#it's the typical magic lost in the modernized era except no one fucking knows if it was magic from gods or real anywho we r gettin divorced

[mourningmaybells]

tightroping between 1950s and DnD sci-fi fantasy speak for my story, but I am absolutely keeping "sauced" as a slang word for drunk.

[mercy-thompson-fanfiction]

The Bear

A/N - I said I’d do a little intro to Sora and her mate.  This is one of their nicer moments, they clash a bit. 

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Sora wasn’t sure how she’d found herself tasked with the responsibility of teaching the newest addition to Aspen Creek everything about living on his own in the modern world.  He was presently sitting on her couch, frowning intensely at whatever silly soap opera was playing.  

He was learning English, she’d stopped trying to help.  It was just frustrating to try and understand him when he spoke in ancient Welsh tongues that only her grandfather, uncle, and sometimes her father recognized.  Instead, she had taken to practicing her telepathy more on him, translating ideas over words. It was easier, she didn’t have to try and communicate in her own Welsh, a dialect as modern as Welsh could be, and he could understand.

Math had snarled at her something along the lines of “that’s cheating” and would insist on using verbal methods.

“Ta’ wants to see you soon,” She reminded him from the kitchen. Sora watched him as he shifted to be able to better turn his head and look at her. His eyes would always make her shudder a little. They were deep brown, almost black, and absolutely startling against his pale, white skin and dirty blonde hair.

Now they squinted at her in confusion.

“Ta’, Taid, the Marrok, grandfather, Bran Cornick, I don’t know what his name was when you knew him.” She listed frustratedly. “You need to wear something that isn’t a pajama.”

He straightened up, seeming to understand what she was explaining, and walked straight towards his bedroom. Sora sighed in relief.

“Shirt?” He asked. His voice was as off-putting as his eyes. She wasn’t yet used to hearing his English, he mostly knew nouns as of current. It always sounded a little too sing-songy and had too heavy a lilt. Once upon a time she had been told the Americas held the original English accent, but Math was probably too old for that to be true somehow.

“Drier.”  She responded after regaining her voice from her start. She proceeded with preparing dinner, figuring she’d have it done and in the slow-cooker before bringing The Bear to meet with his long-lost friend.

Sora had to have zoned out and she cursed herself for her ignorance when movement caught the corner of her eye.

“Fuck, don’t scare me!” Her finger flew to her mouth, she’d cut it in a pass at carrots before she’d seen him. “Damn it! You asshole!”

It was entirely her fault, she should have been paying attention. Something had distracted her, maybe the peace and quiet of a momentarily silent home where a stranger wasn’t breathing down her neck every second trying to speak in English that wasn’t nearly broken enough for when he’d started to learn.

When she’d caught his movement, Math was already in front of her.

Shirtless.

Wolves were attractive, she had to admit. They were more muscle than anything, typically a young teenagers wet dream.

Math wasn’t built quite the same. It was all lean, for someone titled “The Bear”. He was more thin than the stocky build you’d expect, and he was freakishly tall.

“That’s rude.” She corrected. Her grandfather had manners, what was wrong with this man? He’d taken her hand by the wrist only to inspect the bloodied finger and drag her to the faucet. “Oh, so you do know how the tap works. I’m glad. I can finally stop running your showers for you.”

“Good?”

Sora rolled her eyes.

“Fingers bleed a lot, I’ll heal in a few minutes—?” She blinked down at the healed finger.

Werewolves healed fast, so long as it’s not silver or otherwise mortal. She’d come more mentally accustomed to it as the years went by and a small knife scratch was almost nothing to her now.  That said, without any effort on her part it still should’ve taken a few minutes longer to rid herself of it entirely.

His magic lingered around them more a moment more, earthy more than anything—similar to her father but still off.

“What did you do?”

She was going to have a lot of questions for her grandfather or uncle when she saw them.

“No!” A shriek left her lips as she grabbed his hand back. He’d raised it to his lips.

She shoved it under running water and threw in soap, much to his confusion.

“I know your era is unfamiliar with how disease works, but licking someone else’s blood off your fingers is exactly how.” She explained, scrubbing.

She wasn’t sick, she knew that, but her blood in another magic users mouth wasn’t a comforting thought. She and her sister weren’t as powerful as some, but they were strong and they were tied to the pack.

They didn’t need mayhem.

Math seemed to accept the answer, though she was positive he had little to no idea what she was saying, and let her finish rinsing is hands. She stepped back, flicked her own hands, and handed him the towel. She hadn’t realized how close she had been to him.

“Shirt.” She pointed to the little closet that held the washer and drier. He nodded at her and set the towel down. “Don’t put it on!” Her voice became a whine when he got the wrinkled mess out and immediately began to dress.

Sora pulled the fabric from his hand and yanked the ironing board out from the side of the closet.

“Wrinkles aren’t flattering:” She explained, setting up the iron. The shirt was set up on the board as the iron warmed up. Finally, she took it in her hand and demonstrated how to use it. “Until the wrinkles are gone.”

He growled a little under his breath when she tried to share the image with him. While only moments before he had been gentle and caring, he was now bristling. Why he was so offended by her trying to help him, she’d never understand.

Sora snorted and left him to his new job while she changed. It didn’t strike her as a bad idea to leave an adult man unattended with an iron, especially one who seemed to be learning languages so quickly.

He was probably intelligent enough to work an iron.

Except that, when she returned, he still wasn’t done.

“Imbecile.” She grumbled, moving him aside and turning the shirt. He had been ironing the same patch for ten minutes, it was a miracle he’d not burned it.

Not even three minutes later, he was fully clothed.

“Have you learned to tie shoes yet?” Sora slipped into her sneakers. She lifted her head and shook the hair out of her face in time to watch him struggle slightly with his own shoes.

Laced and ready to go, Sora stood up and headed straight for the door.

“Keys.” His voice said softly and she patted her pants. She knew he’d learned this word because she had the tendency to forget them, but it still surprised her. He’d already swiped them from the counter for her.

“Yes.” She agreed. “Keys.”