6 Works by Pride_Before_The_Fall
Listing Works
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Summary
In which, happy and well-adjusted just doesn't last in Beacon Hills.
Ophelia Connor (our 'happy and well-adjusted') is starting her senior year and is, honestly, really excited about it all.... really.
Finding out that she was a witch?
Slightly less so, but she can roll with it, she's always looked good in a hat.
— but watching a hulking monster, with red eyes, tear down the street like some horror movie cliché, however, was a firm 'fuck no.'
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Of Drunkards and Dissociations by Pride_Before_The_Fall
Fandoms: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
20 Jun 2020
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He drowns in his sleep even as he breathes.
He died once, in an ocean of deep, dark blue with no warmth or light to be found.
He remembers it, in a hazy fever dream kind of way, the water as it waved through his hair like greedy fingers trying to pull him down, the way his head felt like exploding and his lungs seized on used-up air; the way it rushed eagerly into his mouth when he couldn’t stand the burning any longer— the way it stole the very breath from his lungs like a gluttonous parasite.And then—
He woke up.
He wakes in a rickety bed, in a too-small room, with more bodies than space, and a Matron calling him by a different name than his own. He wakes to a face that wasn’t his, in a body that wasn’t right, and to a life he's never lived and wonders— just for a second, as he stares at his reflection and his reflection stares accusingly back— if he’s gone mad.
Or alternately:
When the last strangled gasp of air escaped his lungs, Andy Bovino breathed his last— and András Bonello, son of the Wine God, breathes his first. -
High Tide (Under These Waters I Drown) by Pride_Before_The_Fall, PridesFolly (Pride_Before_The_Fall)
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV)
30 Mar 2020
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"Don't stop, you hear me, you don't stop 'till you make it over state lines"
Running, that's all Ash has known, from Washington state to Beacon Hills California, it's a never-ending trek.
"...find the Nemeton, you find that, you find safety."
The only thing keeping her going is a promise.
"I need you to be safe, promise me."
__Find the Nemeton.
That's all Ash had set out to do, find the Nemeton and hope could find safety among its far-reaching roots; after that, the rest was guesswork.
Learning how to live again—however—was an added side benefit.
__From the ashes of Washington state, to the small town of Beacon Hills, Ash never expected to make it this far.
—and lying here, watching him study for their midterms, she can't help but be grateful that she did.
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"What're you doing here?"
"I work here; what're you doing here?"
"....hanging out?"
"In a Cemetery?"
Or:
Mary-Alice is a witch who refuses to practice and just wants to protect her brother from the world, but living in Beacon Hills is like living in that one horror movie where everything is trying to kill you and nothing makes sense.But hey, at least no one ever thinks to check the graveyard.
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The Price of Living by Pride_Before_The_Fall
Fandoms: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
01 Feb 2020
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"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you," —Mia Angelou
In the end, she’s alive, and he’s dead.
In the end, she’s standing in a burning field of her own making, surrounded by the dead bodies of comrades and enemies alike.
In the end… she’s left alone with corpses and a dying brother in a field of fire and blood, with a victory that feels like loss and a triumph that feels like sorrow and grief.
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Untold Stories From The Fade by Pride_Before_The_Fall
Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age - All Media Types
29 Mar 2019
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This is literally just a compilation of all the lonely DA related word docs stored on my laptop.
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Hope watched as a boy, the Vallas'lin still fresh in his skin and on his soul, fell from the veil-wound.He was post-Elvhen, nothing but a shell of his ancestors, echoes of a history ravaged apart and put back together with the pieces missing. He, and many others of his likeness, was Elven, mortal. A name only belonging to a new generation, a new wind, a new way of life and culture.
Most of all, he was unconscious.
Hope was there to see it all, the soldiers scurrying around the mountain, the ashes of the fallen scattering in the wind, and the scouts finding the mortal lying prone underneath the torn veil. It watched as they carried him away, in shackles. It watched as the wolf hidden under sheep’s wool spilled not-lies but not truths either. Hope was always there, drifting just beyond tangible perception, just on the other side of the veil; waiting.