PRIME ETERNAL

i.     mutuals-only, selective, private. i write at my own pace using lightly formatted text, and i don’t use icons. i don’t care who you write with or how you run your blog, barring the obvious (no whitewashing, hydra muses, etc.).

ii.     i stole those rules from @illusersi who is also my exclusive sersi <3 

iii.     my portrayal is mcu/film-based. might be a few comic influences here and there but i like how the movies portrayed him, so here we are!

iv.     i am open to shipping! ikaris is bisexual, but, well, still ikaris. he’s a little hung up on sersi and also a huge dickhead. proceed with caution. 

“then  i’ll  be  sure  to  buy  you  a  drink  sometime,”  a  promise  she’s  fairly  sure  will  never  come  to  fruition  or  end  up  costing  her  a  dime  ——  that  would  require  her  actually  being  able  to  convince  him  to  go  to  the  bar  with  her  in  the  first  place. (  and  while  that  should  sound  like  massive  incentive  to  actually  get  him  there,  she  knows  she’s  not  as  persuasive  as  she’d  need  to  be.  )

               "how  long  have  you  known  about  buzzfeed,  exactly?“  her  eyes  narrow  slightly  when  she  asks;  she’s  suddenly  not  sure  if  she  should  be  more  offended  that  he’d  never  brought  this  up  sooner,  or  impressed  that  at  some  point,  he’s  probably  gone  down  a  rabbit  hole  of  character  quizzes. what  she  is  sure  of  is  if  she  were  to  make  a  list  of  the  questions  she  never  could  have  imagined  coming  out  of  her  own  mouth,  that  probably  would  have  been  on  it  somewhere. (  and  if  their  situation  wasn’t  as  pressing  as  it  currently  was  ——  or  if  she  actually  thought  for  a  second  that  he’d  actually  talk  to  her  about  it,  she’d  be  asking  a  laundry  list  of  follow  -  ups  right  about  now.  )

but  he’s  already  moved  on  to  inspecting  her  rapidly  un  -  numbing  hands,  the  attention  he’s  paying  as  he  slowly  turns  them  back  and  forth  is  sweet,  even  if  it’s  completely  unnecessary. (  still  ——–  she  won’t  be  telling  him  that  either. he  probably  wouldn’t  believe  her.  )  "careful  what  you  wish  for,  i’m  worse  when  i’m  uncomfortable.”  

she  opens  her  mouth  to  protest;  ready  to  attest  to  the  fact  that  she  is  more  -  than  -  capable  of  getting  herself  out  of  her  own  chair  —–  even  after  being  tethered  to  it  for  a  long  period  of  time  —–  but  she  takes  his  hand  when  he  offers  it  with  a  click  of  her  tongue  instead  of  the  monologue  she  could’ve  unleashed  on  him. a  click  of  her  tongue  and  a  "thank  -  you.“  (  her  mother  would  have  been  rolling  over  in  her  grave  if  she  hadn’t.  )

                "when  have  i  ever  had  a  bad  word  to  say  about  the  way  you  punch?”  now  he  gets  the  scoff  she’d  been  keeping  in;  and  despite  feeling  coming  back  to  both  her  hands  and  the  sting  of  the  rope  finally  beginning  to  fade,  she  continues  to  run  her  palms  around  them  a  few  more  times. “you  punch  like  thor,  what  terrible  things  could  i  possibly  say  about  that?”  see?  admirer. her  tongue  peeks  out  from  between  her  teeth  when  she  smiles, “could’ve  said  the  hulk,  but  i  figured  you’d  like  the  asgardian  god  comparison  instead.”

