fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Helena

submitted by: anonymous

Helena (6669 words) by @apparitionism Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Claudia Donovan, Pete Lattimer Additional Tags: Bering & Wells Holiday Gift Exchange Summary: In the grand tradition of jumpstarting the Christmas season before Halloween, here’s a tale I wrote as a present for taoduck in 2015’s Bering & Wells Gift Exchange. Taoduck noted a preference for comedy over drama, so I took that and ran with it in (what I hope is) a sweet (but is really more completely ridiculous) direction. Assumptions for the purposes of holiday silliness: most of season 4, and all of season 5, never happened; H.G. is sort of an agent but also runs around doing errands for the Regents; and Myka and H.G. have a thing going on—a thing about which Myka, in her Myka way, might sometimes feel a little insecure. Anyway, it’s Christmas at the Warehouse, so you know something freaky’s likely to ensue…

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

It seems silly at first glance but is not only that actually. Vulnerability and taking their relationship to a next level? And still funny but soft. Very beautiful!

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #helena #apparitionism #anonymous submission #published 2017 #submitted 2024 04 #2024 #April 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Please check out this wonderful moodboard that @lonely-night made for this fic!

Resigned to These Histories (We Exist)

submitted by: anonymous

Resigned to These Histories (We Exist) (10573 words) by journaliar / @snakejuice Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells Summary: Summary: “I was in the neighborhood?” Myka offers, glancing over her shoulder at the lumbering SUV parked against the curb before turning back to face Helena. “If a four hour drive counts as being in the neighborhood.” Instinct fix-it fic/ slight au.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

It's a very thorough exploration of why Helena was in Boone and not in Univille, and how she finds her way back. It's so beautifully written, so very poignant, and one of my favorite Instinct fix-its.

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#warehouse 13 #bering and wells #Resigned to These Histories (We Exist) #journaliar #snakejuice

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Art Reflects Life

submitted by: anonymous

Art Reflects Life (51326 words) by @steellily Chapters: 22/22 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Leena (Warehouse 13), Artie Nielsen, Claudia Donovan, Pete Lattimer, Amanda Lattimer, Todd (Warehouse 13), Abigail Cho, Steve Jinks, Cassandra Cillian, Liam Napier Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Fluff and Angst, the rating is for content in chapter 21 it is not E through the whole story Summary: Helena dropped her head onto her arms in front of her laptop. “Write a romance novel, he said. It’ll be great for your career, he said. Bollocks.” Helena, finding herself at a spectacular impasse on her latest novel, decides a change of scenery should help her finish the nightmare of a book she reluctantly agreed to write. Myka has been contentedly living the laid back life of a bookstore owner on the Big Island of Hawaii. Perhaps a little romance is what is missing from Helena's romance novel. Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters from the Warehouse 13 universe and I make no claim to.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

A cool AU! On a vacation island, reading it feels like vacation!

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #art reflects life #steellily #anonymous submission #published 2017 #submitted 2024 04 #2024 #April 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

#bering and wells #bering & wells #warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells tumblr fic

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Pride

submitted by: anonymous

Pride (1135 words) by kellsbells / @ifourmindbeso Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Claudia Donovan, Steve Jinks Summary: I have thought long and hard before posting this. I wrote it on the day I woke up to hear about the Pulse shootings, and decided not to post it at the time, for various reasons. But when I woke up yesterday, I felt just as hopeless and devastated as I did on the morning after what happened at Pulse. So I thought I would share this with you. Obviously this deals with distressing themes and real-life events, so read with caution. After the shooting at Pulse, Helena thinks about hope.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

Goosebumps and tears every time. These words are powerful!

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #pride #kellsbells #ifourmindbeso #cw pulse shooting #pulse shooting #anonymous submission #published 2016 #submitted 2024 03 #2024 #march 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

A MASSIVE thank you to the fellow Bering and Wells fan who recommended TEN fics over the weekend! I don't know who you are, sweet anon, but I could kiss you bring you ice cream even though you say you don't eat sugar. Thank you so much!

#not a rec #blog announcement #thank you so much anon!

