#ebonrune

my dash did a thing

who steals french fries off the other’s plate?

Sif is the food thief, instigator that she is. She fully expects that he will get her back one way or another. 

who jokingly moves in for the kiss when someone asks if they’re a couple?

Neither. Though Sif will reach for his hand, or step in close. Regardless, there’s no joke in it. Even when they’re not a couple they care deeply for each other. 

who has to bust or bail the other out of jail?

Bill. Sif has a tendency to get a little out of hand in some situations. Especially situations where alcohol and celebrating are involved. 

who gives the other advice/comfort about dating issues?

Both of them. Ultimately they both want the other to be happy, and neither one has had any particular luck in love. There’s probably less advice and more comfort which probably amounts to sparring, drinking, and maybe bailing Sif out of jail...

who shamelessly cheats at games by reaching over to cover the other’s eyes

Neither Bill nor Sif is prone to cheating, but should one of them start to gloat about their lead (and yes, that is definitely a thing that happens) then either one might take measures to level the playing field even if they have to ‘stretch the rules’ to do so. 

who immediately calls dibs on the top bunk

Sif, because watching Bill try to squeeze himself into the bottom bunk always amuses her. She does, however, relent (usually) and let him have the top where he’s a little less constricted once she’s teased him a bit. 

who starts and who wins the pillow fights

Sif starts it. She always enjoys a good fight in any medium. That doesn’t guarantee that she will win, but she definitely will not call a truce. A victor must be decided. 

who says “your pants would look better on their floor” to the other’s potential crush

When I put down one of my Siamese, he stuck around for years and even followed me to my new home, which is where he said goodbye. I think they know they're loved, and are reluctant to let go of us too. As for the wild, I think they rejoin the Earth.

Ha-ha! Your Canadian eye spotted right, I’m afraid—yet another chilling proof of the infamous ace superpowers, shiver, Normaloids, the Revolution nears!—although I had the occasion to argue, recently, with a special brand of self-righteous arse proclaiming itself “European”. Which no one seems to feel compelled to do anywhere in Europe, but let’s not assume this means anything, shall we.

The very last boor, the one with a wonderfully approximate estimation of what constitutes correct English grammar, presents herself as “extremely relaxed Catholic”, “exceptionally black and exquisitely gay” with capitals everywhere. Picture me bewildered, as I did not believe there could be such thing as a relaxed Catholic—fidgety people, the Catholics, all that guilt, it’s hard to suppress—and this is really not the definition I would give for “exquisite”, in which I’ve always imagined more… less vulgarity, say.

Naturally, the truth is I just can't choose. There aren't just ten series I love or loved, and I could certainly not rate many of my favourite shows. So, I'll make you a long-arse list, which will be much more honest.

(More or less) Historical:

Rome

Deadwood

Sherlock Holmes (with Jeremy Brett)

Peaky Blinders

Boardwalk Empire

The Knick

Poirot

Mad Men

Sci-Fi, Fantasy or Superhero:

Babylon 5

Farscape

Battlestar Galactica

The Walking Dead

Game of Thrones

Avatar: The Last Airbender

The Legend of Korra

Firefly

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Supernatural

Doctor Who

Being Human (UK)

The X-Files

The 4400

Fringe

Haven

Life on Mars (U.K.!!!)

Sleepy Hollow

Dead Like Me

Pushing Daisies

Misfits

Arrow

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Gotham

Cop, Procedural or Espionage:

The Wire

The Shield

Spiral (Engrenages)

The Killing

Broadchurch

Longmire

Fargo

Justified

Sherlock

Elementary

Profiler

Dexter

Hannibal

The Newsroom

The Good Wife

The Blacklist

Burn Notice

Humour:

Ally McBeal

Sex and the City

Black Books

Blackadder

Arrested Development

Archer

My Mad Fat Diary

The Lizzie Bennet Diaries

The Daily Show with Jon Stewart

The Colbert Report

Miscellaneous:

Six Feet Under

Weeds

Breaking Bad

Treme

House of Cards

You'll notice I didn't include anything too old, or I would have had to add Columbo, The Avengers, The Persuaders!, and probably downhill from there into craptastic cheeso-kitschy territory, and no one must know how much I used to love Barracuda from The A-Team.

Also, yes, I do have Supernatural in my favouritest shows ever. Seasons not helmed by Eric Kripke do not exist to me, of course. Same goes for shows like Doctor Who, for which I'll ignore the whole Moffat era, ew.

I  counted the days while you were gone. The words come to mind, sit heavily upon her tongue. Yet she can’t speak them, dares not because the man she would say them to is there, sitting across from her as he has thousands of times before, but he is not the man who was her friend.

She is his friend, she will always be his friend, there for him if ever he calls to her, and he will. He always does request her assistance. Perhaps that is the comfort she will take in hanging on to the oaths that she could have let go, severed by law in his own actions. Even if she is only an afterthought, he can recognize her usefulness.

But when he seeks comfort or companionship, it is not her face he thinks of, not her name, and should she need the same, she is no longer comfortable imposing her own troubles upon someone who thinks nothing of the possibility that she might have them.

People change. He has changed, they both know. He who has turned away from all he once was, and she wonders if he hates the parts of her that are so similar to that which he so dislikes in himself.

She shakes it off as best she can, the fingers of her left hand rubbing across the knuckles of her right. Many a man has sprayed his life’s blood over her hands, but, while most of it has washed off easily enough, a handful of faces haunt her, their deaths her responsibility in more ways than just where she stuck her blade.

“Lady Sif.” He greets her, his voice so familiar, but his eyes are not. She smiles at him anyway.

“My Lord Thor.” His eyes linger on hers for a moment, but he says nothing, and she exhales, missing the friend who would have seen her worries. The one she watched die a mortal’s death by the Destroyer’s hand.