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.]
I’m so sorry this is so late, anon! It’s been a busy day and I accidentally took a 3-hour nap.
For the specific fic(s) “The One Where They’re in Capua”, I’m the only author. HOWEVER, I know that someone else wrote a story following the idea of Roman citizen/Roman slave W13 AU and if I can remember correctly it’s on AO3.
As for the order, it’s ok that you’re confused because I ended up writing most of what is posted in reverse chronological order, meaning I haven’t moved forward in fic time from the first part I put up.
This is the order they should be read according to when the parts occur in the timeline of the overall story:
The War Raven spreads her wings (this one has a time jump from the last one)
Drabble scene (this was a prompt but it goes with the AU, just not anywhere specific other than after “Miach meets Helena”)
Title: Fade Away
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Bering and Wells
Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie awake at night wishing that they did and what I’d do with them if they did. And then I write those thoughts down.
Summary: If you could save someone you’d lost, would you?
A/N: In which the elusive H.G. Wells makes an appearance.Read it atao3or atff.net.
A different beast shares her skin these days, twists her mouth to snarls where she used to smile, makes her hackles rise with wary mistrust where she used to believe in the best of them.
She can’t say for certain, but she thinks she first felt it claw its way from out between her ribs when she slipped into the back of Leekie’s car, smelled his cologne and felt—sick. Felt his breath on her neck, his words curling into the shell of her ear, and felt her stomach churn, felt injected with some nameless venom.
Dig deeper, faster.
And then she’d crawled back out of that car, stood on shaky new legs, looked at the world with a little less wonder.
She shouldn’t be surprised, and she doesn’t think she is.
"…I am in love with Myka Bering."
Oh no! Steve thinks. This can’t be—
Steve frantically searches Pete’s eyes for any sign that he may be lying, that this is some sort of sick joke, that Pete is just confused or something—
And yet, all Steve sees is truth. He gasps and his heart sinks; he…
Team Invincible // Bering and Wells
Helena looks down at the slightly battered photograph and smiles fondly, the memory now far clearer than the actual picture.
I just wanted to whip up some happy Bering and Wells to share with the class, but this turned into a big ordeal and I nearly tore papers to shreds trying to write Helena’s POV :/ But I think I finally wrangled it into something coherent.
Pairing: Bering and Wells established relationship
Spoilers/Setting: Second Chances (4x08) AU. Helena’s been around since the explosion undo because [insert your own backstory here].
Description: Helena comforts Myka after the rusting artifact case. One-shot. Fairly angst-free despite the first sentence and hurt/comfort premise. In fact, this may count as pure fluff by this fandom’s standards. I can’t tell anymore.
A/N: Because Myka’s frantic “I’m bringing the goo to the artifact!” still haunts me to this day. And also because 95% of the scenes in my head involve Myka helping/comforting Helena and I felt it was time I explored the opposite. (The other 5% of the scenes involve Helena and a child and my soul being shattered repeatedly by a wrecking ball.)
Fandom: Warehouse 13
Pairing: Bering and Wells
Disclaimer: Warehouse 13, the world and the characters that inhabit it do not belong to me in any way, though sometimes I lie awake at night wishing that they did and what I’d do with them if they did. And then I write those…
because they should have done better than ‘time travel hurts my head’
"You missed a huge adventure," Myka says as soon as her call is picked up.
"Did the world almost end again?" Helena asks through a muffled yawn.
It’s 9 AM. Helena doesn’t sleep in, which means wherever she is, she’s not in Wisconsin.
"No…just changed," Myka replies. "But we changed it back."
"Without me?" Helena says, but her indignance is lost in her drowsiness.
"It was a last minute thing. Besides, I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing anymore."
Helena chuckles softly. “Right. Too much temptation.”
"That’s not what I meant," Myka says quickly.
"I know what you mean."
Look, I made a gif of this most awesome wizard at the Leaky Cauldron!
DUDE IS READING ‘A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME’ BY STEPHEN HAWKING
I NEVER REALIZED
are you serious
I always assumed wizards just ignored science, because the fact that “magic” exists, can explain anything. But there are MuggleBorn wizards, ones who, until they were eleven, lived in the real world and learned science and things. Did they all just abandon that normal, muggle knowledge, like Harry did? It’s always been there, itching in the back of my mind.
