Be the change you want to see.

Steve's deep voice comes through the comm system with a clear note of sarcasm and a touch of Brooklyn: "Well, THIS is gonna be more fun than a barrel full of monkeys..."

The giant gelatinous creatures look like an unholy offspring of banana slugs and squid. Their eye-searingly acidic stench had evacuated civilians without complaint for city blocks in every direction.

Clint shudders, speaking loudly over the sound of the rotors. "Cap, I never understood why townfolk used that figure of speech. Back in the circus, I SEEN a barrel full 'a monkeys, and it NEVER ended well. The screeching. The biting. The scratching, the fur flying, and just let's not talk about the rest of the dirty mess monkeys love to make." He rotates quickly through the arrows in his quiver, selecting the most likely to get this job done fast.

Steve snorts as he flies the helicopter in circles over the park where the creatures have nested. "Nah, Hawkeye, that's just right. Ma said her pa would always say that just before he had to go tackle the nastier chores on the farm. Nest of skunks under the porch. Wild boar gored one of the horses. Mucking out the pigs, or fixing the stock fence that went down in the middle of the worst rainstorm in thirty years."

For a moment, both men watch in fascination as one of the iridescent eggs below bursts open with a flail of acidic tentacles. Birth fluid rains down on the sad, scorched remnants of the park's trees and jungle gym, droplets hissing and smoking wherever they fall.

"Well, thank god for Bruce and Tony and Jane and SCIENCE," Clint muses, pulling the string taut to his left ear, delivery-system arrow nocked and ready. "THESE pigs are going to be a lot easier to muck out once we've neutralized most of the acid they've slimed everywhere."

A few moments later, the creatures below are writhing like slugs doused with salt. The SHIELD science teams in full hazmat gear are laying down even more acid-neutralizing foam as they cautiously approach the egg-pile.

"Hah! Evil scientists, Zero, Avengers and SHIELD science-types, fifty-four? or is it fifty-five, now?" Clint raises an eyebrow, cocking his head at Steve.

Steve chuckles. "And nobody's handing us shovels and pointing us toward the pig-pen, today. I'm just as happy to let the science teams do the rest of the clean up."

"Hey, if they wanna analyze acidic tentacled slug-babies, who am I to stand in their way?" Clint rubs his chin and swiftly stows the rest of his gear in the long narrow pocket behind his seat. "Not my circus, not my monkeys."

Steve slants a wry, sideways glance at Clint from the pilot's seat, as he turns and heads for home. "This ain't a circus? We got acrobats and knife throwers, fireworks and explosions, exotic animals and shiny costumes...?" He raises an eyebrow back at Clint.

Hawkeye slouches back in his seat, scowling. "Okay, FINE, this IS my circus." He gets a thoughtful, mock-serious expression for a moment gazing straight through the windshield. "Does that make us Fury's monkeys?"

Steve's face is perfectly bland when he replies, "That would mean Tony and Thor were Fury's flying monkeys. I don't think it would be productive sharing that image with either of the guys, do you?"

Clint laughs softly. "No. Don't suppose it would." He grins at Steve. The next time Thor and Tony light up the sky, they both know they'll remember this.

Flying monkeys, heh.




This has been my entry for therealljidol, week 12. The prompt was "barrel of monkeys."

I'm enjoying writing within this community very much. If you enjoyed this post, or got something out of it, please consider voting for me so I can continue to write with these amazing and supportive people (sadly this week is a Community Only vote, so if you're inclined, feel free to join the LJ Idol community!). The polls are HERE, and I'm back in Tribe One.

Author's Note: If anyone's unfamiliar with the Marvel Avengers fandom, Steve/Cap is Captain America, Clint/Hawkeye is, well, Hawkeye. (and I hope Hawkeye gets his own movie someday too.)

Crossposted to Archive Of Our Own, here.

Princess Peach gazed out across the landscape, her keen eyesight picking out Mario's progress through the mazes that, taken altogether in their many levels, comprised her father's kingdom.

Gold coins sparkled as Mario collected them, and the red flashes of moving mushrooms or green slides of skittering tortoise shells indicated his path as he approached another goal.

Even from her distant perch in the highest tower of the home she'd been raised in, she could see the speech bubble that emerged at the entrance to that worthless pile of rocks, one of countless decoys scattered throughout her father's domain. "Sorry, Mario, our princess is in another castle!"

Peach snorted in disgust as she finished packing her camping backpack, and pulled the last of her camouflage gear over her head.

Unrolling the rope ladder that would take her down the far side of the tower, away from the guards and toward the misty hills that meant freedom, she strapped the pack more securely on her back and muttered,

"To hell with being a prize at the end of someone else's adventures!"

She swung her leg over the windowsill and was gone.




This has been my Week Three entry for therealljidol, and the prompt was "In Another Castle".

Beta-readings done by wrenb, and chipchat !

Please go read and enjoy my colleagues' entries here. To vote for my entry, link will be *here* once it's posted.

Thank you for reading!