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Ages

submitted by: anonymous

Ages (628047 words) by @deathtodickens Chapters: 32/34 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells, Myka Bering/Abigail Cho Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Pete Lattimer, Tracy Bering, Leena (Warehouse 13), Jane Lattimer, Abigail Cho, Claudia Donovan, Sam Martino, Jeannie Lattimer, Joshua Donovan, Vanessa Calder Additional Tags: Age Difference, Coming of Age, Sexual Assault, Past Child Abuse Series: Part 2 of Age Gap Summary: Myka tells Helena, "Sometimes the age difference between us seems like nothing at all," and she pauses and lifts her hand to palm the side of Helena's face just under her jaw, brushes her thumb across Helena's cheek to her ear then adds, "and other times, it's like a million years."

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

A lot of big feelings, so much love, and also hurt. But always love!

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #ages #deathtodickens #anonymous submission #fandom classic #published 2014 #submitted 2024 03 #march 2024 #2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Do y'all want me to go on?

This blog is getting barely any interaction, which is truly sad. Most posts get under ten notes, and I haven't gotten any new fic recs since the year started.

It's disheartening, honestly, to put all this work into the rec posts (including deciding which fics to rec when I don't have submissions!) and have so little interaction on them. This fandom has truly amazing fics, and yes fine, the show stopped airing 10 years ago, but people still reblog the shiny shiny gifsets, including the new ones that still get made - where's that love for fics both old and new?

#not a fic rec #bering and wells #bering & wells #warehouse 13 #wh13 #do y'all even want me to go on? Is this something you're interested in? #then please help me by submitting fic recs and reblogging the rec posts I make!

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Wish You Were Here

submitted by: anonymous

Wish You Were Here (55616 words) by @mysensitiveside Chapters: 11/11 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Pete Lattimer, Claudia Donovan Additional Tags: Femslash, Post Season 3 Summary: When Myka wished that she could see H.G. again, this wasn’t quite what she had in mind.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

Time travel! Art embedded in the text! Fix-it fic! What's not to love? This one is a classic for a reason.

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #wish you were here #mysensitiveside #anonymous submission #fandom classic #published 2012 #submitted 2024 03 #march 2024 #2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

HG Wells shouldn't be alive.

But she's is. And she's here, in Myka's bedroom.

In Myka's bed.

Abigail had warned Myka. Abigail had said she'd been unable to locate HG's room.

Because HG Wells shouldn't be alive, and the B&B knows that. The Warehouse knows that. Myka knows that.

But she's sleeping in Myka's bed, and though she lies still she's clearly not dead.

Her hair is a shimmering mass of wonder. Her lips are curled into a smile. She's in one of Myka's shirts, and probably (hopefully) pants too.

HG Wells finally got into Myka's pants. Heh. Myka chuckles to herself under her breath, careful not to wake the sleeping woman in her bed.

Her arms are curled around Myka's teddy bear, and she holds him to her chest the same way Myka does. She seems comforted.

She's alive. She's asleep. And Myka is watching her because there is nothing else in the world she would rather do right now.

Finally Myka steps forward, and she grasps HG's shoulder.

HG blinks sleepily up at her, then a smile breaks across her face, the way waves break on their way to shore. Slowly, steadily, then all at once.

"I apologise for the imposition, but Abigail is still rather new at the business, and she said you were out of town." HG yawns and stretches, and Myka is breathless at the sight of those little limbs under her baggy shirt. She leaps forward and hugs HG, bringing them both crashing down to the mattress. HG is technically trapped, but that's never stopped her from escaping before.

She doesn't struggle. She never does. Not when it's Myka holding the gun, the handcuffs, the gun (again), the Tesla. HG just sinks deeper into the blankets under Myka with a soft, pleased hum as she relinquishes Myka's teddy bear in favour of his owner. Her hands are soft, but her body is hard from years of fighting.

Myka can't quite manage words. HG is alive. HG is in her arms. HG is holding her.

"S-stay," Myka stutters, blushing when she hears HG's pleased chuckle from beneath her, feeling the expansion of HG's chest when oxygen enters it.

"I have nowhere else to go."

Myka should ask what happened, how HG escaped, if this is real, but she's so scared it's not that she can't.

She just holds the only person who knows her until she can form a full sentence.

Which is several hours and several naps later.

