It's Saturday again — and because I read yesterday that Lake Mead behind Hoover Dam has sunk 140 feet in less than 20 years as a result of the megadrought currently affecting the south-western states of America, my Writer's choice is Terrorist instincts. No terrorism is required now, just global climate change.( Collapse )
Doesn't leave much time for writing stories about the Man from UNCLE does it?
But maybe, just maybe, you can make time to rec a story or two. Either yours or those of your favorite MFU author. No creative writing involved. Still, your recs may help inspire someone's imagination to start flowing again.
gives you, the writers and readers of MFU fanfiction,
the opportunity to post your personal recs,
be it your own stories or those of your favorite author.
Post a story, or a link here in
Just remember this is a gen site, so please use the gen tag.
You may also rec stories of a
gen-mature nature that contain violence, torture, or mild het.
Please use the gen-mature tag for those stories.
Het stories can be posted in
All other genres post in
And by that I mean, here we are again on a Thursday and that means it's Poll Day.
You can see the results of last week's poll HERE, but if you didn't cast your vote it's too late, that poll is closed.
Today the headlines are warbling on about the dastardly deeds of governments and technology, but in the world of MFU, the agents don't always need a newscast to know what's wrong in the world; they just need to sit at Waverly's round table.
Today's problem is far reaching, and may still be a threat to mankind. Wink Wink.
THRUSH is at it again, and this time...
How will Solo and Kuryakin stop this dastardly scheme?
The scheme is far reaching, and people are...
Someone slips Napoleon a serving of the THRUSH product.
Illya is captured and must resist the THRUSH poison in their devious product.
Mister Waverly has been captured and dosed with this disgusting THRUSH product.
THRUSH is hoping their sleepy time milk will...
The nifty hallucinogen can be put into...
Sugar substitues in soft drinks, what a dirty deal for all of those unsuspecting housewives.
Napoleon has noticed a sudden weight gain, could it be...
Illya is able to resist the allure of these diabolical THRUSH delicacies.
Napoleon is sent to rehab to recover from his addiction to the THRUSH products that Angelique gave him.
It's been awhile since I posted a Word of the Day, and that's a shame really. Who doesn't need a new word once in a while?
Today is our Dribble Drabble/A Little Drabble Do Ya day (and trust me, it's easier to write than it is to say). But, the word of the day is irresistible, so I thought perhaps they might make a happy union for anyone wishing to do some writing.
Part of speech: verb
Origin: of imitative/echoic origin, mid-20th century
1. Fall or cause to fall suddenly and heavily asleep or lose consciousness
2. Hit or strike.
Examples of Zonk in a sentence
"Nothing makes me zonk out quite as quickly as NyQuil."
"The bowl zonked Cheryl when she tried to grab it from the top shelf."
Think Season 3, and this word Zonk is downright inspiring.
I'm going to warn you now, it's a multi-part story. I'm posting the last entry so you can utilize the links to the previous chapters. Those are at the top of the page, and will hopefully make it easy for you to follow the trail.
One minute, they were sitting at a Polynesian luau on a lush, palm tree covered island in the middle of the South Pacific, the next minute Napoleon and Illya were running half naked and for their lives along the windswept tropical beach.
They were weaponless and unable to defend themselves as they heard the threatening beat of the drums, coming from behind them
“Boom boom, boom boom.”
“What did you do now?” Illya gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Boom boom boom boom.”
Napoleon turned to tell him, and that’s when he saw the restless natives getting too close for comfort. “Run faster!” He yelled instead.
They’d arrived that morning to the tropical paradise of Tuapa, an island that was an elevated atoll, surrounded by deeply eroded coral cliffs. With them, a member of the translations section, fully prepared to help negotiate with the local tribal leader, Ekewaka, in order to prevent T.H.R.U.S.H. from locating their newest satrap on the remote island.
Things seemed to be going well; the natives were very friendly, Napoleon had remarked, and there was to be a formal feast to be held in their honor.
The feasting began, as lovely...scantily clad women carried bowls of food and tropical delights to everyone. Napoleon nodded silently, not knowing a word of their language, accepting what a gorgeous Polynesian beauty handed him, with a smile as the universal language, all the while taking in an eyeful as she bent over.
“What is this stuff,” he asked, leaning over to his partner, making his usual crinkle-nosed face when handed food he was unsure of.
“It is roast pork, now eat it before you insult our hosts.”
Illya was sitting cross-legged on the ground, enjoying a mouthful of the Kalua Pua'a and was reaching for a bowl of Poi, when two burly, tattooed natives approached him and Napoleon, literally lifting them up without warning and carrying them off like sacks of potatoes into the main hut.
The agents were stripped of their clothes, and everything was confiscated...everything. They were not even left with their skivvies and were each handed a pair of very short grass skirts, some large banana leaves, and had bright floral leis draped over their heads.
