The Second Star to the Right

Sleeping Positions

theavengersheadcanons:

Submitted by ninjanervana

Content warning: Child abuse

All of the Avengers have particular ways they like to sleep. Whether it was during their life before the Avengers, when they sleep in S.H.I.E.L.D facilities or when they sleep in Stark Towers, they tend to sleep in the same position no matter what. It’s just force of habit for them.

Steve and Bruce like to sleep in the fetal position. Before Steve was administered the super solider serum, he was a scrawny twig who was constantly picked on by bullies. If his best friend, Bucky, wasn’t around to help him out, he would basically get his ass handed to him during a fight. Whenever he got caught in a fight without back-up, he would try valiantly to defend himself. Failing at that unfortunately, Steve would end up on the floor in the fetal position, attempting to protect his face and internal organs as much as possible. He had enough medical issues as it was; the last thing he needed was broken ribs or a punctured lung. Even after he was given the super solider serum and could protect himself against almost everything, he still slept in the fetal position. In his eyes, he wasn’t a superhero; he still felt like the same scrawny kid from Brooklyn who got picked on.

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EXCUSE ME WHILE I DIE FROM THE PERFECTION OF THIS.

jorston:

I love the fact that Coulson says ‘Barton’s been compromised’, instead of ‘the tesseract has been stolen’, or even ‘there’s a super-powered megalomaniac trying to destroyed the world.’ Because to him that’s the most important thing right now. 

Also because he says it to Natasha, knowing that’s the only thing that would get her attention. Clint Barton is very important to both of them.

(Source: batchofscones, via indynerdgirl)

Time to get started.

thatwillbeallmisspotts:

theavengersheadcanons:

After the events with Loki, the newly formed Avengers went their separate ways for weeks.  It was a time to recoup, reflect, and rest.  Eventually, of course, they came back together for the “where to go from here” talk, and to begin training.  They were all highly skilled, but they needed to get regular training time in so they’d stay in synch as a team.  

A few days into their “reunion,” after a lot of heavy discussion, hard training, and more than one heated argument, someone slapped some raw meat on Tony’s ridiculously fancy built-in grill and they all sat down for a few hours to be just people.

They lounged on the expansive outdoor area overlooking the landing pad and ate, drank a bit, and started to laugh and share stories.  They watched the sky turn fiery orange as afternoon became evening.  After days of bickering about the future they talked of the past, and they raised toasts to those they’d lost—to death, time, or just to life.

Friends.  Lovers.  Even an enemy or two.  Bucky, Yinsen, Peggy.  Maria Stark, and even that bastard Howard.

And then they couldn’t put it off any longer.

Tony lifted his glass and simply said, “Phil Coulson.”  A solemn chorus echoed it, and there was a mute clinking of bottles, glasses, and one overly large stein.

They took their sips and hadn’t even made it through the awkward, reflective silence that followed when they heard it: engines.  Much more muted than a jet, but enough to draw their attention to a S.H.I.E.L.D. shuttle as it came around a neighboring building.  It hovered a story above the landing pad, putting it level with them, nose turned outward, and the ramp opened up to them.

Tie flapping in the wind as he held on with one hand, the dying sky a brilliant red behind him, his voice somehow sounding as calm and implacable as ever even over the engines, Phil Coulson leaned out and called, “Get in, losers. We’re going avenging.”

Submitted by ranch-on-mars

(via indynerdgirl)