When she wakes, HG is sleeping. Sunlight casts long shadows across her face, her delicate brow, her soft lips. Myka nestles closer and tries to stay awake. Just in case the next time she wakes it's not real.

When she wakes, she's cradled in HG's arms. HG is looking at her like she's an invention she's not clever enough to think up on her own, and Myka glows.

She's always known. Since the moment they met. Even after being betrayed, Myka hasn't stopped knowing. She's always known HG, just as HG has always known her. HG's fingers trail over the skin of Myka's arms and the rest of her body hates not being touched by her. The rest of her body resents and envies the tender flesh of her inner forearm, of the inside of her wrist, and finally her palm.

They're never held hands before. They've never slept together before, either, but they both knew that one of them would cave and the other would follow in relief.

"I missed you," HG says, and she's solid. She's not a holograph, or a shell. She's not a dream, not this time. She's together, she's whole, and her clipped accent is music to Myka's ears. A whole sympathy, a whole symphony. Myka lets her fingers thread through HG's so they're entwined. So HG can't skip away again.

"Where have you been?"

"I was in a hospital for rather a while," HG says, and of all things, Myka had expected an artifact to save her, not science. She'd checked all of HG's known aliases. "I appear to be better now. I'll never walk unassisted again. You should know that now, before..."

"Before what?" Myka challenges her.

"Before you kiss me," HG says, so irritatingly certain that Myka had been about to. "Before you commit to someone broken."

"You've never been broken," Myka tells her, and she kisses HG's knuckles. "You've been angered by injustice, and the world has been unjust to you. Are you in pain?"

"Not - not right now. Not anymore."

"Can you forgive me?" Myka asks, her voice cracking, and HG's hand leaves hers only so she can hold Myka tighter.

"Whatever for?"

"For not being in time. For not saving you. For not thinking of a way to save you. I still can't think of one."

"It's you who must forgive me, darling. I could have come sooner. I could have let you know I was alive. But I thought you wouldn't want me."

Myka can see the crutches now, propped against the bed. She wonders how long it had taken HG to get back on her feet this time.

"One more question," Myka says, and she feels HG nod, her chin against Myka's head where it rests on her chest. "Can I kiss you?"

"You would?" HG's voice is shy this time, and filled with wonder. Myka answers that question with a kiss, and HG is filled with enough wonder for an eternity.

HG Wells shouldn't be alive, but she's warm and responsive and moaning into Myka's mouth. And Myka can't waste another moment with her.

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #tumblr fic

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Pumpkins

Myka Bering and the bank own a house. This is important to the story. It is a small house, but it has a front porch that looks out over a quiet street, and French windows that open onto a small back lawn with an apricot tree in the middle. The house is one-hundred and thirty years old, and in a much better condition now than when Myka Bering had first bought it. Then it was sad and unsightly, with paint peeling off its weatherboards and a tin roof that banged in the wind. When you flicked on the light switch it made noises and when you turned the tap on worrisome things happened. But Myka read renovation books and went to night-classes. She stripped and sanded and repainted the house, replacing its rotting weatherboards. She pulled up the old carpet and polished the floorboards underneath. She hung wallpaper, unjammed windows, replaced panes of glass, and even repaired the plumbing herself. But she got an electrician in to rewire the house; and, though she nailed down the loose pieces of her rusty iron roof herself, she began saving up for a new roof. Now the house is trim and tidy and even smart, in a modest way.

The house is in an old neighbourhood that is currently unfashionable. It still has short, narrow streets lined with telephone poles, which cars are slow to navigate, and a small church or a corner store every few blocks. There are orange trees in some people’s yards and old rusted vehicles in others, each yard separated by a completely different style of fence, or a scraggly hedge, or nothing at all, just a strip of grass. Myka Bering says that that one day, when house prices rise and the area becomes desirable, she will be able to sell her house for considerably more than she paid for it. But after she had built and filled an enormous bookshelf that took up the entire internal wall, spanning from the front windows of the lounge to the end of the small dining room, people had decided that she was probably going to stay.

In the evenings, after she has cleaned her small kitchen, Myka Bering might sit down in an armchair beneath the great bookshelf and read. On Friday and Saturday nights she has a glass of wine and puts cello concertos on the stereo; and if it is warm she will open the French windows in the kitchen and enjoy the scent of orange blossom drifting through the house. Sometimes her friend Abigail will come over and drink wine with her and try and talk her into going out.

