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 Challenge: The Short Affair

-Prompt Word 1 - Courage

-Prompt Colour – Grey/Gray

Author: mrua7

Title: ‘And the rocket’s red glare’

Word Count: Approx. 865

Click on the fireworks to take you to the story:


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Today I'd like to rec all the fan fic being posted over on mfuwss 
on Live Journal fortheir annual Easter Egg Challenge this weekend.
(there's no MFUWSS comm here yet)

Lots of stories to read for this yearly challenge, and they never disappoint!

"The Best Laid Plans of Napoleon Solo"

(click on the image below to take you to my story for pfrye)

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Napoleon Solo lay under the silk sheets, staring up at the woman who was on top of him; her long luxurious brunette hair cascading down to caress his naked chest.

Joanna Winthrop, as wild a vixen both in and out of bed; he'd never met anyone quite like this woman and even his paramour Angelique couldn't hold a candle to this gorgeous creature.

There was more to her. She was not only sexy but smart, clever and she made him smile and laugh a like a kid...that hadn't happened well, since Clara was in his life. When he was with Joanna, she made him forget all his troubles. There were few people who could do that to him in earnest...

Read more... )
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The day was just a little overcast; not unexpected as it was early Spring and Mother Nature wasn't quite done arguing with Old Man Winter. It was hard to believe it had snowed only a few weeks ago.

Still 'April showers bring May flowers,' as they old adage went, true to form as buds on the plant life and trees were finally making themselves known and blossoming forth.

Illya Kuryakin didn't always fare well during this part of the Spring season with his mild allergies; the tree pollen was wreaking havoc with the Russian at the moment and his partner tried having pity on him.

They both were scheduled off for the weekend, barring any unforeseen catastrophe or dastardly plot that arose, and Solo offered to get Illya out of New York to see if that would help his condition.

"Why would leaving the city with it's minimum of trees and foliage help my seasonal allergies?"

"Well there's all that exhaust from cars, smoke and soot from chimneys; there's plenty of pollen from the trees on our street, not to mention what's blowing in the air from the flowers and trees in Central Park. T'is the season after all."

Illya tilted his head, finding Napoleon's logic sensible for once.

"What exactly did you have in mind?

Read more... )


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April Dancer and Mark Slate sat, curled up in a lonely cabin in the Blue Ridge mountains, cut off there with no means of escape. They couldn’t go down the mountain as no doubt, traps had been set for them.  Their only choice had been to continue going up.

As luck would have, they stumbled upon this old hunting cabin but from the looks of it….the holes in the roof and the cobwebs that hung everywhere, it hadn't been used in quite some time and was seemingly abandoned, but still it was cover as it was getting dark and a few snowflakes were beginning to fall.

Their communicators weren’t working, perhaps something to do with the mountains blocking the signal or who knew, maybe they were being jammed by T.H.R.U.S.H.

The agents had gotten off an S.O.S. before they moved up the treeline to the higher elevations but then lost the signal.

They were on their own and they knew it; and it was only a matter of time until their pursors found them.


Read more... )

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The glowing fire was a welcoming sight as Napoleon removed his winter coat and galoshes. It was a chill evening, not cold enough for snow, though there was still plenty of it left on the ground.

"Glad you got that going," he rubbed his hands together to warm them and smiled at Marjorie, his companion for the long weekend. He'd let her into the family cabin in the Catskills, while he parked the car and gathered the groceries to bring inside.


Read more... )




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Spring rain:

telling stories,
a staw coat,
an umbrella walks past.

Inspired by a haiku by: Yosa Buson (1716-1783)

Napoleon sat on the park bench even though it was raining. He wore a trench coat not caring that it wasn’t enough; he stayed, watching the umbrellas walk past.

His face turned upwards, letting the water trickle down on him, It reminded him to stop, to remember the simple things in life... a rainstorm, a rainbow after it perhaps….a life he was lucky and grateful to still have.

Illya lying unconscious in medical in an induced coma while he healed was a stark reminder of that.

They would both be here yet, living another day to tell their tales.
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[personal profile] mlaw
 This was a story where I visited the possibility of divine intervention for Illya and Napoleon, just as I did in my recent fic "Blood Moon." Hope you enjoy this one as it adresses Illya's on-going conflict with the subject of his religious beliefs or his professed 'lack of." or 


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 Sorry I'm late postiing this but I overslept big time....mmmmm felt good. 

The rain has finally stopped here and the sun is shining!

Time to post a link to a story, or two that you've penned or a link to a story by your favorite writer. Please, as Section VII is a gen site, only post appropriate links. Thanks!


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Rasputin flashed a scarred grin that looked more like a gash across his face; seemingly pleased with himself for the moment, though he was unaware of the explosives that had been planted throughout his compound.

"Professor if you would carefully put down the vial and please relieve Mr. Kuryakin of his weapon….hold it with two fingers only."

Cummings complied and with a shaking hand he took Illya's Walther from its holster and laid it on top of the safe next to the vial and formula.

"Kak eto vy zhivy_how is it you are alive? "Illya asked, raised his hands above his head." How did you survive the fire?"

"Vy vse yeshche ne ponimayete Kuryakin_ you still do not understand, Kuryakin?"

"I understand that you are a madman hell-bent on destroying the world, that is all I need to know."

Rasputin laughed, throwing his head back as he did so.


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Kuryakin had positioned himself on the rooftop of headquarters, taking his turn with Mark Slate to keep watch. Every building that was part of the U.N.C.L.E. complex that encompassed the entire block had snipers manning the rooftops, not only protecting the few agents that had to go in and out for whatever reason, but any innocents who'd dared to venture outside as well.

Once the sun had gone down, it was another story. No one was on the streets as roaming bands of hoodlums and drug crazed addicts wandered about at night like zombies.

