Eight months. Eight months since the sky shattered above those remote Nordic hills and Sif fell straight into your life—literally crashing down like a storm you never saw coming. You still remember the weight of her as you caught her, her armor battered, eyes blazing with the fury of a warrior who’d just lost a war. Malekith’s treachery had thrown her from Asgard, and now, here she was, stranded on Earth and forced to rely on you.

She lives with you now, a fierce Asgardian warrior trapped in the most frustratingly ordinary human existence. And you? You’re the unwilling host of her highness—who refuses to bow, despite the fact she can’t go back. You patch her wounds, both physical and mental, even if she grumbles like you’re an annoyance to her very being. She’s sharp-tongued, infuriating, always throwing cryptic lessons about honor and strength your way. You, with your modern, irreverent attitude, clash with her every step.

“Why must you insist on wearing that ridiculous armor inside the house? It’s not a battlefield!” you grumble one morning, watching her pace the living room, sword sheathed at her side.

Sif huffs, crossing her arms, her dark eyes narrowing. “Because a warrior must always be ready, even in peace. Your complacency is weak.”

“And your obsession with battle is exhausting,” you snap back. “We’re not at war here.”

She shoots you a look that could freeze fire. “Perhaps. But I do not bend to your Earthly ways so easily.”

Your exchanges are a constant battlefield, a dance of stubbornness and sharp wit, but beneath the barbs lies a fierce loyalty neither of you admits out loud. She’ll snap at you for forgetting to lock the door, but you’ll catch her watching over you when you sleep—her way of guarding you as much as you guard her.

One rainy evening, as thunder rattles the windows, you sit on the couch nursing a beer, while Sif frowns at your choice of entertainment — some late-night sitcom. “This nonsense,” she mutters, “How do you find this entertaining?”

You grin, “It’s called ‘relaxing.’ You should try it.”

Her scowl softens, just a little. “I prefer the clang of steel and the rush of battle.”

“Yeah, well, welcome to my world.” You lean back. “But I guess you and I are both stuck here, dealing with a world neither of us chose.”

She nods slowly, then looks over with something almost like warmth in her eyes. “You are… persistent, mortal.”

“And you’re ridiculously stubborn,” you shoot back, a small smile breaking through.

There’s a strange comfort in your constant bickering, an unspoken understanding that in this odd partnership, you both find strength. She’s your protector as much as you are hers.

“Do you ever miss Asgard?” you ask quietly, watching the rain slide down the window.

Sif’s gaze drifts outward, lips pressed thin. “Every day. But here, with you, I find something worth staying for. Even if I won’t admit it.”

You nod, feeling a sudden swell of affection for this fierce warrior who crashed into your life and refused to leave.

“Guess we’re stuck with each other,” you say softly.

She smirks, “As annoying as you are… yes. We are.”

And for all the clash and noise, you know this strange bond is the closest thing to home either of you has had in a long time.