“It’s been four years,” Abigail will say, “time to get back on that horse, kid. They’re not all secretly married.”

And Myka will roll her eyes and say “I am perfectly content staying at home.”

“Yeah, no shit,” Abigail will say, “Christ, Mykes. I bet I’m the first person you’ve talked to in days.”

“Not true!” Myka will say, triumphant, “I had an exciting conversation with Mrs Kim about the tinned tomatoes she had on sale yesterday! And anyway,” she will add as Abigail rolled her eyes, “I like living quietly by myself. I count myself lucky to be able to.”

“I’m just jealous,” admits Abigail one evening, “Every week I have to explain to my mother why Josh and I aren’t breeding, and hear statistics on the dwindling fertility rate in women our age.”

“Well, she has to tell you these things because you didn’t become a real doctor.”

“Real doctor my ass,” Abigail mutters, and takes a big sip of wine.

“Kids are nice,” says Myka, who is an aunt. “And other people’s kids, who I can leave with their parents at the end of the day, are the nicest of all.”

And Abigail looks about at the tasteful ornaments and unmarked lounge suite and kilim carpet and finds it hard to imagine children trampling into this oasis of calm.

Myka Bering has done well for herself. When she first started living in the house she would get up at five and rush about, taking breakfast with her to eat as she drove to work in the same old Nissan Bluebird that she had had since college. But now she gets up at seven, turns the radio onto NPR, and leaves it playing as she makes herself a cup of coffee and sits down at her computer in the small office she has set up in the back bedroom. She has replaced her old car with one that she doesn’t have to keep having repaired, and she wears nicer suits on the days when she goes into the city. And after a few years she did indeed hire men to come in and replace the old roof, so that she didn’t have to keep climbing up with her hammer every autumn.

But still she continues to live quietly, sticking to her routine. Perhaps she’s more likely to work late into the evenings instead of sitting in her chair and reading. The walls of the back bedroom-office have slowly accumulated pinned maps and diagrams and lists, and the spare bed has become a place to keep folders and file boxes. Myka buys an oak bookshelf for the room and fills it with heavy textbooks on city design and transport planning, and from time to time as she works she will push her office chair across to the shelf and consult one. But other than these few things the room is sparse. While the rest of the house is filled with lovely rich colours, the back bedroom-office, where she spends so much of her waking time, remains white and utilitarian. 

“You’ve become a hermit. It’s very you, but it’s not healthy,” her sister tells her on one of her occasional visits. She lives somewhere far away, and when she arrives she has a suitcase and Myka changes the sheets and opens the windows of the second-best bedroom.

“I have a very nice life,” Myka replies.

“You have a very nice house,” rejoins her sister, “It’s not the same thing.”

And then they will quarrel until one of them cries, or stomps out of the room in a temper, or they both become distracted by a pop song from their adolescence.

“Well, if you’re happy I suppose that’s that,” says Abigail with a sigh as she puts her coat on one evening. “Are you happy?”

“Of course I am,” says Myka.

One winter’s day Myka Bering is woken up by a phone call. She has fallen asleep curled around the folders and file boxes on her spare bed, after spending days and nights working on a difficult project. It takes her several tries to get the phone to work.

“H’llo?” she finally mutters into the device.

“Myka! Where are you!? I’m waiting in Arrivals!” says her sister.

“Arrivals?” yawns Myka.

“Arrivals! At the Denver airport! Holy fuck, Myka, have you missed the fucking plane?”

“Wha’?” says Myka sitting up. “No, that’s tomorrow…”

“It IS tomorrow you idiot!” yells her sister. “How could you lose track of the day!? You!? Have you just spent the whole week in that house not speaking to anyone!? Oh my god, you have haven’t you!?”

Myka runs into her bedroom and begins hastily packing a suitcase while her sister continues shouting in a tinny voice that she certainly isn’t going to tell their parents that Myka won’t be making it to Thanksgiving, and that Myka needs to sort her life out.

“My life is fine,” mutters Myka as she grabs her keys and drags her suitcase out to the car.