she indulges him with humour   :       you are more likely to find sersi in a bar than you are to find him.   while his other half dined on the rich pulse of the delicacies of human life,  he knew it was better to not be involved     (    he wonders where the rest of his motley crew had found themselves     ...     makkari had always been solitary,  so he had no doubt that she had curled herself away in some secret corner     --    but what about the rest of his family?    where did they find themselves?     ).     she reminds him of them.   in little ways,  yes,   but sharon holds the same goodness he had seen in his family   :      perhaps they had been more mortal than he thought.    when she smiles,   when she laughs,   when she talks about buying him drinks and going to bars and living lives that were not filled with self - sacrifice,    he reminded her of the best and the worst of his family.     if his heart aches with something akin to longing,   he makes sure to swallow it down.     ‘   i’m not a good sport,  carter.   i’d order the most expensive thing on the menu.   ’

buzzfeed was     ...    a rabbit hole.   ikaris had found out what fruity drink he should make on boring afternoons     (     sex on the beach     ),     where he should go for his honeymoon     (     paris     ),    and what stranger things character he was     (     eleven     ).      ‘  only a little while,   ’     he hedges,  because he doesn’t want to answer any other questions on this matter.     she takes his hand to pull herself up and he squeezes at her red - blushed knuckles,  no doubt from the scrap they had found themselves in before they were apprehended.     he knows she can handle herself,   but she is brutally human,   and his worry engulfed him   :      better that than grief.     ‘   you don’t have to thank me.   i’ve never wrapped my head around that      --      the way you humans seem so obsessed with thanking each other for every little thing.   ’

she  lets  out  a  low  but  still  audible  ’boo’  when  he  suggests  she  isn’t  able  to  pay  her  way  ——–  and  while  it’s  tempting  to  find  out  just  what  his  global  economic  overhaul  would  entail,  she’s  opting  instead  to  keep  things  a  little  more  local. as  in  the  inside  of  her  pocket. “you  know  i  can  absolutely  afford  my  own  drinks,”  she  huffs  with  feigned  offense,  nose  crinkling  up  at  the  suggestion  that  she’s  going  to  need  a  loan  to  get  herself  a  few  pints  when  all  this  is  over. “the  stuff  just  tastes  better  when  you  aren’t  the  one  paying  for  it. pretty  sure  that’s  a  scientific  fact  —–  ”

she’s  cut  off  by  the  harmonization  of  two  sections  of  rope  giving  way,  followed  quickly  by  the  painful  sensation  of  blood  rushing  back  into  her  fingertips. she  hisses  quietly  as  she  shakes  off  the  remaining  bits  of  rope  that  cling  to  the  cuffs  of  her  suit  and  won’t  let  go,  the  pins  and  needles  running  through  her  hands  making  even  the  most  simple  of  gestures  feel  like  fire’s  rushing  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers  and  back  again.

             "no,  actually,“  she  follows  suit  and  begins  to  rub  the  angry  skin  at  her  wrists  with  a  visible  wince,  red  already  beginning  to  shift  and  bloom  into  shades  of  magenta  and  violet  in  the  places  she’s  pushed  herself  particularly  hard. "must  be  something  about  you  that  just  makes  me  chatty,”  lucky,  lucky  him. she  holds  her  hands  out  for  him  to  inspect  ————–  it’s  as  routine  as  the  rest  of  this;  he  no  longer  has  to  ask  in  order  to  give  her  a  once  over  after  something  like  this;  even  if  she  deems  it  completely  unnecessary. (  while  she’s  usually  more  than  up  for  a  good  back  and  forth  argument,  she’s  also  learned  it’s  better  just  to  humor  him  and  let  him  get  a  peek  in  before  they  move  on. )

            “i’m  sure  you  are,”  she’s  well  -  aware  she’s  a  handful;  she’s  never  painted  herself  as  anything  else. she’s  thisclose  to  reminding  him  that  he  signed  up  for  this  ———-  but  there’s  always  the  worry  he’ll  unsign  himself  up  one  of  these  days  too. and  as  much  as  she  fusses  and  pouts  about  his  extra  attention  to  keep  her  in  one  piece,  she’s  fairly  sure  she’d  actually  miss  it  if  it  suddenly  went  away. “alright,  but  where’s  the  fun  in  that?  what’s  the  point  if  i’m  not  challenging  you  to  be  at  your  very  best  all  the  time? what kind of admirer would i be then?”

