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The Greater Part of Valor [chapter 1]AN:: Don’t own Harry Potter, Iron Man, or Avengers; just get that clear.
“Aunt Harri! There’s someone for you at the door!” Teddy yelled from the hallway.
Harri’s head shot up from the potion she had been working on as a porcupine quill fell in, causing it to explode in her face. The house shook as a door was thrown open and a disheveled Harri came stumbling through, “Teddy! What have I told you about yelling in the house?”
“Not to…” Teddy said with a wide smile before running past Harri into the kitchen. Harri smiled and shook her head before heading to the front door and opening it to reveal Blackfang, the goblin in charge of all her accounts.
“Ah, Blackfang, may you vaults be ever flowing.” Harri said with the customary greeting.
Blackfang nodded, “And yours as well. May I come in?”
Harri nodded and stepped out of the way, letting him in before leadi
The Greater Part of Valor [Prologue]Pairing: Fem! Harry Potter/Tony Stark [aka] Iron Man
Summary: After the war with Voldemort, Harribelle spent her time holed up in Grimmauld Place, studying various bits and pieces that interested her around the world. She became proficient in many languages along with other various things. But after taking on potions and charms, learning the basics and adding them up, she slowly became a master. After ten years though, life has gotten away from her and suddenly a goblin shows up and informs her of something she never thought possible. Packing her things and sending an owl to the Weasley’s, she heads out to New York City, the city of new beginnings.
AN:: Just so you all know, 1, I don’t own Harry Potter or Iron Man nor Avengers. 2, this is my NANOWRIMO thing so don’t get mad that I’m not going on with my other stories. I’ve been lazy writing these first few days and I plan on picking up later on!
Voldemort cackled as he led the small
I remember (9/11)I remember sitting in my class,
I was in kindergarten you see,
And a teacher came running in
And whispered to the sub.
The panic I saw in her eyes
Caused me to want to run.
It was terrible when she turned on the TV.
We sat there, stunned,
As the smoke and ash billowed
As people were seen jumping.
My classmates broke into tears
But I was too shocked to do anything.
You see, my mother was watching it too
And she held me when I got home.
I still hadn't cried though.
I was too young to know what had happened.
And years later, I finally understood
What had happened.
I found a song that caused goosebumps
That caused me to cry,
It caused me to think back on that day
And realize how emotionless I had been.
No one ever really explained things to me
In a way where I would understand
I knew what had happened
But the pain they felt hadn't affected me.
And when I first heard that song...
I finally understood,
I understood their pain,
And I felt depressed.
A few years later,
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
specter boys have always looked best sinkinghe says,
i want to count all 206 &
feel the notches of your ribs -
i want you, weary boy, to
phase yourself down while
you are burning inside out.
i will seethe inside your skull
like thoughts, like cigarette filters;
you will thank me as i molder in your marrow.
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
Dying daysI'm not the one you wished for
I'm not the one you chose
But no matter what I'm the one
Who's always there for you
But you took my kindness
And smeared my name
Dragging it down the alley
And fucking it like a whore
Is this all I am to you?
All that I have done for you...
Is it for not?
What could happen
What if I had left you there
Crying on the city street?
What if I had never welcomed
You into my home?
Would you be the same
As you are today?
The one who stole my heart
Only to give it away?
You took my pride and crushed it
Shattering it to bits.
Following with my dignity
Which you ripped to shreds.
Is this all I am to you?
A silly little whore?
One that you can fuck all day
Is this all I am worth?
Not even getting away...
I still love you more and more
With each new dying day
But this pain I cannot stand
Which is why you're here
Crying as you're dying now
With my silver scissors...
But alone you come back to me
Begging pleading me to stay
But now you lay here dying
Keep in Touch!