But perhaps it is time Myka Bering’s life had a little bit of a shake-up. We’ll start small, though. We’ll open a gate.

Myka Bering does not consider herself much of a gardener. This is important too. I suspect the deficit is due more to a lack of interest than a lack of ability, because I believe that Myka can do anything she puts her mind to.

But instead she pays Mr Jackson to keep the strip of front lawn tidy and to mow the grass around the apricot tree every other week. And because she mostly works from home now, when he arrives she will leave the back bedroom-office and help him shift the wooden lawn furniture she keeps under the tree into the driveway, and then back again when he is finished.

The back lawn is perfect. It is flat and even, largely because she had hired a roller in her first year in the house, and had spent several Saturdays onerously rolling the ground flat. In the spring and summer, before Mr Jackson is due to cut it, the grass in the back yard grows almost long, with dandelions and clover flowers everywhere and bees happily wandering about. On sunny evenings Myka Bering sits outside in a lawn chair under the apricot tree, and has her dinner and reads.

Other than the tree — and a small shed tucked up against the back fence — the lawn spreads out to the fence line, unmarred by any hedge or flowerbed. Myka has not grown anything else in the yard in the four years she has lived there, other than some night stock that she planted beside the French windows one year so that the perfume would drift inside the house when she hooked them open in the evenings; but night stock is, of course, an annual, and she didn’t bother replacing it the next year. Myka Bering prefers things neat and tidy and low-maintenance.

Now, decades ago the Alvarado family had lived in the house and had been good friends with the Rojas family in the house next door (that is, until Adriana Rojas ran off to New York with Izzy Alvarado to become Rockettes, thus causing a rupture that was never fully repaired). In the evenings, after supper, the parents would sit together on the front porch of one of the houses and drink beer and talk and listen to the baseball or swing music on the radio, while their children ran up and down the street. And when night fell, and they would call everyone inside and bid each other a good night.

And so, when it came time to replace the old fence between the two properties, Mano Alvarado suggested putting in a gate halfway down, so that the families didn’t always need to walk out onto the street and around every time they wanted to go between the two back yards.

Mano and John Rojas were both builders, and they knew their trade. When they built something, they built it to last for two generations and more. And so the gate still stood there, halfway down the back yard fence, when Myka Bering (and the bank) bought the little house. 

Myka had tried the gate once, when she first moved in, and found its old hinges immovable and its latch stuck fast, all fused solid by rust. And deciding that this was as good as a fence she had left it alone. She had painted it, of course, or at least she had painted her side of it; and now it was a fetching bottle green, to match the lawn and the apricot tree. But, not intending to ever use the gate, she didn’t bother replacing the hinges and broken latch, and rarely thought of it again.

And so one afternoon in April Myka Bering is standing in her kitchen putting together a cheese sandwich. It is past three o’clock so she doesn’t allow herself any more coffee, but a snack is permissible. It is spring, and she has the French windows open, and a movement outside makes her look up.

There is a girl in her back yard.

The girl is standing beyond the apricot tree, intently examining a corner of the lawn.

Myka Bering steps out of the house and walks over the perfectly level grass towards her.

“Hello?” she says cautiously, “Can I help you?”

The girl turns to look at her. She is maybe nine? ten? years old and has long, black hair and dark eyes. She is wearing jeans and an adult’s t-shirt that says ‘A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE REVOLUTION’.

“Do you rent?” she asks Myka.

“What?” says Myka.

“Do you rent this house?” says the girl, and then, perhaps supposing that Myka may not be familiar with the concept of renting, she adds: “Does somebody else own your house and you pay them money each week in order to live in it?” She has a vaguely mid-Atlantic accent.

“Oh. No,” says Myka. “I own it. Me and the bank.”

This answer seems to please the girl, though she doesn’t smile. She turns fully around now, so that she faces Myka and holds up an envelope. “Then can I—” she stops, frowns, takes a breath, and starts again “—may I plant pumpkins in your garden?”

Myka blinks. “Well, no. I don’t have a garden… Sorry, who are you? And, uh, where did you come from?”

The girl points with the hand not holding the envelope. The green gate is now ajar.