FOUR FOR YOU SCIENCE WIZARD
YOU GO SCIENCE WIZARD
can we point out that he’s doing wandless magic too
like voldemort couldnt even do that
molly weasley couldnt do that
who are you
Quick, somebody write a book series about the adventures of Magic Prodigy Science Wizard!!!
PLEASE SOMEONE JUST DO IT
Alan Baker had no use for wands, of course. If one were to Prior Incantato his outdated, duct-taped rod of walnut wood and dragon heartstring, its most recent use would have been the enchantment of the long-lived neurons in Alan’s own mind. This enchantment, possible only for those who were capable of seeing themselves as a complex amalgamation of neural impulses, allowed him to bypass both wands and words. Alan did this, not for show, not for power, but because wandwork distracted him from his reading.
Unfortunately, there was no legal spell to get rid of barflies.
“Hey- hey mate, you gotta- gotta minute to-“
Sobrius, Alan thought, placing one hand on his neighbor’s forehead without looking up. He pondered whether or not to cast a silencing barrier, even in violation of the Leaky Cauldron’s safety code.
“Thanks,” said the now-sober man, “Readin’ more of that Muggle trash, I see.”
Alan closed his eyes and counted to three, but when he opened them, the man was still there. Alan lowered his “muggle trash” in defeat, meeting the baggy, bloodshot eyes of the wizard sitting across from him.
Alan leaned forward, placing his hands steeple-like on the table. “Mr. Fletcher, do you know why time turners don’t send you into space?”
“The sky, y’mean? Cause they’re fer time turnin’, not apparation.”
Alan had to take a deep breath. “No,” he replied, “If time turners weren’t anchored to anything, the Earth’s rotation alone would be enough to ensure a time traveler’s demise. But someone at the ministry was clever enough to anchor them to a carefully guarded object that never moves relative to the Earth.”
“Fascinat’n,” slurred Mundungus, whose eyes had glazed over once it became clear that Alan didn’t actually have a time turner on him.
“But time turners are still very limited,” continued Alan, more to himself than to Mundungus, “They can’t go more than seven hours back, and not forward at all, and only in increments of one hour, and they only work on Earth… no, they’re very clumsy, if one truly pauses to think about it.”
“What’s yer point?”
“My point is that while wizards are slowly stagnating in their backwards remnant of the Dark Ages, Muggles are making progress, ever reaching for the light. Do you know that they don’t need magic to craft a hand of living silver?”
“Bah,” was Mundungus’s only reply, “You’d be best mates with that Weasley nutcase at the ministry, you would.”
Alan stood up, silently casting an infantes gelata to check for paradoxes. “I don’t know why I bother with you,” he sighed, “you’ve just wasted another two minutes of my time. Perhaps I bother because I have time to waste.”
And he twisted, as if to apparate, but instead faded out of existence with a distinct vworp. The air swirled in the wake of his departure, blowing back Mundungus’s straggly ginger hair.
“Muggleborns,” the short wizard muttered, then turned back to his drink.
Thirty minutes earlier, Alan lounged contentedly within his quieting barrier, stirring his cup of tea absently and rereading one of his favourite Muggle books. He wondered, vaguely, which planet held the nearest sapient life, and what their magic would look like…
This rereading, however, would be slightly shorter than the last. Even within the barrier, the presence of another at the table tickled at Alan’s consciousness. He set down his book (rather forcefully, he had to admit,) and looked up. The bloodshot eyes of Mundungus Fletcher didn’t meet him when his own rose.
“Hello,” mouthed the man. Finite Incantatum, thought Alan.
“Hello,” he answered, “Can I help you?”
“No, not really. Well, maybe. Well, probably. Have you seen anything strange lately? Disappearing cats, people moving backwards, variances in the time vortex causing precise and intentional reversal of the course of events?”
Alan couldn’t help but stare. “Er…now that you mention it, I was just…” he trailed off as he glanced out the window and did a double take. There was a 1960s-style Muggle police telephone box in the middle of Diagon Alley. “…Is…is that a telephone box?”