Read more... )

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 No April story this week. So am posting a fic from my continuing drabble series, 'The Randomness of Life', based on lines from a randomly selected poem...

   Prompted by: The Last Supper ~Rainer Maria Rilke

The loneliness of old comes over him

There are times that I wonder about Alexander Waverly. The man never sleeps, never misses a trick. He is always the sly one, clever in his plans and strategies.

He's getting up there in years, and I hope that I'll live long enough to be half the man he is.


and (like a shot that scatters birds from trees)

His is a name that strikes fear into the hearts of our enemies, yet to look at him; he seems the kindest, most gentle spoken of men...a grandfatherly type.

But there are those who know that within beats the heart of a fierce lion waiting to quickly...unmercifully strike.


everywhere like an all-pervading twilight-hour.

He watches over us, his agents like a sentinel. And the weight, I know, of sometimes sending people to an untimely death weighs heavily upon his shoulders.

I wonder, will I be able to fill those shoes someday? Will I be deserving of the title,

"The Old Man"

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The reds and yellows of the sunrise were just beginning shine above the headstones that surrounded Napoleon Solo as he woke; finding himself sprawled out on the ground in a cemetery with the distinctive odor of old death permeating the air.

As he looked at the dates on some of the headstones, they dated back to the 1800's so yes, there was old death there for sure. Most likely those coffins were just buried in the ground without benefit of a vault, allowing the natural process of putrification and decay to permeate the ground.

There were hundreds and hundreds of grave markers surrounging him, some weathered and stained by time, and he wondered just exactly where he was, as he had no recollection of how he'd gotten here. Well he knew at least he was still in New York as he recognized the distinctive city skyline in the distance, especially the Empire state building towering above the rest.

"You all right son?" A voice spoke from a dark silhouette standing above him, leaning on a shovel.

"Ugh...yeah I think so." Solo was a little slow on the uptake, feeling quite groggy as if he were hung over, though he knew he definitely wasn't.


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 Challenge: What’s my line?

Title: “The transportation affair.”

The prompt: The men from U.N.C.L.E. need transportation because...

Author: mrua7

Word count: Approximately 1500


To say it was a dark and stormy night was more of an understatement than anything. The days downpour started in the early morning hours, persisted throughout the afternoon and evening, with the rain continuing relentlessly to the following day.

It was nearly one a.m. as an unhappy Napoleon Solo leaned back on the red vinyl cushioned bench in an all night diner, sitting opposite his equally disgruntled partner.


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 This story was originally written for a HOWDOWE challenge 2 years ago (wow) and fell around the time of the celebration of Victory Day, May 9th in the then Soviet Union with the prompt being:

"They say we are the sum total of our experiences. Some take those experiences and live with them, others live in spite of them."~  What we perceive isn't always the truth.

At UNCLE HQ Illya revisits his past as he views the parades in Red Square and the displya of Soviet military might. 
(Archival footage of these spectacles on You-tube were a tremendous help in writing this)

I hope you enjoy this story on May 10th, the day after Victory Day. Your comments are most welcome and appreciated. or

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Read more... )

Christina Cummings wandered through mist-filled the woods, trying to follow the compass her father had given her hours earlier.

Dr. Cummings had been unsure about the job they’d taken on but when he heard about this drug called White Rider growing to epidemic proportions, followed by Red Rider wreaking havoc; it was then the chemist finally discovered he’d been one of the people responsible for creating it all.

It had to be stopped somehow, but Cummings couldn’t do what he had to if he knew his daughter wasn’t safe. He sent her to find his old friend in New York city, secreting her out of the camp... knowing Alexander Waverly and his people might be the only ones able to stop this lunatic responsible for all this terror.

Unlike her father, Christina had never seen the man they called Rasputin, but the description of him alone horrified her; that and the knowledge of what they’d been developing in their lab was killing so many people.

Her last instructions from her dad as he kissed her goodbye were to head to a little tailor shop in the city called Del Floria’s, located near the United Nations complex.



Read more... )


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    "Someday a woman will be the death of you my friend."

Illya's words echoed though Napoleon Solo's head as he woke, finding himself with his right wrist handcuffed to a black wrought iron headboard. That wasn't bad enough, but he was also stitch stark naked as well.

Read more... )

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The Florida sun was shining in through the screened walls of the lanai, a gentle breeze fluttered the fronds of the potted palms tucked in the corners of the screened porch as Illya Kuryakin, laying on a chaise, wrapped himself in a thick blanket.

As warm as it was he was cold at the moment, yet his body was playing games with him; one minute his temperature was too low, the next too high.

Read more... )

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 link to part 1:



Solo, as tired as he was, checked the usual places where Illya tended to haunt around headquarters as of late but after coming up empty-handed he finally resorted to calling Security to locate his partner's ID badge.


"He's in the Commissary Mr. Solo. He went straight there as soon as he came into headquarters."

"Thanks Errol."

"You bet Mr. Solo."

It was a youthful voice that spoke, still filled with enthusiasm. Errol Finnerty was a green horn Section III agent who'd been promoted to Security, as there simply weren't enough agents to go around.

Many of the remaining field agents had been moved to different sections as well, as Waverly had all but done away with assignments in the outside world. There was little impact they could make on the current situation and he just wasn't going to risk his people's lives on what he thought might be a fool's errand.


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 ink to part 1:
link to part 2:
link to part 3:
link to part 4:

The night sky was filled with dark foreboding clouds but still the full moon was clearly visible. Slowly the eclipse began, little by little as it was sliced away by the shadow of the earth and became a haunting shade of red.

Napoleon Solo and his partner stood on the rooftop of headquarters in New York, watching the event and once it was over, it didn't take long before the next disaster showed itself as Illya had feared.




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Section VII Propaganda and Public Relations

September 2017

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