“How on earth did you manage to open that?” Myka asks. “I was sure it was rusted shut. You live next door? I thought the Menzies were there?”

The girl shrugs. “I don’t know who they are,” she says, “I live there now, with mamma.” She gives an Old World pronunciation to the last word. “Which means we’re neighbours. So can I — may I — plant pumpkins in your garden?”

Myka Bering finds herself looking about for another adult to take over, but her back yard stubbornly persists in containing only the two of them. “Hey, I really don’t know if you should be talking to strangers without your, uh, mamma,” she tries, “You don’t know anything about me. I could be a bad guy.”

“Mamma says it’s perfectly reasonable to speak to people one doesn’t know because otherwise one will never find friends or make one’s way in the world.” announces the girl, “And also that statistically I am in far more danger from family members than strangers,”

“Oh,” says Myka.

The girl nods. “I reminded her that she was my only family member. She said that I would do well to keep that fact in mind.”

Myka looks back at the green gate in the wall.

“So. Mrs Pérez gave everyone in the class pumpkin seeds today, and I want to plant my ones here, please.” The girl, it seems, will not be side-tracked by trivialities like stranger-danger. “She told us that they would be ready by Halloween, and we could make jack o’lanterns.”

“But why can’t you plant them in your back yard?” asks Myka.

With tremendous patience the girl explains. “Because we rent. And Mamma says I can’t dig up the lawn because the landlord mows the lawn himself and he will see. But you don’t rent, and you don’t have anything else growing here, only grass. So can I plant my seeds here?”

Myka Bering tries to think of a reason why the girl couldn’t plant pumpkin seeds in her back yard and fails.

“I… suppose you could,” she says. “Where would you plant them?”

The girl points at the corner she was inspecting. “I thought the pumpkins would be out of the way there.”

Myka examines the spot. It seems as adequate to the purpose as any other.

“Alright,” she says, tentatively, reluctantly. “But right at the edge, okay? I don’t want too much of my lawn dug up.”

The girl nods her agreement. “Thank-you,” she adds, very properly.

“Uh, I think pumpkins need a lot of water. Maybe? You’ll have to look it up. So you’ll have to water them regularly. I’m not going to,” says Myka, trying to regain ground she suspects she has never really had since this conversation began.

“Of course,” says the girl. “I have a watering can.”

“Well then,” says Myka, taking a step towards the garden shed, “Um, do you want a spade or…?”

“I have a trowel,” says the girl. “I only want to make small holes and drop each seed in. You don’t want your lawn dug up,” she reminds Myka.

“No,” says Myka. “I don’t. Well, uh. Okay. G’bye, then.”

“Good-bye,” says the girl, who is already turning towards the green gate in the fence, presumably to fetch her trowel.

Myka watches her disappear and then looks about the back yard. Everything appears quite normal, but she feels a faint apprehension of an approaching change... still beyond the horizon, but inexorably on its way, like the pressure drop before a thunderstorm. After a moment she shakes her head and goes back inside and finishes making her sandwich.

As she carries on with her work that afternoon, Myka Bering occasionally looks out through the window of the back bedroom-office and watches the girl at the end of the yard. The apricot tree obscures much of her activity, but she spends a lot of time carefully digging. And later she has a metal watering can which she judiciously applies to certain spots about her.

That evening Myka goes out to look over the girl’s labours. There, cut into the grass that ran along the fence line, are twelve black holes, each about the diameter of a coffee-cup. Myka looks back at the green gate. It is now shut. Still feeling a little uneasy Myka Bering walks back inside and begins to prepare her dinner.

#bering and wells #tumblr fic

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Soon

submitted by: anonymous

Soon (155799 words) by @apparitionism Chapters: 42/42 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Abigail Cho, Vanessa Calder Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, AU 1950s, can't say much more without spoiling it Summary: On an unusually warm and humid January day in 1952, in the heart of Washington, D.C., Myka Bering meets the woman who will bring into her life magic, music, madness, mayhem… everything our B&W are about, at a time in history that was not at all congenial to a love like theirs. Desire, betrayal, destruction, salvation: welcome to Soon.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

This is one of the most riveting AUs in this fandom (and that's saying something!) It is so good!!