“No. Yes. Recreation. Mock-up. Don’t worry, nobody will notice,” the man said, waving his hand dismissively even as he pulled on a pair of what appeared to be cheap 3-D glasses. “What I want to know,” he murmured conspiratorially, “is what’s giving you that floaty, aurary, bizarrey stuff all over you, because that should not be happening to a human. Person. I said person”
Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. “First of all, this is Diagon Alley. Most people out there wouldn’t know a police box from a pillbox, especially given it’s bright blue. Second of all, those glasses shouldn’t give you the ability to see what you’re seeing. And thirdly, Expelliarmus.”
“Expelliwhat?” the man squawked, just as a long, chunky metallic object with a blue tip shot out of his jacket pocket and into Alan’s hand. A quick Identification spell told him all he needed to know.
“Fuzzy logic neural interface configured for ease of use, limited nonverbal manipulation of mechanical and electronic objects…Interesting. And leaps and bounds beyond anything wizards or Muggles can conjure up. What are you?”
The man stared at him for a few minutes before breaking out in a wide smile. “Hello. I’m the Doctor. Let me tell you a little bit about the universe…”
IT GOT BETTER
Did I just read an amazing fanfiction based on a guy that has 2 seconds in a Harry Potter movie?
Where was the fight as Helena stripped her of her blouse; where was her voice as her body was used to slam shut the door to her room? Her head fell back with a solid thunk as Helena palmed her through her trousers, pressing the seam roughly against her already overly sensitized clit.
Myka groaned, reaching up to push her away, but instead her fingers slipped into the collar of the woman’s shirt, ripping every button free in one vicious yank. It was all pulling and taking; of clothes, of hair, of breath. There was no giving.
Helena would make her need and beg until Myka was graced with a climax that made her knees buckle and brought tears to her eyes. And then Helena would return to her domesticity with Nate and Myka would remain, still hopelessly wanting until Helena snuck into her room again offering only skin and heat but not the heart and soul she craved, that which tragically unbeknownst to Myka, was already hers.
The walls were painted white this time, and perhaps may times over, but over the years the old building had seen many layers of new paint fade to something closer to dingy eggshell. The radiator in one corner had been painted the same color at some point, though the thing seemed to still have its original, leaden paintjob for how weathered and beaten it is. The radiator dates the room, and radiators in other offices date the building back to before central air conditioning was even a consideration.
At the back of the room was a framed, paneled window, free of any curtains or treatments though evidence that they had been installed once was still present. Through the window was an open field of green dappled with short trees and students on beach blankets reading in the sunlight. The old, heavy wooden desk was turned away from the scene, toward the door, as was the woman sitting at it.
Her visitor faced the desk — faced the sun — and frowned at her.
"You’ve been here for two years, Professor Bering," the young redhead said, "and you’ve never really bothered to do anything with this great space. I mean, this is what academics like you grow up aspiring for, right? An office with an actual window in one of the prettiest buildings on campus. You don’t even have your diplomas hanging on the wall. It’s just…"
Myka Bering looked at her assistant over her round glasses, green eyes hard and narrowed, and the girl trailed off mid-sentence. It wasn’t that the grad student didn’t have a point — the space was perfect for so many reasons, and everything she had imagined her office would look like when she was offered a tenure track.
She had been the one to change. She fell in love and gave her heart to someone whose carelessness had shattered that gift.
White. Colorless. Drab. The color scheme fit her world.
Based off of the “Moments To Come Spoiler Clip”
The woman poked her head inside the office, taking note of a young redhead typing furiously on her computer. Her fingers were moving incredibly fast, and her eyes were darting between the screen and some old books laid out across…
Helena thinks she’s doing rather well, and has an advantage to Claudia’s generation of the calculator, but when she looks up to see Claudia’s first page completely full and a second one already started, she wonders if she might lose this competition.
It takes her another moment to notice Claudia isn’t hesitating with her writing, and she realizes the little sneak has Pi memorized.
"Well that’s just unfair,” she murmurs offendedly as Claudia pauses in her transcription to stick out her tongue at Helena with a smirk.
Oh fuck, I made that AU, didn’t I?
It isn’t until they’re all here, all 9 of them crammed into the B&B, that it really hits Myka that these women are clones, and clones of Helena.
Two of them are British and 3 are American and one’s from Romania, and oh god, what if she can’t tell them apart, what if she can’t find the differences, what if-
"Myka?" comes the quiet call behind her, and something loosens in her chest because it’s Helena, and she knows it, and somehow everything else will be alright because she’ll always know which woman is the first, no matter how many copies there might be.