she is rambling again     (     she is very skilled,   especially for a human,    but rambling might be her most impressive skill   :      any sort of quiet space was filled with her voice rattling on     ...     he supposed there is some comfort to be found in her refusal to yield to silence        ).      his head tips back,   thankful that he is not prone to headaches.     he doesn’t even know how they stumbled across the subject of drinking by the time she was done     ...    he could have suggested it himself and be’d be none the wiser   :     that,  certainly,   was some kind of power.     ‘   i haven’t spent much time looking at your bank accounts.    maybe i should stop paying for my own drinks.   ’      drinking,  however,  had never been a priority for him.    another human thing that he could never understand        (        the part of him that misses sersi near - constantly aches at the thought of her wine - stung lips         ).      ‘   i’d have to check your science on that.   a buzzfeed article won’t count.   ’

the hiss has him lifting his gaze to her,  checking her over even faster than before.   perhaps the blood returning to her hands again had caused some discomfort?    he had forgotten how particular humans were.    every little thing seemed to cause them harm   :      he had once met death as an arrow,   knowing that the vague tickle of pain would be worth whatever sacrifice he was making       (      that was before he realised what his death cost       ).      he takes her hand into his,   gently lifting them this way and that way,    thankful that there seemed to be no long lasting marks.   ‘   i’m glad you feel comfortable enough to talk so much around me.    how would i go about making you less comfortable?   ’     he squeezes lightly at her wrist,   an attempt to be reassuring.

“is  that  your  way  of  offering  to  take  us  out  for  a  drink  when  we  get  out  of  here?  because  if  you  are,”  she  has  to  bite  back  the  smile  that  wants  to  unfurl  itself  when  he  critiques  what  she  considers  ' fun ’  ——–  for  as  substantial  the  part  of  her  is  that  wants  to  assure  him  this  really  isn’t  her  idea  of  a  good  time  (  it  always  delights  her  to  see  just  where  his  sarcasm  threshold  is  with  her  on  any  given  day  ),  there’s  a  larger  part  that  finds  his  continued  exasperation  with  her  equally  amusing. “i’m  taking  you  up  on  it.”

but  that  of  course  means  getting  out  of  these  ropes,  a  feat  neither  one  of  them  has  managed  to  achieve  just  yet;  and  the  aches  in  her  shoulders  to  go  along  with  the  raw  skin  around  her  wrists  are  constant  reminders  of  it  ——–  and  their  complaints  are  growing  louder  the  longer  her  hands  are  wrenched  into  their  current  position.

             "you  know  that’s  quite  the  goal  you’re  setting  for  yourself,“  not  that  she  believes  for  a  moment  anything  she  can  say  will  change  his  mind;  no  matter  how  solid  she  thinks  she  is  at  the  art  of  persuasion. "keeping   my  list  from  updating.”  he’s  already  well  -  aware  of  her  all  -  too  -  frequent  amnesia  when  it  comes  to  having  any  kind  of  self  -  preservation. (  whether  that’s  always  just  the  way  she’s  been,  or  if  it’s  something  she  can  trace  back  to  her  time  at  the  academy,  she’s  self  -  aware  enough  to  know  it’s  never  going  to  change.  )  "that’s  not  saying  i  wouldn’t  mind  it  if  you  did,  i  just  think  you’ve  got  your  work  cut  out  for  you.“

she  rotates  her  wrist  again  so  her  hands  are  palm  to  palm,  hissing  quietly  (  at  least  she  thinks  it  is  )  when  her  skin  continues  to  protest  it’s  mistreatment  in  the  moment. ”technically  it’s  still  me  being  your  biggest  fan, don’t  worry,“  she  coos  with  reassurance  before  another  attempt  to  wrench  one  of  her  wrists  free,  "think  of  it  as  a  bonus. or  some  kind  of  challenge  to  individually  collect  the  whole  set. you’ve  always  like  a  challenge.”