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#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #soon (fic title) #apparitionism #anonymous submission #published 2016 #fandom classic #submitted 2024-03 #2024 #march 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Jurassic Warehouse (Difficulties in Dinosaur Discipline)

submitted by: anonymous

Jurassic Warehouse (Difficulties in Dinosaur Discipline) (6334 words) by @h1bernate Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Claudia Donovan, Pete Lattimer Additional Tags: Dinosaurs, Hijinks & Shenanigans Summary: There are dinosaurs in the Warehouse, and Myka is the only one who seems to understand that this is serious. (There may also be some feelings in trees.)

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

Hijinks & Shenanigans is exactly right. This fic is a ROMP.

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Remember that you can submit fics to be featured here, too! This is actually the end of my queue, so any further submissions are very welcome! Here's the link to the submission form (Google Form)!

#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #Jurassic Warehouse (Difficulties in Dinosaur Discipline) #h1bernate #anonymous submission #published 2012 #submitted 2024 03 #2024 #march 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

The Acme of Skill

submitted by: anonymous

The Acme of Skill (2735 words) by @badlance Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Warehouse 13 Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells Characters: Myka Bering, Helena "H. G." Wells, Pete Lattimer Summary: Myka and H.G., f-i-g-h-t-i-n-g.

Please tell us why you like this fic so much!

It's a short one, but so well written! Myka and Helena spar in a dojo (yes, Leena's has a dojo, just roll with it). Things go... just about as you might expect.

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Remember that you can submit fics to be featured here, too! This is actually the end of my queue, so any further submissions are very welcome! Here's the link to the submission form (Google Form)!

#warehouse 13 #wh13 #w13 #bering and wells #bering & wells #myka bering #helena wells #helena g wells #the acme of skill #badlance #anonymous submission #published 2011 #submitted 2024 02 #2024 #february 2024

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

👀

seconded

I was tagged by @lilolilyr to post the last sentence of my current WIP. Which is Amanuensis, a murder mystery Warehouse 13 AU co-writtem by @madronash - here is the last sentence of the chapter I'm currently working on:

Please, let this night blend together later in my mind, blend together with all the other nights I will spend with Myka in my arms.

Um. Definitely a little juicy and I admit the rest of the passage preceding isn't any the less so!

I'm not tagging people but this is a fun one, so anybody who wants to play, consider yourself tagged!

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

Hello!

I was wondering, seeing as you're on a Bering and Wells streak, what are your favorite fics? Any recommendations?

Have a nice day!

I held onto this one for a while hoping I would get a chance to read some more and provide some actual recs, but this month is just flying away from me 😅 Unfortunately I didn't keep good records of what I read back when the show was airing and can't remember any from the first time around. And I've only read a handful of fic since I fell back into B&W, but I do have one rec: Grounds by CurlyTuft. It's post-Instinct and totally hit the spot as a fix-it fic for me!

I'm hoping to have the time/energy to read more soon, so maybe I'll have more recs in the near future!

#bering and wells #warehouse 13 #fic rec

[fuckyeah-beringandwellsfics]

#right or wrong#i admire how janeway is always the one#who goes#the buck stops with me#she makes the hard choices on voyager#especially during debates#when the staff just goes around and around in circles#like in memorial where she starts just in the background#listening to the senior staff debate#from how janeway started in episode 2 of season 1#where she's presented with the horrific#sophie's choice of neelix dying because he has no lungs#and then subjecting another person to the same fate#to the (now boring debate about tuvix)#to this moment#to the moment on the memorial episode#she will take on that burden#and she will always stare at the hardest choice unflinchingly#because someone has to#as the 12th doctor once said#sometimes all your choices are bad ones#but you still have to choose#kathryn janeway#star trek voyager#captain my captain#reblog via @isagrimorie

So much this!! She is the one who *has* to make the decision in the end. No matter what. She can't turn it over to an admiral or president or court or what-have-you; *she* is the highest and only authority.

(poor girl is gonna need so much therapy when she's back...)

The only issue I'm concerned about is the well-being of that crew member lying in sick bay. We'll wrestle with the morality of the situation later, after B'Elanna is back on her feet. Doctor, you have my authorisation to proceed with Moset's assistance.

STAR TREK: VOYAGER - S5E8 Nothing Human