#carefulwrites

[careful-please]

His hand is poised to knock, loose fist stopped mid air when he hears a crash from behind the door. With everything that has happened to her during her time at the base he really can't be blamed for the huge spike of fear that shoots through him. He immediately opens the door, his other hand already reaching out to help her.

"Beth-"

Instead of his worst fears, he is greeted with the sight of her pale, plump thighs wiggling her rump in the air as she reaches over the side of the bed for something that had obviously fallen, cursing mildly as she sits back to scowl at it in her hand. The oversized hoodie she wore was the only thing protecting her modesty and the cursed thought that she might not be wearing any knickers refused to let him think of anything for a solid minute before he forced himself to focus.

"Lass, are you alright?" He asked while fighting back a deep flush and averting his gaze from the sight of her long, pale legs.

"Oh. Captain. Yes I'm fine. Do you need something?" She tilted her head slightly while looking up at him.

"I- no I just- i heard a crash but I guess it was a false alarm. " He rubbed the back of his neck as he finished. 

"Oh yeah.  Just me being a clutz again. Nothing bad." She was fidgeting with the hoodie, expression barely hiding her frustration.

" You know you can talk to me about anything, sweetheart. You don't have to bottle it up. Im sorry you had to experience that. I discharged him, so it shouldn't be a problem ever again. "

"Ah. Well I'm just frustrated about my shorts. They were my favorite. " she sighed heavily. " The boys tried to make me feel better. But everything has just been off since. Feels almost like they wasted their efforts. And that makes me feel guilty, I don't want it to be a waste. Just- nothing is going right since that-." She makes a vague gesture.

Price nods in understanding.

"I understand. Im sorry you're feeling frustrated." He runs a hand through his hair. "I wish I knew how to help. "

She perks up and pats the bed beside her, silently beckoning he to sit as she speaks.

"It's enough knowing you care so much. I really appreciate everything you do for me. I still feel helpless sometimes and it's comforting to know I can lean on the team. I feel like a burden but there's not much I can do about all this. Hunting the people who tortured me and ghost will take time. I just wish I could fight with you."

"Bunny, I never want you in harms way. You aren't a burden. You are the most amazing woman I have ever met. But you are still just a civilian. Im not going to put a gun in your hands. Never."

Price wraps an arm around her in comfort, drawing her close. She lays her head on his shoulder and sighs gently.

"I know you don't want to, but with how determined life is to hurt me, you may not have a choice one day. I ought to know the basics at least. If nothing else, I should know how to engage the safety on any gun."

"Well,  maybe. But I'm not letting you shoot any of them. " he concedes with a huff.

"Awww come on. " she whines, trying to looks at him with puppy dog eyes. It's ruined by the grin she tries to hide unsuccessfully.

" Nope. Not gonna happen, Bunny. Not on my watch." Price shakes his head firmly.

She looks down at their legs pressed together and shifts from side to side.

"But we aren't on your watch. I think you left it in your desk." Now her grin is obvious and cheeky.

Price tries hard to keep a stern look of disapproval but can't help a grin of his own.

" Bunny." He warns.

"Aww come on.  That was clever and you know it."

Price just shakes his head again.  They stay like that for a few moments until Price can no longer resist.

"Why aren't you wearing any bottoms?"

"Ah. Just got out the shower. "

"Oh. I see. ...."

She looks at him expectantly.

"......are you....?" He nods at her lap.

This grin is salacious.

"Wanna find out?" She winks.

His face is quickly turns red as he groans.

"Seriously?! Why must you be such a bloody tease?"

" Because I'm your Bunny. You love it anyway. " she giggles.

He growls as he moves to push her onto the bed and leaves kisses all over her face and neck.

" Your going to be the death of me." He grumbles half heartedly. One of his hands sliding up her thigh to confirm she is,  in fact, not wearing knickers.