ikaris does not go drinking.   in fact,  he indulges in very few activities that humans have labelled as fun     --     or,  even worse,   pleasurable.     he has never partook in abstinence,  either   :       he merely has no desire for such things       (        he is reminded again of the stark contrasts between himself and sersei     ...      she had been comfortable around humans,   a true chameleon to the world around her        ...        while she had sampled their culture,   laughing in delight at every little strangeness they offered,    allowing herself to be overwhelmed with the decadence of their flesh and their smiles,    ikaris had lined himself with distance       ).         ‘   if you can’t afford your own drinks,   i’d be happy to lend you some mortal money.    i have a little saved away     --     though,  your barter system is rather outdated.   ’

their wrists twist in unison,   a moment of perfect harmony,   and the rope snaps around their combined strength,   as fine as spider’s silk.     his wrists have begun to grow red,   but it is merely a blip on his skin      --      it is not a mark that will last.    his skin is not marked with any scars   :       the wonders of human experience do not leave a lasting impression.     HE ALMOST LONGS FOR IT.

“so  you’re  telling  me  you’re  not  having  fun?”  it’s  probably  for  the  best  his  view  of  her  face  is  obstructed  for  the  most  part  now  that  her  shoulder  is  making  a  far  better  door  than  a  window  with  her  chin  tucked  into  it;  he  can’t  see  the  way  she’s  enjoying  teasing  him  a  bit  even  while  their  circumstances  remain  less  than  ideal.

she  can  see  his  efforts  to  get  himself  free  pick  back  up  again  from  her  chin’s  perch  on  her  shoulder,  resigned  to  the  fact  that  he’s  got  a  far  better  chance  of  besting  the  bonds  than  she  does  at  the  moment  (  mostly  because  their  captors  were  obnoxiously  thorough  and  managed  to  find  all  the  blades  she  had  on  her  before  tying  the  pair  of  them  up. now  all  she  had  at  her  disposal  was  a  previously  broken  wrist  and  the  hope  of  a  subpar  knot  currently  wrapped  around  it.  )

         "because  i  have  been,“  she  says  it  plainly  —  she’s  never  been  one  to  brag  about  how  many  scrapes  and  near  -  misses  she’s  had  in  her  past. they’re  not  badges  of  honor  (  past  the  pride  in  knowing  she’s  apparently  difficult  to  keep  down  or  kill,  but  she  doesn’t  think  he’d  be  appreciative  of  that  perspective  anyway  );  they’re  reminders  of  the  times  she  was  sloppy. "you  want  the  list  alphabetically  or  anatomically  while  we’re  waiting?”

which,  if  he’s  right,  won’t  be  all  that  long  now  —–  hearing  he’s  almost  free  is  the  motivation  she  needs  to  pick  back  up  where  she  left  off,  even  if  the  red  skin  underneath  the  rope  continues  to  protest. “my  wrists  are  going  to  be  your  biggest  fans  in  a  minute.”

pain had not been common in his life        ...        what might have been overwhelming scars for others registered as little more than a pinprick for him   :        bruises never shone across his skin,   blood came only with the most egregious of wounds,   as if his he was made of stone and the blood was only metaphorical         --         if pain came,   it was a faint brush against his skin.    the ropes were as soft as silk around his wrists,   even while he struggled against their binds.     HUMANS WERE MADE WITH DISADVANTAGES   :       he had been sculptured into the perfect machine           ...          his mind was the only failing cog,   a shoddy ache in a body that had been made to rally against pain.

