"A small world indeed,"~for the Picfic Tuesday Challenge 7/2

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Sorry for the formatting. LJ is not being cooperative again.


             

Brighton Beach in Brooklyn was a haven for Illya Kuryakin when he was in one of his melancholy moods. Usually his jazz records and the solitude of his apartment were enough, but there were times he need more to draw him out of those dark places his head and his heart retreated to.

Though Russia was no longer home, this place felt like home to him at times as it was filled with faces that looked like his, and he could hear his native language spoken in more than a single sentence or tw That in itself felt so right.

He’d acclimated himself to living in New York and was becoming more comfortable with the American way of doing things....he supposed his three year stint in Great Britain helped and hindered him at times.

To the Americans he seemed more British than Russian, even though everyone at headquarters knew he was Soviet as well as a Communist.  That did not always bode well for him.

Yet here in Little Russia such things didn’t matter; Soviet, Communist, Russian, Ukrainian...everyone here seemed to relish their Slavic heritage and that familiarity was just what he needed sometimes.

He was walking along the boardwalk early one Sunday morning as Napoleon was off on assignment and that cancelled out their Sunday brunches that were becoming a sort of tradition.

Illya stopped, looking out at the waters of the Atlantic and sat on a bench beside an old man who was leaning forward on his cane. Before he knew it the old fellow had struck up a conversation with him in Ukrainian.

( Read more... )

Illya Kuryakin For Sale

[glenmered]

Meet Illya Kuryakin (Magneto/Dancing Dove, she by Choctaw Sun Dance out of Morning Dove (Paloma Manana in SMR). Illya is a creme stallion with superior Spanish type. He is by Magneto (Broom/Espéranza), NATRC National First Place Open Jr. Horse. No one who has seen Magneto has ever doubted his wonderful type and ability. Add to Magneto's superior performance pedigree Illya's dam Dancing Dove, an outstanding isabella Choctaw Sun Dance daughter out of Morning Dove (Paloma Manana in SMR), perhaps Tiger Eye's best producer and dam of NATRC National Champion Cito Mocha Raton. Unlimited potential is the heritage of this young stallion. Wait until you see Illya in action!

http://www.karmafarms.com/

 

 

'Duty Comes First' for the Picfic Tuesday challenge 7/2

[dixiebelle2013.livejournal.com]

Originally posted by dixiebelle2013 at 'Duty Comes First' for the Picfic Tuesday challenge 7/2

"Here's a bench," said Illya. "We could have a rest if you want."

"That sounds like a good idea," Trina replied. They'd just returned from Coney Island, where they'd ridden the famous wooden roller coaster and eaten the famous chili cheese dogs. Now they were taking a relaxing stroll along the boardwalk looking out over the Atlantic Ocean.

"Would you like some more cotton candy?" asked Trina.

"No, thank you," said Illya. The idea of all that sugar made him feel a bit queasy.

They'd been sitting on the bench for less than five minutes when Illya's beeper suddenly went off.

"I'll be there right away. Kuryakin out," Illya said after listening for a few minutes.

"That was Mr. Waverly," he told Trina. "A couple of UNCLE agents are being held captive by THRUSH. I will have to take you home right away. I am very sorry. I will make it up to you soon, I promise."

"That's all right," said Trina. "I know that in your line of work, duty comes first."

"Thank you for being so understanding," Illya said. As he took her home, he thought about how fortunate he was that Trina was always so understanding about it when he was unexpectedly called away, which happened quite frequently.

Picfic Tuesday: Waiting for the Blond

[alynwa.livejournal.com]

( The story... )

Family - Picfic 07-02

[avrovulcan.livejournal.com]

I’d been waiting for him, I knew he’d arrive soon and when he did, would he recognise me?

Of all the people I’d helped, this one meant the most to me. I always found myself wondering what it would be like to live with him, we are both loners, but sometimes it is nice to know there is someone in your life that is special, someone to come home to, to share your happiness and even sadness with.

