There I was, innocently minding my own business in a country full of polar bears and moose hide bikinis, when a wormhole appeared and sucked me into tumblr. Now I've fallen into Bering and Wells and I can't get up.
Warehouse 13, Lost Girl, Defiance, Castle, Star Trek, et al.This blog also features random bursts of tv-shows, movies, books, quotes, and photography that I like.
[Disclaimer: I blame this entire blog on Jaime Murray and Joanne Kelly.]
Did someone ask for a comment!fic?
If it weren’t for the fact she works at the Warehouse, Myka probably wouldn’t have noticed. Maybe Pete’s vibes are rubbing off on her, because she’s taking the subway back to the crummy motel in Brooklyn she’s sharing with Pete when all the hair on the back of her neck stands up and she shivers.
Myka’s a cop, H.G. keeps getting arrested, and the rest of the department thinks it’s hilarious.
Myka Bering/H.G. Wells cop!AU. Written for the Femslash February Trope Bingo.
Oh man, oh man, this is the best thing ever. Seriously, it’s hilarious.
“So you’re a Valkyrie.” Myka’s eyes scan the run down apartment before returning to where the blonde sits on the couch. She’d followed her after seeing the blonde leap off a building and take flight on a pair of large, beautiful white wings. She lowers herself onto the other side of the couch, oddly comfortable now that she knows an artifact isn’t involved.
“A type of Fae, yes. What, do I need to have Bo come back in and prove it again?”
“No!” The word comes out a little too ardently so she backtracks, “no, I believe you.” Myka’s still feeling unnervingly lightheaded- not to mention moist below the belt- after enduring her brief exposure to the succubus’ touch.
Tamsin’s smirk suggests she’s very much aware of this, ”You’re oddly calm about the whole thing.” Myka pulls a package of Twizzlers from her bag, choosing not to acknowledge when Tamsin reaches across the couch to pluck one for herself, “Adapt or perish… nature’s inexorable imperative.”
“Who said that?” It is only with this question that Myka realizes she has muttered the words aloud. She rubs her hand awkwardly along the back of her neck as she pushes the name past her lips, “H.G Wells.”
“Oh? She still owes me 35 pounds and 8 shillings for ruining my dress…you do not,” the blonde emphasizes the words, tracing the end of the Twizzler along her lower lip, “want to know how much that’d be now.”
"£3,300," Myka answers automatically. She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat as she continues, "I think she’s still good for it."
Tamsin’s grin turns more friendly, losing that predatory edge ever so familiar to a time before Wisconsin and Adelaide and promises of coffee. It looks like the blonde might laugh, seems to swell in her chest for a moment, but instead she just shakes her head and tilts it to the side, looking up at Myka through her lashes, “You’re more than you seem, Agent. Myka. Bering.”
Tamsin does laugh then, but there’s little humor in it, “I didn’t used to think so.” There’s pain in these words, a pain to which Myka is intimately familiar. She remembers now, the look Tamsin had given Bo earlier, having been previously overshadowed by Myka’s suspicion and curiosity.
“How about you fork over a few more of those sweets, and I rustle us up some booze?” And it is with this awareness, with the way she watches Tamsin avoiding her gaze as the vulnerability is hastily smothered under layer after layer, which has Myka saying yes.
In the end it was almost…almost easy. A deception as old as time to play to Sykes’ hubris; to make the Mage underestimate their strength.
You know when a story just kicks your arse, every word of every sentence?
Title: Following Tradition
Pairing: Bering & Wells, Warehouse 13
Summary: Just randomness around the theme of new year. The fact that I am posting this now should tell you how much this fic has made me suffer.
Myka looked at her watch. Not two minutes had passed since she last checked. The glass face flashed pink and green and blue, reflecting the fireworks going off above. The others clapped and cheered with every explosion. Only, Myka could not even muster a smile.
Her despondency did not go unnoticed. Claudia elbowed her in the ribs and grinned encouragingly. She had been trying to cheer her up for days but Myka was too preoccupied. At first it was a mellow distractedness. It progressed over the days and weeks, with the evolution of her meticulous plans, to now; full-blown anxious diversion.
She streaked across the skies in ways she could only imagine in her time, like a god seated within a flying chariot. the plane, of course, resembled Helios’s fiery vehicle not at all, and was a little more crowded than the myths described. The technological advancements of her new century never ceased to amaze her.
Sometimes, however, their were more terrible than venerable. More harmful than good.
The land streaked below her, a textured map of roads and topography, dry and with little vegetation. This region, perhaps more than any other she had ever visited, made clear the scars that time had left upon the land. There were roads, so faint they looked as if God had traced them in the dirt with his fingernail, and interstates that liked more like a precise, surgical incision. There were wrinkles in the forms of mountain, and rivers that cut jagged scars across the skin of the earth.
Each rock told a story. Each cliff sang a tune.
Because here’s that bit of Buffy/Warehouse crackfic that you’ve always wanted. Thanks to a prompt that came across for Cargoes this sprang forth. I’ll included it in my The Vodka Made Me Do It Series. Because there’s a chance this might go somewhere in 2014.
