#m. splitcards

@splitcards​ sent:  " i still can't believe how tall you are ... "  the question is more of a pouting disappointment, sadly eating the quiche as cater watches trey work his magic in the kitchen.  " can't you spare some inches for little ol' me over here? i'd love to rack up some cool points too, y'know. "

After cutting the dough into little stripes, Trey starts to braid them with the speed and skill of someone having done it countless times. This is probably his favorite part about making plaited buns but he remembers a time when it was his greatest source of frustration. Cater’s lament makes him chuckle - first because it’s cute and then because Cater accidentally said something naughty without realizing. The itch to make him aware of it is there, but Trey resists the urge to scratch it.

He takes the compliment even though Cater is not offering the most splendid delivery - but he’s always been somewhat proud of his height and to hear that Cater is jealous about it is oddly flattering.      “I think you get plenty of cool points as it is,” Trey offers. “And you’re not exactly small yourself.” Just stand next to Riddle, he almost adds. (But that’s a little mean.)

He puts the last bun on the baking tray and moves to wash his hands. Time for decoration. A hidden smirk tugs at the corner of Trey’s mouth as he walks over to Cater, who’s leaning against the kitchen counter with his plate of quiche, and stops just close enough their bodies don’t touch yet. Raising his arm he reaches for something on the top shelf behind Cater, the movement bringing him even closer to the other boy. For a few seconds their faces are very much within kissing-distance before Trey lowers back down. “Being tall does have some perks, though,” he says in a quieter voice.

@splitcards sent: with mischief painted all over cater's face, he leans down towards ace and blows some air on his ear. " don't let your guard down. ♥ "

Despite seeing him lean in Ace can't help the instant shiver that runs down his spine when Cater blows on his ear at all. It creeps all the way down and makes him tense for a second, his shoulder coming up involuntarily as if to protect his ear from exposure. His cheeks turn hot, eyes widening a little as he looks up at the mischievous smile thrown in his direction.

@splitcards​:   ¥ // to trey!  

Put ¥ in my ask and my muse will rate your muse on.

Looks: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 Personality: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 “Sometimes I’m not sure I even know the real Cater.. ah, forget I said that. He’s great.” Attraction: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10  Would they date them: yes | no “This is hypothetical, yes?” Favorite thing about them: “He’s fun to be around - he just makes everything feel more alive and fun, don’t you think? But he’s also reliable, most of the time. He was a good roommate. He’s a great project partner and easy to travel with.” That little giggle he makes when he’s laughing about something but trying to be quiet. The way he brushes his hair behind his ear. His hair in general. When he eats my food and says he likes it. Least favorite thing about them: “His sleep rhythm.” The fake smile and the secrets it hides.

@splitcards​ sent:  💭 // trey 🤔 [Send me a “💭“ and your Muse will experience one of my Muse’s Memories]

The memory takes hold of Cater like a gust of wind, gripping him tight and carrying him away - out of his own body into the mind of another, the world around him falling away, all sound dissolving, the air pulled from his lungs..

You’re in your room, the one you share with Cater and the others. It’s messy, as always, but you don’t tire of telling them to clean up after themselves. Well.. actually you do, but no one else will remind them. Right now you don’t look at the clothes on the ground or the empty plates on the table, you only look at him. Against the light shining in through the window behind him his hair looks like copper flames framing his delicate features. He’s smiling and it’s meant for you. He’s pretty, objectively. Subjectively. You temporarily forgot the difference between those two words. You remember having this thought before, but you can’t say when.

You blink and his arms are around you in a hug that knocks the air from your lungs and makes your heart skip several beats. It’s a gesture of gratitude rather than affection, you know this, and yet, time slows down as he pulls away. The rustling of his shirt is in your ears, the scent of his shower gel in your nose like a breeze of early Christmas. Cinnamon..? No, cloves. And something else. His palm slides down your arm and even through your sleeve you feel his warmth. The urge to reach out and hold him back, grab him, kiss him, is right there beneath your skin. Like an itch. You know his lips would be soft and the sound of surprise he’d make even softer. You know he’s not yours to kiss, too. There are little flakes of dust dancing in the air around you, made visible by the sunlight that rests on his back like a pair of wings.

“..ey? Trey?” his voice reaches your ears and suddenly you snap out of it. Time moves forward, faster, and you’re back in the moment. “Yes?” you say, but you have no idea what he just asked you. He can tell. He smiles at you - and you smile back. 

How intimidating am I?

@splitcards​ sent:  “it’s gettin’ close to curfew.” // to ace!

“ Are you kidding me? It’s still light outside! “ Ace laments, his mood plummeting as soon as he hears Cater’s warning. There’s seriously no fun to be had at Heartslabyul; every day is just more dumb rules for no good reason and more wishing he could swap dorm leader with literally any other dorm. Okay, maybe not Octavinelle - but on the really bad days even Azul is more appealing as a housewarden than freakin’ Riddle Rosehearts.

@splitcards​ asked: [HUG] - sender tugs receiver in for a hug. // cay cay support 🥺

There’s no resistance whatsoever when Cater is pulled into a pair of arms - the act not exactly unexpected. It’s not quite the same as being hugged by someone else, but it feels nice to be held regardless; the warmth of another body, the brief illusion of security and support that stems from being engulfed in a loving embrace - it’s easy to pretend. There’s probably some underlying deeply complicated psychoanalytical situation going on behind the actual act of hugging yourself, but Cater’s head hurts trying to think about it. It’s just nice, and an easy thing for him, so why shouldn’t he?

Anonymously or not, tell me who you ship my muse with.