I decided I wanted this man to be in my life and hoped he’d feel the same way.

( Read more... )

A Far Horizon - PicFic 7/2

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Some people are immune to the seduction of ocean breezes tinged with the tang of salt air.  A very few can resist the allure of a wave as it rolls in and consumes the sand beneath your feet; the feel of where you stand diminishing with the escaping tide.

Napoleon Solo was not one who could walk away from the waves.  Instead, he stood barefooted on the wet sand and let the water buffet against his legs; the suit was already ruined, why not return to Headquarters with sand in his cuffs?

( rolling out to sea... )

A Far Horizon - PicFic 7/2

[glenmered]

 Some people are immune to the seduction of ocean breezes tinged with the tang of salt air.  A very few can resist the allure of a wave as it rolls in and consumes the sand beneath your feet; the feel of where you stand diminishing with the escaping tide.

Napoleon Solo was not one who could walk away from the waves.  Instead, he stood barefooted on the wet sand and let the water buffet against his legs; the suit was already ruined, why not return to Headquarters with sand in his cuffs?

Illya was sitting up on the pier on one of the ancient benches normally occupied by fishermen and children.  Napoleon could just see the top of his blond head, bowed to the sea in a sort of solemn worship.

Only it wasn’t worship.  It was grief.  Each man was attempting to assuage his own misery in whatever manner he could.  Napoleon thought the sea might wash his away while the Russian, as usual, faced into the wind and dared it to tear any more of his heart away than had already been done by the day’s events.

Napoleon bent over and picked up a sand dollar; it wasn’t often you found one of those, he mused to himself.  He wondered if it might be a sign of some sort.  Perhaps luck might smile upon him once again, so he brushed off the little disc that had once held life and tucked it into his pocket.  As he did so he looked up again to check on his partner.

Illya vacillated between hanging his head in dejection and wanting to face the sky and yell at whatever deity might reside there.  In moments like these he repented of ever having had thoughts of a faith that belonged to the ancient ones, the babushkas and their priests.  He derided himself at asking the same questions that had been presented by countless others.

“How could a loving God allow…?  How?  And what was love and who administered love and … chyort.”

Kuryakin and Solo had failed to achieve the desired results on this mission and someone had died.  Someone else.  Someone who should not have died.  Illya hung his head once more, no longer interested in yelling at the wind.  He felt a hand on his shoulder and knew it was Napoleon, understood that his friend was also burdened by the death of an innocent person.

“You okay, Illya?”

“As well as you, I suppose.”

Napoleon smiled that half amused, half forlorn smile that was uniquely his.  People died around them more often than he wanted to admit, but when it happened to someone who wasn’t even part of the mission … People said Solo was lucky, but today he didn’t feel like luck was anywhere close by, unless it was bad luck.

“I know it wasn’t our fault, but I keep thinking that … I mean, if only we had been…”  Illya stopped his partner’s speculation.

“Been what?  Faster, smarter?  We do the best job we can and then we try to do it even better.  Lerner had no regard for life; that young man was doomed as soon as he stepped into that laboratory.  The university allowed a madman to run that program, and it’s a miracle that no more than one person was victimized by him.”

Napoleon cocked his head to one side, causing Illya to stop and, with a raised eyebrow ask why.

“You said it was a miracle.  Do you believe that?”

The blond turned his gaze back to the ocean, unsure of his answer or his ability to reason with the unknown.

“I do not know.  Perhaps.  I suppose it might help to believe… something.”

The two men sat and stared out to someplace beyond the waves, all the way to the horizon.  Out there, all the way out there.
Napoleon sighed a long and weary sigh.  Not resignation, but a sigh of great depth nonetheless.

“Something, eh?  Yes, I suppose it would help.”

And so they sat there on the old bench and watched the sun set into that far horizon, wondering what they might believe.