[careful-please]

If thor had survived loki would have come back and helped thrud get her dad completely sober. Like every time he gets drunk and falls asleep they paint dicks on his face. It's so aggravating cause he can never catch them doing it and he starts getting too paranoid to even look at mead. Sobriety successful. And then tyr starts baking with him as stress relief and thor gives him shit for wearing an apron that Freya sewed for him. Cue the flour fight. Lots of giggling all around. 😇

[careful-please]

Meditation. A relaxed state of mind and body. Free of pressing thoughts or the need to run. A temporary peace.

Tyr gives one of the best examples. Sat cross-legged with his hands lightly resting on his knees, hands upturned. Eyes closed and breathing even. The picture of calm.

Kratos had to learn meditation to control his anger and focus his rage. He sits on his knees, fists loose against his thighs, eyes closed and head bowed. He breathes deep and exhales slowly. Calm and as relaxed as anyone has ever seen him.

Thor doesn't like to sit on the floor. It's harder to get up when he's ready. He'll sit on a short ledge or a chair. Sometimes his eyes are closed and sometimes he just stares into space. Breathing steady, hands loosely gathered in his lap. He finds his empty headspace faster than most.

Atreus takes after his father and Mimir has a near imperceptible hum. White noise to quiet his constantly racing mind.

Baldur struggles to sit still long enough and even falls asleep occasionally when he meditates. It takes longer for the tension to drain out of him. He may be the god of peace but he has never truly known peace in his life.

Heimdall holds perfect posture. Meditation is practically required to maintain his sanity. He has been doing it ever since his powers first manifested. It's the only way he can sleep most of the time.

Freya usually doesn't have the time or patience for meditation. When she does do it, it takes even longer to quiet her mind and find that tiny, fragile peace inside. She unfortunately ties it to her happiness which has been shattered repeatedly. The resentment and pain of her loses have made it so difficult to find rest of any kind.

Freyr hardly manages to sit still long enough. He only ever manages it when he's spread out on his back, facing an empty sky. It starts with staring at the clouds before he finally closes his eyes and evens his breathing. It never lasts long.

A moment is all any of them can ever spare. Peace is so precious and hard to come by. And it seems like it's never enough.

[careful-please]

The forest, as a whole, breathes. The trees tower two and a half stories above the ground. Their roots bulky where they are buried beneath the earth. A few are even wrapped around small boulders. The canopy overhead only allows scattered patches and lonely rays of sunlight to bleed through during the day. The stars are a rare sight from between the thick trunks.

The wind whistles over the tree tops, rustling the leaves. Birdsong fills the hollows just below the branches while squirrels and chipmunks dash from limb to limb gathering nuts. Rabbits and mice feast on the bounty of the underbrush, fruits and seeds and succulent greens. Predators slink through the shadows looking for their next meal. The wolves, bobcats, and bears. With the occasional sly fox mocking all of them for fun.

The sounds of the forest are in sync. It breathes. Making a strange sort of peace for the apex predator; humans.

[careful-please]

Soft and warm. That feeling you get while dozing in the sun. When you curl up infront of a fire with a blanket and mug of hot liquid. When you're pet is napping beside you. When your favorite person hugs you.

It's soft, like a welcome home. Like a brand new pillow. Like a marshmallow. Like whipped cream on a sundae. Like the belly fur of a cat.

It's warm like a slab of concrete sitting in the sun. A lazy afternoon in the park. Like fresh laundry. Like bread straight out of the oven. Warm like I love you.

And I do. I love the way you smile. The way you sing. I love the way you laugh at my poor jokes. I love my hands in your hair and my head on your shoulder. I love the way you look at me and the way you think of me when I'm not there. I especially love the way you love me. Unconditionally, without reservation.

I still remember the day you left. I remember the pain I felt and all the stages of grief I suffered through. I remember your words on your deathbed. Still trying to comfort me even though you were the one in pain. You told me the sun will rise and fall as it always has. The days will pass and I will be part of the world that just keeps spinning. You said even when I cry over and over because you're gone, you will still be here. Still smiling at me, still laughing at my poor jokes, and still loving me. The last thing you ever said to me was that you would never stop loving me even in death.

And darling, I'll never stop loving you either. Forever and always.

