Kitchen - cabinets/counter set, appliances, plate rack, wall hangings, weird corner shelf (2nd pic) || Sitting area near kitchen- piano, pictures || Dining room- sideboard, paintig (1st pic) || Nursery- paintings, balloons, trees, also do you use a texture on the walls or are they from the game? || Master Bedroom- curtains, paintings, suitcases || Sitting area- posters, dandelion lamp || Entryway- curtain || Porch- fence, lamp, chess table, flower wall thing. Sorry for so many! Thank you <3
A majority of the WCIF is under the cut. This took forever so hopefully I got everything!! :P Sorry for those on mobile, it’s kind of long. xD
If the items are crossed out, that means I couldn’t find a download link for that item.
Mind looking around? I’m sure this year will be a good one, folks!
Now it’s time to uncover the secrets behind these three missing employees. The Simple Times Verse is set back at the very first establishment of the Freddy Fazbear franchise, so maybe you can see what all the buzz is about for this new family friendly restaurant.
“This shoot will be in the biggest magazine worldwide, Kise-kun."
“You’re telling me you’re going to turn down one of the biggest marketing chances that will help your career skyrocket?”
“No, but I–”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“Cause I’ve already booked it. There will be a shoot or an interview every day starting next week. Almost all day. It might be better for you to stay in a hotel some of the days so make room in your schedule for it.”
Kise frowned, but nodded. His manager knew about his recent move. So recent, in fact, everything was still packed in boxes. They were sleeping on a mattress on the floor, Aomine and himself. The thought alone made his frown curve into a smile.
I’m living with Aominecchi!
They had made plans to unpack and set up the apartment the following week, but Kise’s work obligations severely cut into that time. He picked up his phone when he heard the ping of a received email. One quick glance at his schedule and he knew he wouldn’t be home long enough to unpack a single box. With a sigh of resignation he sent Aomine a text.
Sent to: Daiki (^・^)Chu♪ [text]: I'm forwarding you my schedule for next week [text]: I don't think I can help with unpacking (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞
His current photo shoot began the moment he placed his phone down and he had no chance to read the return text until it finished. Even then, he was rushing home on the hope that Aomine was still awake, despite the lateness. The ace had been practicing with his new team and, even with his endless amounts of energy, even Aomine was run ragged at the end of the night.
Their new apartment was on the second floor of a building that wasn’t as ritzy as Kise was used to (Aomine insisted they don’t live in faux luxury), but they could have lived in a box for all he cared. He was with Aomine. Anywhere could be called home with the ace around.
He slipped his key into the lock and tried to hide the stupid-happy grin that plastered to his face. It would take a while for him to get used to walking into the shared home. The space was decidedly empty. Boxes lined the walls and the couch Kise had picked had obviously come in the mail that day. Aomine had positioned it in the living space exactly where Kise had indicated he wanted it.
Tears filled his eyes, always overly emotional. As he wiped them away, he sidestepped the couch and shrugged his bag off near the armrest. He could almost hear the faint snore coming from the bedroom and his smile instantly faltered. A quick glance at his watch and he knew he was home later than intended.
He found the ace sprawled across nearly the entirety of the mattress. If Kise left him alone, he took up more space then both of them combined. The blonde let loose a silent chuckle as he stripped down to his boxers and pushed the ace to the side.
“Dead weight.” he huffed, collapsing against Aomine’s side. He nestled his head against the ace’s shoulder and turned a weary gaze on the peaceful face. “Somehow I knew you’d be asleep.” He said softly as he pushed his body upward to press a kiss to Aomine’s cheek. “Guess I won’t be getting my ‘welcome home’.”
Aomine left him a note the next morning.
Ryouta, Had an interview early this morning. Know your shoot starts at 10. Made you a boxed lunch. Hope I didn't fuck up the food. -D
Kise saved that note. And every note for each consecutive day he was home after.
They never got the chance to catch one another during their free time. Aomine’s interview did not yield a job, but it led to many more interviews after the initial break through. Prospective jobs and long practices kept the ace away during the day and Kise’s photo shoots were scheduled later and later to accommodate television appearances and interviews in the morning.
