𝓝𝓸𝓽 𝓐 '𝓜𝓲𝓭𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷'
↳ (13 avengers x reader)
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。・:*˚:✧。 You crash land on Asgard, not knowing who you are or where you're from, and especially not knowing what a 'soulmate' is. May the Allfather guide you on your journey ac...
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y/n = your name
italics = thoughts
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Today is the day! You thought to yourself as you slowly got out of bed. You and Tony were going to fly around a bit, of course, he made you a suit with the properties of a SHIELD plane which you had been given more and more info about as their whole operation was wary of you. Regardless, and partially because of this, Tony made you a suit with the tech they used to hide the giant planes and quinjets in midair.
You showered how Nat told you, thoroughly lathering the soap absolutely everywhere. You took cold showers, they felt far more comfortable, and warm water was weird.
Slipping on the suit, it almost looked like a regular, black suit that Bucky or Natasha layered underneath theirs. Small panels of metal covered it in a hex pattern as it shimmered in the bathroom light eerily.
You were not permitted to fly around by SHIELD yet, but since only Tony's Ironman suit could detect yours you figured, why not?
Breakfast was a light meal with fruit and oatmeal, and you wouldn't show it but you were bouncing off the walls in anticipation. It would be your first real tour of Earth. Midgard? You didn't know what to call it at this point. You had been cooped up in the tower for far too long though, to the point where your melancholy thoughts had grown angry and trapped; caged in by the glass windows and metal walls of the kitchen, your room, and the training area. Of course, there were occasional visits to the lab, but you still refused to touch anything in there.
Your first taste of freedom...
You suddenly grew very nervous. What if the voice took over, ready to step in at the first chance of freedom? It would only be you and Tony and you wouldn't hurt another one of them again after the spars.
You had obviously grown a lot better and even filled out your body a little, still on the lean side after suddenly existing consciously. You didn't know the true reason behind it, but Bruce did.
Starvation. From what or whom or why was unknown though. You had gotten better and with that, stronger, too. You refrained from sparring but did not hold back when working out. It was a trade-off, but better in your eyes. However, it was insisted that you start sparring again soon because the closer you were to mentally ready, the closer you had to be to combat ready as well.
Without your voice, only your instincts. It was hard. The voice lied to you a lot. But you had become better at deciphering which one was its voice and which was your own. 'It' sounded like a memory, a voice so ingrained in your head that it had to have been shouting the same phrases over and over again at you for years or decades. Maybe that was true, but you couldn't, for the life of yourself, actually remember.