mother Knows Best — Donna Murphy

Girl With One Eye — Florence + The Machine

|| MOODBOARD

|| MASTERLIST

TAGLIST \\ @ohagiwrites @oros-ash3s @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass18 @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords @theink-stainedfolk @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @write-with-will

[judithmayblood7]

Cato Hadley headcannons!!! <3

Manspreads. Arms crossed over chest and taking up most of the seat.

Girl Dad (yes, this is a hint)

Fucking loves golden retrievers (the bites on his arm are deeeeeefinately from Achilles not me-)

Whore for chocolate because bit ch never had any sweets growing up.

Early bird AND night owl.

Massive streak on Duolingo

Acts like a fucking cat (no shit he’s called CATo for a reason)

His casual clothes genuinely give military. I’m talking dog collar necklace chain, combat boots and the tightest manwhore shirt like babe do you want me to impregnate you?

Touch starved.

His own bedroom is messy but he’s literally so OCD anywhere else. Like if he’s at a friends house everything is colour coded, size ordered and alphabetised

Hickeys. My man is obsessed with them.

Secret Star Wars nerd

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[cerebral-device]

Woooahhh this au again???? Decided to do some redesign’s for Lili’s band since the art was so old of it by now. It’s officially been named Brain Jar for. Awhile now. But I haven’t posted about it since lol

SO HERE THEY ARE Brain Jar and their back up drummer who is a 9 year old boy

The band name was suggested by @ottosbigtop btw !