she’s  out  of  practice  as  far  as  formulating  an  escape  plan  for  more  than  just  her,  but  she’s  always  been  someone  able  to  think  on  her  feet  —–  or  in  this  particular  case,  sitting  while  tied  to  a  chair  and  sorely  missing  the  full  use  of  her  hands. “it’s  pretty  fun. usually. at  least  it’s  fun  for  me.”  granted,  it’s  partially  what’s  already  come  out  of  her  mouth  via  that  shortcut  from  her  brain  that’s  gotten  the  pair  of  them  where  they  are  currently,  but  she’s  not  about  to  acknowledge  it.

she  attempts  to  test  the  ropes  around  her  wrists  again,  but  all  she  gets  for  her  efforts  is  increasing  the  angry  red  abrasions  that  skirt  the  ends  of  her  sleeves. “i’m  not  trying  to  get  us  shot. i  happen  to  hate  getting  shot,”  usually  because  it  means  she’s  got  stitching  herself  up  to  look  forward  to  after  the  fact  ————    but  he  does  make  a  good  point  with  the  whole  non  –  revival  angle,  even  if  it’s  a  reminder  she  doesn’t  particularly  like. “no,  i  don’t  get  to  revive. no  do  overs.”

she  sighs  and  sets  her  chin  on  her  shoulder,  giving  up  (  at  least  for  the  moment  )  at  torturing  her  hands  further. “hard  to  watch  because  it’s  me,  or  just  hard  to  watch  in  general?”

he’s  a  little  more  subtle  than  she  would  have  been;  maybe  it’s  the  eloquence  that  comes  with  years  and  years  of  experience. still,  she  laughs;  acknowledging  the  fact  that  when  it  comes  down  to  it,  he’s  not  entirely  wrong. “now  you  say  that  like  it’s  a  bad  thing,”  a  click  of  her  tongue  follows  close  behind,  "talking  about  nothing  is  a  skill  of  mine,  actually.“  what  else  is  a  spy  worth  her  salt  if  not  a  professional  bullshitter  when  she  needs  to  be?”

               "and  no,  i  don’t  think  you  sounds  too  hedonistic,“ he’s  got  stiff  competition  for  that title ——- she  knew  tony  stark. "maybe  there’s  just  some  part  of  me  that  doesn’t  want  to  acknowledge  just  how  temporary  all  of  this  is.”  maybe  it’s  another  one  of  those  byproducts  of  being  around  so  many  people  who’s  lifelines  stretch  long  past  hers  for  one  reason  or  another  ——–  she  forgets  that’s  she’s  temporary  too. (  and  yet  somehow  all  the  scars  she’s  accumulated  over  the  years  are  permanent. doesn’t  feel  fair  sometimes. )  " ————- are  you  accusing  kingo  of  being  worse?“

a better man would know to smile when she weaves easy laughter into the conversation   (   a better man would not be ikaris   :        strange in his cloak of blue,   an outsider in a world that fluctuated between moving too slow and too fast     ...     eternal life comes with a rope around the neck and nails digging into the soft clump of a spine   ).     but he is still hesitant with flimsy human clues   --   sersi is the sweet flower that blossoms under their attention,   learning their ways as easily as she has learned everything else.    IF THE SPY WAS SEARCHING FOR HUMANITY,   SHE SHOULD VISIT ANOTHER ETERNAL     ...     but how hard they had made themselves to find these days.

she can still remember a time in her life when she’d purposely narrowed her gaze for what she thought was the greater good; a way to split herself in two ——- that way, it was the agent that had to make all the difficult decisions; it was the agent who knew better than to let anyone closer than an arm’s length. (   it was the agent who learned not to show emotion and wrap herself up in the steel and certainty of her mission to keep the softer parts of her hidden and safe.   ) but that only got her so far ———- and only got more and more difficult once she admitted to herself that she couldn’t keep herself hewn in two.

teeth drag along her lip as she listens, hearing rationale that sounds almost too familiar. “but it helps,” her nose crinkles briefly, the realization that her ratio of advice given to advice taken is woefully out of balance. “success is a powerful motivation … but what good is it when you realize just how fragile it is?” or how hollow it can be? or how lonely? “or temporary.”