‘cause my echo is the only voice coming back
Ambre, I think you have a responsibility to this fandom to make this happen in words.
I swear I just wanted to suggest it. So Ambre, please, kill us all.
Fringe Season 3 - Hysteria
Reuploaded with pitch shift of the song. I hope now everybody everywhere can watch it :)
AWESOME. I LOVE THAT SONG.
I’ve seen around some valentine’s day cards with my favourite TV shows (like GOT and Community) so here are my Fringies!
Valentine’s Day Fringe (by Giovana Medeiros)
Happy Valentine’s Day Fringe fans!
You could call this a post ‘Welcome to Westfield’ story, even though I really wrote most of it after 4x10 ‘Forced Perspective’. The whole Olivia/Nina situation really got to me, so I started this, needing to write some Olivia!whump, and never finished it. The newest episode made me go back to it (and not just because of ze sex XD). It’s still completely off canon, though, because I’m ignoring the last scene of 4x12 (despite its awesomeness, feels good to be right!), and the promo for 4x13, or I would have had to rewrite the entire thing (again). But reading this, you’ll see I’m really not ignoring the episode either :p
This story is complete, but huge, so I’m posting it in two parts. The rest shall come tomorrow, or Tuesday, because it needs editing. It’s also unbetaed, so I apologize for that!
Fallen Warrior (1/2)
To anyone else witnessing the scene, Olivia indubitably looks like a startling and worrying mess as she enters the interrogation room.
To Peter, standing tense and quiet on the other side of the two-way mirror, she looks like a fallen warrior.
The blood is without a doubt the worst of it. Her shirt, which was still white a few hours ago, is now imbued with dirt, result of all the violent wrestling she’s been part of, today, furthermore explaining the two ripped buttons at the bottom of it. Most of its front is also splattered with crimson, the color of a blood that has now almost completely dried up. Even from this distance, he knows that it has formed a thin layer on her skin as well, over her collarbone in particular, where her shirt is never completely buttoned up. Her hair is hardly maintained in what remains of her bun, a few long strands having completely escaped from it to frame her face, adding to her disheveled look.
And of course, there is this ugly gash on her cheekbone, still slowly oozing thick liquid down her cheek, along with the few complimentary bruises and cuts scattered all over the pale skin of her face.
No, the blood isn’t the worst of it, Peter corrects himself inwardly. Her eyes, and the look on that wounded face of hers, they are the worst of it. He wishes he could say he hadn’t expected her to come into the room, but he knows better.
Some things never change.
SOBBING. GENE THE COW.