[careful-please]

She sat in his lap giggling madly. Her kisses passionate yet gentle. Her hands softly kneeding the muscles of his shoulders. Such pretty eyes looking up at him through her thick lashes. He could tell that she only wanted his attention but wasn't in the mood for a romp tonight. When had he begun to tell the difference? He knew if he pressed she wouldn't turn him down, but it wouldn't be as sweet or satisfying. So he settled for her honey kisses and tinkling laughter, humming a listless tune against his shoulder as she clung to him. She always loved the scrape of his beard against her skin, tickling her head, leaving her feeling warm and loved. She always felt giddy with childish glee whenever he rumbled deep in his chest. She couldn't contain her giggles as she pressed close to feel it vibrating through her hands or against her back.

Yes, nothing quite like snuggling with the biggest Aesir god. As if the half gaint was made to engulf her completely in his embrace. She wouldn't trade the feeling for anything in the world. And his contented sigh suggested he felt the same.

[careful-please]

Rest. When the body heals. When the mind slows down. A day of stress and pain and heartache is made to pause for a few hours so one can gather strength to face more horrors.

We know Kratos has fitful rest often. When he dreams it is always a warning. And when he doesn't, rest is just a state where he does not exist in the world. As a God he doesn't need it every day, but it can help when his mind is troubled.

For Atreus, rest always comes with the risk of prophetic dreams. It is worse than his father, but likely just like his mother. He was raised believing he needed daily rest. He still struggles with the mentality that it isn't always necessary but it isn't bad either.

Freya has suffered sleepless nights for so many years that she finds it difficult to rest at all. She works tirelessly for weeks before collapsing from exhaustion. It is the only way to avoid the nightmares.

Freyr is similar the his sister. He is still haunted by the abuse of the Aesir and the nightmares linger even after centuries have passed. So he will often turn to herbs and mead to find proper rest.

Thor only sleeps when he drinks. And it never feels like proper rest. He always wakes feeling more exhausted than ever. Unless Sif convinces him to lay with her as she runs her fingers through his hair and sings very softly to him. If he's lucky, Thrúd will crawl in between them and cling to her father, complaining about nightmares of mean giants, asking him to protect her from her dreams. Only then does he find true rest.

Týr has to meditate to avoid throwing himself out of bed when a nightmare shakes him violently from his rest. He has to calm his mind and put his memories of the prison cell away before he can attempt sleep. Sometimes he doesn't bother trying and spends several weeks traversing the nine realms to stave off exhaustion.

Baldur sleeps like the dead. It doesn't seem to affect him the way it does everyone else. But the night is empty and silent and ever so boring so he just sleeps like them. Rest is not an option, just a far away dream.

They say rest is not for the wicked, but they find it easier than most. The conscious makes everything difficult when your life is filled with horror, pain, and regret. But everyone needs rest. Else we may never find the peace we yearn for.

[careful-please]

@hotofwar asked for a little something and i couldn't refuse. It was just a really good interesting premise and i wanted to try it. Maybe I'll turn it into sex pollen later.

The fight was brutal, but you managed just fine. A few minor scrapes, maybe a gash on your leg, but overall you are still standing. Kratos on the other hand is not only unharmed, he is also completely clean of any gore as if he didn't just kill 2 dreki in 27 minutes flat. You might have been grumbling under your breath and you might have been a little distracted by Mimir's quips on your 'messy' fighting style while you stomped right into the small patch of flowering bushes.

You nearly choked on the pollen cloud that assaulted your face. Suddenly Kratos was at your side pulling you away from the flowers and Mimir was nattering animatedly about them. One look at the flowers and the head was wincing in sympathy. Apparently the pollen had a paralyzing affect and you were likely going to pass out any moment now. Your vision swam as the drug set in. And you dropped like a stone into the war gods arms.

He picked up your unconscious body carefully and began heading home while interrogating Mimir on possible cures. All the while savoring the rare sight of your relaxed face privately in his mind. You were so beautiful when you were sleeping. He was looking forward to nursing you for a few days, just an excuse to pamper you a little.