my drabble posted earlier

Peace Before War

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Jimin

Word Count: 3139

Summary: Jimin has a new girlfriend who treats both you and him terribly, but he doesn’t see it. The longer it goes, the worse your and his relationship becomes until you can’t handle it anymore.

A/N: A Jimin one shot because I had this idea in my mind for a while. I’m incredibly insecure about this because I’m not really used to this type of writing but I had to write it down. Let me know how it is, if you feel like it.

–Admin Dolly

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I can’t stop thinking about Harry in his cupboard (from my earlier post), so I wrote a drabble.

He could hear them, just down the hall. The house wasn’t very wide; the front door opened onto the staircase and the coat closet. Then the hall past his cupboard led past the bathroom into the living room. The swing doors went into the kitchen, and the living room opened into the dining room. It wasn’t hard to hear anyone in the first floor of the house if he tried hard enough, and he was. He had pressed his ear hard against the heavy wooden door, trying to listen hopefully. 

“Well you may not need it for the hydrangeas?” That was Uncle Vernon’s wheedling voice he got when he wanted Aunt Petunia to agree with him.

“Nonsense!” Aunt Petunia’s voice was like the rest of her: sharp, brisk, and pointed. “I need the aluminium ion to put in the soil, or the flowers will go all white and pasty looking. Our bushes are the best kept on the block. Much better than Lady Thinks She’s So Special With Her Husband’s Jaguar and Her Snotty Daughter.” 

“Of course you’re right,” said Uncle Vernon at once. “They’re the loveliest in the neighborhood, even.”

“Vernon,” and Aunt Petunia’s voice did something it never did around Harry, not matter how much he tried: it went all soft and warm, and Harry knew that she had unbent her rigid neck into a willow tree shape and was allowing her husband to flatter her. 

“All right, all right,” huffed Uncle Vernon. “I’ll go get it.”

Harry heard him stumping down the hall and he jumped away from the door. When his Uncle had a mind, he thought it was funny to swing it open and watch Harry tumble out. Distantly, he could hear Dudley calling for his mother to come refill his tim tams as he watched television in his bedroom.

His hands were shaking as he held the tin between them. It was gloomy in the cupboard, but the hall light was still on, so it wasn’t pitch black. He was covered in sweat; it was a hot summer Saturday and he had heard Aunt Petunia stirring together fresh lemonade in the kitchen. The water heater next to him was quiet, but it still radiated heat. It was a loud but welcome companion in the winter, and an unbearable one in the summer. 

The rattling of the chain and the thumping of his uncle’s hand on the door popped it open. The relief was immediate, and cool. The house did not have central air, but the front windows were open, and Harry swayed on his camper bed where he sat, soaked in sweat, the tin of aluminum phosphates in his hand in hopeful tribute.

His uncle ignored him completely as he began riffling through the shelves next to Harry, upturning gardening shears and rubber hoses; disrupting the neat stacks Harry had made in hopes Aunt Petunia might notice his help next time she looked for ant poison. 

“Here it is,” Harry ventured, his voice wavering slightly. “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Uncle Vernon snatched the tin from Harry’s hand, face twisting. “Thieving, eh? Thought it’d be funny to hide it from us?”

“N-no,” Harry stammered. “I heard you talking. I wanted to h-”

“Heard us talking? Eavesdropping?”

“No,” Harry stressed. “I wanted to help. I read it on the side and-”

“Read it on the side?” scoffed Uncle Vernon. “You can’t read.”

“I can,” Harry contradicted eagerly. “I taught myself after this year in school.” Taught himself with words like poison control and FD&C Red No. 40

“You’re lying. Even Dudley can’t read yet and he’s in kindergarten.”

Harry smiled tremulously. “The teacher said I was really bright,” he ventured. “She wanted to know how old I was.”

Uncle Vernon was looking through the shelves now, trying to ignore the obvious fact that the only tin of aluminium phosphate was in his nephew’s hands. “You’re the same age as Dudley,” he grunted.

“Then she asked when my birthday was.”

Uncle Vernon slowly backed up. He couldn’t even stand up properly in the cupboard like Harry could, so he crouched over him, blocking the light of the door. “What did you say?” he asked suspiciously. 

“I told her I didn’t know,” Harry answered honestly. 

“YOU DID WHAT?” roared his uncle. “DO YOU KNOW HOW THAT MAKES US LOOK?”

The tin between Harry’s hands went flying. It struck the hot water heater and burst apart, the beads of fertilizer flinging themselves across the floor. 

“Now look what you did!” called Aunt Petunia’s scandalized voice as she came down the stairs holding Dudley’s empty bowl.

“He went and spilled it,” roared Uncle Vernon, and Harry helped himself sloppily off the floor, crawling back onto the cot. 

“Well he’s going to have to pick it up,” said Aunt Petunia crossly. “Bead by bead with his bare hands. I’m not going to let him wreck my hand broom.”

“Get to it then,” Uncle Vernon told Harry, who scrambled with lungfuls of relief into the cool hall and crawled on his hands and knees with the tin to carefully scoop all the blue and green crystals back into their box. 

“What is it, Vernon?” asked Aunt Petunia anxiously as she rounded the newl post and stepped thoughtlessly over Harry’s back. His shirt was stuck to his skin with rapidly drying sweat.

“He told his kindergarten teacher he didn’t know his birthday.”

“Why would she even ask?” demanded Aunt Petunia furiously. “Nosy woman.”

“Your birthday is the last day of July,” Uncle Vernon told Harry brusquely. “Now clean this up.”

Harry Potter looked up at the calendar surreptitiously on the wall of the bathroom as he picked up bead after bead, taking his sweet time in the fresh air of the hallway. It was August 6. He had turned 5 last week and not even known.

candicemorgan  asked:

kc + "we’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years" au

This is my basic headcanon so no 4x16, no baby, Kol is all alive and well, inseparable with his bat as he should be.
Set some time in the future. Crack-ish.
Hope I did this prompt justice.


If there was one thing people could say about Caroline Forbes, it was that she surely knew how to throw a party.

So there was absolutely no reason in the world for Caroline to feel nervous about holding a simple family dinner to celebrate nine-year anniversary of her marriage to the certain hybrid.

No reason whatsoever.

And yes, indeed, they got married.

It wasn’t something either of them needed, with Klaus often repeating how he was an Original and thus, above such silly human conventions. Even Caroline had to admit she had got over her simple-human-life fantasy solid thirty years ago or so.

However, when her mother had inevitably grown old, something she was dreading since the day she had fully understood just what her immortality meant, Caroline decided to fulfill one of her mother’s wishes – to see her daughter in a white dress, getting married.

Of course, nowhere in those dreams her mother imagined walking Caroline to the altar so she could marry Klaus Mikaelson, of all people.

For a long time, that wasn’t something Caroline imagined, either.

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