Jan. 25th, 2017

[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com

Last day of my recuperation from the ER on Saturday.  I'll start with a drabble and work up to longer entries as the muse get's reignited.
.........................


"What are you doing Napoleon?"

"I'm writing a drabble."

… sigh…

"A What?"

smile…

"A drabble. One hundred words."

smirk…

"And why, may I ask, are you writing this, um… drabble?"

"I'm practicing."

exasperated sigh…

"For what, Napoleon?  Why do you need to practice, and why write … drabbles?"

"For my memoirs Old Boy.  One of these days I'll write a book about our exploits and I need to practice my writing skills now, so it will be an easy task when the day comes."

sigh…

"Memoirs? Tell UNCLE's secrets?"

"It will be a novel, disguised… you know."

"Like she did?"

… SMILE...

...................................Pieces of Fate Affair .....................

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
(reposting this for Glennagirl)

When we consider Valentine's Day, do we all go straight to a happy ending for our spy guys?  Do you long to write that epic romance that would give Solo and Kuryakin warm and loving homes for their post-UNCLE days?

How about a Happily Ever After Challenge?

We can go as mushy and romantic as we've ever dreamed possible.  Comic, euphoric or happy as a clam, let's go all out this
Valentine's Day with stories that capture the giddy delights of true love.

Posting begins February 6 and runs through the 14th.

If it's too 'hot' for Section VII you can post over on mfu_map_room but for this special day we're letting our AU fantasies roam free here on S7.


ns valik val
[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com

The prompt: What if Illya only worked in Section VIII?




“Another one Mr. Solo?” Alexander Waverly’s frustration was evident in his tone of voice.


Napoleon held his head up high, not letting his boss’s ire get to him.


“And what may I ask was the problem his time?”


Read more... )

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com

“Tri, dva, odin.”


“Sssssssssssssss….pffft.”


Both Solo and Kuryakin peeked out from behind the desk where they’d ducked.


“Nice explosion,” Napoleon muttered.


“Not my fault. Must have been a bad fuse, which I will remind you, by the way, came from within the hidden compartment in your heel.”


“Oh so it’s my fault?”


“Not really, but you should check to see if the protective gaskets on your heels are intact. I would surmise the fuse must have gotten damp.


“BOOM!”


After dusting off the debris and plaster, they looked to find the safe was indeed open.”


“You were saying, tovarisch?”

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