Communication through text and phone could only take them so far. Kise craved Aomine’s touch, the sound of his voice, the feel of his breath against his skin. Nights in the hotel were much lonelier than he imagined them being. He felt cold and rarely got the proper sleep needed. His makeup artist complained about bags under his eyes.
When the week finally ended, Kise counted down the minutes during the ride home until he could collapse upon their floor mattress and curl up against the ace’s side. Too many nights in a hotel made him crave the little things. He had complained about his back and how uncomfortable it was to sleep on the floor, but now that bed was all he wanted.
The car he’d been sent home in finally pulled up to his apartment building. He tossed the driver a generous tip and gave his thanks for the ride before bounding up the steps, heavy bag in tow. He fumbled with the keys before finally pushing open the door.
His bag fell to the ground with a heavy thud and his jaw dropped. The boxes that had decorated the room only a week before were not where to be seen. The pictures Kise had chosen of their teammates, their family members, and several of them together lined the walls. The television was anchored to the wall opposite the couch and the coffee table Kise had been fawning over was positioned before said couch and topped with a bowl his mother had given them as a house warming gift.
He took a tentative step inside and glanced in the direction of the kitchen. Though he could only see a slim portion of the room from his vantage point, he noticed the counters were not as bare as they had been. Small appliances were set up, and there was even a kettle on the stove. The faint smell of his favorite tea wafted through the room.
The door finally clicked shut behind him and he continued down the short hallway to the bedroom. The mattress he had expected to collapse upon was no longer on the floor. The sturdy bed frame had been built and stood at the center of the room, framed by a end table on each end, one with a Mai-chan magazine beneath the small lamp, the other set with an alarm clock and Kise’s favorite picture of the pair of them.
The beat of his heart was so loud, so erratic, that he didn’t even hear the ace step up behind him. He was alerted to his presence when arms wrapped around his waist and pulled his back flush against the hard chest he was so familiar with.
"I thought you’d want a real home to come back to.”
Kise chocked back a quiet sob and nodded. “I love it.” He whispered.
Aomine chuckled and pressed his lips against a tear damped cheek. “Welcome home, Ryouta.”
So I heard we’re spreading positive vibes because of stupid rumors. How about a super long sneak peak of the first chapter of First Day? Remember? That time travel au I started writing back in like March of last year? No? Too bad. You’re getting it anyway.
Takes place five years after mid-season four. Canon divergent from the end of 4a.
It’s been the kind of week that cranks the tension in her shoulders like a wet rag being wrung, only her sanity is what’s bleeding away instead of water. A vague sense of unease creeps along her spine as thunder rumbles in the distance, but she brushes it aside as she reaches for the black waffle iron in the upper cabinet. Lingering stress, likely, from long hours spent in budgetary meetings and longer nights spent rocking, walking, and driving a colicky baby to sleep.
She needs to stop moving for five seconds and have a seat, remove her heeled boots and rotate her ankles, fold her toes into the floor until the joints pop and release. If she does that, though, she may never get up again, and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t see this dinner through with Roland.
Tonight, they’re making his favorite: homemade waffles from scratch. Breakfast for dinner, for his report on the science of cooking for the fifth grade science fair.
That’s the idea, at least.
Thus far, two eggs have rolled off the counter, a light dusting of flour continues to choke the color from Roland’s curls despite her efforts to comb it out with her fingers, and not five minutes ago he’d sneezed straight into the batter, prompting an abrupt restart of the whole process. They’ve come full circle now, accident-free long enough that she’s a smidgen more optimistic they’ll be able to start actually making the waffles soon.
As she walks toward Roland’s mixing station, she clips the kitchen island with her hip. Her grip tightens around the waffle iron as she stumbles forward, biting the inside of her lip and smothering a stream of cursing as the fine threads edging her temper fray even further. This is the third time tonight she’s snagged that corner, and the already tender bruise screams in protest.
She sets the appliance on the counter next to Roland’s workstation, hand drifting to her hip, gently probing. She’ll need to ice it later, can almost feel the purple mark spreading under her skin like an ink stain.