Napoleon’s cheeks and forehead were decorated with white face paint ; the meaning of the markings completely unfamiliar to them, and a ring of flowers was placed on his head. They were led back outside to the central courtyard, where the feast was still on going.
Ekewaka stood, now resplendently clothed in a bright red and yellow feathered cape, with an equally spectacular feathered piece on his head. The other elders of the tribe were beside him, all dressed in colorful regalia as well.
Napoleon leaned over, whispering to his partner, “I guess this means they’re going for our offer of protection from T.H.R.U.S.H.”
“One would hope so,” Illya said, eyeing the remnants of the feast, his stomach giving a little growl.
The chief’s daughter Noelani appeared, standing opposite Napoleon. She was dressed in a bright floral sarong, that barely covered what it was supposed to, as her body was voluptuously full figured. She had a pretty face and her long dark tresses were crowned with a circlet of fiery red hibiscus flowers, as well a as a garland of white pikake jasmine, and orchids woven through maile leaves draped around her neck.
Napoleon had been introduced to her earlier in the day, and couldn’t understand why she kept giggling at him after they met.
She held out a brightly colored lei woven out of yellow and white plumeria and white tuberos, offering it to him. He smiled at her most charmingly, as he bent forward to receive it, assuming it was protocol.
“Kaikamahine,” Ekewaka said to Noelani.
“Keikikane,”Ekewaka said, looking happily at Napoleon and speaking to him in his native tongue.
Napoleon raised his eyes to Ekewaka, smiling as he nodded. “Of all times for our translator to go back to the boat?” He whispered under his breath.“You’re the linguist Illya, have any idea what he’s saying?”
“I only know a few words,” he whispered back. “That is why we brought someone from translation, remember? But, I will try.”
“Aloha...hello, or it can mean love, maika’i means good...manula, tasi, fa’aaloalo, ‘ave wahine...’aumane kane...’alga.” Illya thought for a second.
“Happiness, love, respect... take this woman, take this man.”
It took a second for it to dawn on both of them.
“Holy crap,” Napoleon blurted out. He grabbed Illya by the arm and took off at a dead run.
“I take it you do not wish to get married to sweeten the deal?” Illya quipped as they trotted side by side, heading toward the beach.
Ominous drums were pounding as an angry mob chased after them; the agents with their grass skirts and banana leaves flying as they headed towards their boat anchored just a few hundred yards away.
Napoleon waved his arms frantically, signalling to the pilot to start up the engine.
As they climbed aboard, Gerry, their translator, came up from the cabin, eyeing their get ups with a wicked grin.
“I had a bad feeling you two were going to get in trouble without me. Don’t tell me, the chief tried to marry off his daughter to one of you.”
“No kidding,” Napoleon snapped.”You should have warned us.”
The captain quickly backed the powerful boat away from shore, leaving the mob of natives far behind, waving their deadly needle like spears and pounding their drums in protest.
“Did you say anything, touch her in any way?” Gerry asked.
“I took her hand and kissed it when I met her...really it was done in all innocence,” he insisted.
“Mr. Solo, given your reputation, I wonder if you do anything in all innocence when it comes to a woman.”
“Hey smart aleck, I could have you busted to translating from a closet in Iceland.”
“I hate to tell you, but touching her that way was showing a formal intention to marry the girl.” Gerry tried not to laugh.
“Seriously? How was I supposed to know?” Napoleon shrugged his shoulders.”Come on, I didn’t know!”
Illya snickered. “Well I suppose this is going to complicate negotiations.” He pulled off the grass skirt, mindlessly scratching his itching zhopa before he wrapped himself in a towel.
“Negotiations? You think I’m going back there to face that, then you’re out of your crazy Russian mind.” Napoleon grabbed another towel, wrapping it around his waist before discreetly freeing himself of his equally itchy grass skirt, tossing it in his partner’s face.
Illya caught it, throwing it overboard with his own, not missing a beat.
“Well I suppose we could just wait for T.H.R.U.S.H. to build the satrapy and then go in and blow it up?” Illya smiled at the prospect.
“Good idea chum,” Napoleon grinned, thinking it better than going back to the island at the moment.
“Then you will pass it by Mister Waverly, along with your report of what happened here today.” Illya grinned back at him, pleased he had out maneuvered the American.
“Gee, thanks a bunch.”
“You are welcome.”
Every Tuesday you can repost a PicFic story that you've written in the past (go back as far as you want)
Here's a writing option, you can change what you don't like about the story. Or you can just post the orignal story without changes too! It's up to you! Just be sure (if you're able) to include the original picfic prompt with your story.
If you don't have a PicFic, then by all means repost one of your other stories, with or without changes.
Remember to please use the tag 'picfic' for PicFic reposts. Use the tag 'non-challenge' for a non-picfic story.
As a reminder, is a gen site, so gen or gen-mature stories only.
My intention was to pick out a PicFic from a previous year and post it for Throwback Tuesday. I landed on a Short Affair instead, but decided to repost it here first. I'll go back to searching out PicFic stories a little later.