(Edited to clean up some of the…
they’d already talked, finally actually talked, Emily Lake was…not forgotten, because two versions of a woman with that name had had far too much of an impact on each of them,and on them together in the dance they’d tried to maneuver in and out of time and memories and cracks in their hearts, so Emily Lake was…not buried, not hidden away, or covered by tons of earth and debris, or encased (in marble, in bronze), and Emily Lake wasn’t relegated to history, because history would always mean something else to Helena G. Wells a 19th and 21st century woman, but Emily Lake didn’t come home,Helena did, and Helena had finally said the words (‘I was afraid’, 'I didn't ever want to hurt you.' 'again.', 'I didn't know what to do.', 'I dont' know if I picked the wrong choice by running but at least it meant I could finally FINALLY come home to you'), and Myka had said what she’d wanted to for so long, (‘I forgave you. And I forgive you.’, 'I love you.'),the conversation hadn’t been easy, and it had ranged in and out of days as they’d picked up threads of it, tying themselves back together, but the talking — for now — was done,and they weren’t shy around each other (they would never be anything but open), but Helena half-dressed would always make Myka smile, and Myka smiling would always make Helena wonder how much happiness they’d missed because of her own fear and Myka’s reluctance, though Helena was getting better every moment at not letting those thoughts turn into regret, but to become a need to make Myka smile that way as often as possible in the future,
First it was Rome, then Taipei, Myka taught Helena how to ski in the Swiss Alps, Helena taught Myka how to properly inhale in Amsterdam. They spend hours staring at the lights flickering on the street as they brushed their fingers together, back and forth, before heading back to their hotel room to further relish the simplistic delight of skin on skin.
Their last stop was Paris. Myka was hesitant of the choice for obvious reasons, but she knew Helena needed to come back, back to the place where she lost it all. It was remarkably unchanged. She took Myka to a coffee shop where she and Oscar Wilde used to gossip and people watch, to the plaza where Christina loved to chase the pigeons.
"I’m ready to say goodbye to her," Helena watched Myka changing for bed, enjoying the way the lace kissed her shoulder blades, "Emily, that is. She would have loved this trip." She fiddled with the papers on the hotel table. The same ones that had sat out in every hotel they’d visited, waiting for her signature.
"But I don’t know if that means I’m ready to be Helena Wells again," there was a low self mocking in her voice and Myka quickly came to her side, placing her hand over the one holding the legal documents in an iron grip.
"Then what about," Myka paused and bit her bottom lip before looking at her with mischief and something deeper, "How about Helena Bering-Wells?"
Helena grinned, looking her up and down to see if she were indeed serious, “Is that a proposal darling?”
Myka smirked, “Did you think this world tour was just to say goodbye to Emily Lake?”
Helena matched her smile with one Myka had never seen before, but yearned to see again and again, every day for the rest of her life, “Yes,” she looked down at the documents as if they were something entirely new, and in a way, they were, ”I think I could be that.”
Helena had found and applied several distractions techniques to occupy herself and arrange her thoughts into neat structures, but if she was being honest with herself, they had been failing her more and more. Instead of mentally solving Adelaide’s physics project while cleaning, she worked up an elaborate theory on how to improve the Warehouse’s gooery. When she seriously considered adding cherry liqueur to the cake for tomorrow’s bake sale, she took a deep breath and stopped herself in middle of equating the ingredients to their molecular structure.
She was going stir-crazy.
Before Myka and Pete had shown up in Boone she had been better at this, not thinking, merely acting, completing the her strenuously formed routine.
Nowadays she was sleeping in the guest room, mostly of her own design. Nate wanted to try again, for Adelaide if nothing else. But telling him half the truth had changed something that she couldn’t quite grasp. She would spend evenings discussing physics with Adelaide now, not hiding her knowledge anymore. She didn’t pretend to understand American colloquialism anymore and had stopped laughing at Nate jokes.
The careful bubble she had built was breaking.
What was curious though, was that she wasn’t hellbent on repairing it. She just let it happen, knowing where it would lead to. Instead of worrying she tried taking a deep breath to prepare herself, gather her courage and spend as much time with Adelaide as possible. The pull back, the need to go back, was growing bigger than her fears.
When the bell rang, Helena jumped up, grateful for the distraction.
What she wasn’t prepared for was the sight of a wild-eyed, clearly agitated Myka at her doorstep.
"I just— I have a, uh…I have a thing to do.”
Myka hoped, all while she bit back weeks of pent-up tears and drove away from her partner, from the warehouse, from her family, she really hoped that just this once the cosmos, determined though it had been to make every success in her life the result of only the most concerted effort and resolve, would play nice.
And if this really was the end for her, or something like it, she was going to do it her way. The other shoe could drop only after she’d finished this thing. Her thing. The thing she had to do.
She had the plane ticket. The ring. The intentions. The last little spark of courage that sapped what little energy she had left in her these days. She was exhausted and in increasingly-excruciating pain and had already sworn up and down to Pete that she would, in fact, go through with the surgery, but she was finally ready.
And she would be damned if the cosmos had other plans.
The merger had been tricky, and potentially costly, and there had been so many pitfalls to consider. Like a chess game, the pieces moved across the board in turns and patterns, each manipulated according to a strategy by an opponent that Helena knew she could beat.
This was what she lived for. She lived for the thrill of the victory now, and the reputation that followed her was something she was perfectly fine with. Cunning. Ruthless. Exacting.
ALL OUR OWN ⇀ part five
James is devising a plan against Sykes for the three of them. Helena has told him many times that they should start to make their way back to the Cornucopia, where Sykes and his allies are, but her counterpart refuses, saying that everything will fall into place with this plan.
Problem is, she wants to know what it is.
a bering and wells au set in the hunger games
trigger warnings: strong descriptions of violence
I just read this fic and…found it highly disturbing but well written. It’s set after Myka’s funeral, HG comes back and Claudia unleashes her anger. Completely heartbreaking. If you want a punch in the gut, go read. Warning for explicit language and a sex scene that has very little to do with sex and a lot to do with pain.