Fic Rec: Two Masters - Emily Veinglory (Man from Uncle)
Hayyy kids! Taking a page out of 
scherwood 's book recently, I am going to start posting recs. I don't have a scheule or, frankly, even a plan. :) I just read a shit ton of fanfic, and want to share some of my favorites. Sometimes they'll be fic that are unequeled in writing, sometimes they'll be fic that just made me happy. It will be cross fandom and posted both here and on Tumblr, and will include not just the fic, but a little bit about why I think it's worth your time to read.
First up....
Fic: Two Masters by Emily Veinglory (this link takes you to the fic via the Wayback Machine) - 8,500 words - NS/IK - Author did not rate
Author’s Summary: “I made my first mistake one dark night in Essex.”
My thoughts: To my knowledge, this author has written just two MFU fic. This, and a fic called Fool’s Russian (also provided via the Wayback Machine - if anyone has alternative links, please let me know!), which although hits several of my “oh god yes” buttons, is not as strong.
It’s first person from Illya’s POV, which sounds potentially awkward, but actually allows for some really lovely writing. The prose borders on being on overdone, but because Illya is a transplant with English as a second (or third, or fourth) language who airs on the side of being over-analytical himself, it actually works very well, and has a maturity that sets it apart from a lot of other fic.
The story is slash, but centers on Illya’s loyalty to both the Soviet Union and UNCLE, not just a contentious and burgeoning relationship. In the middle of it all are Napoleon, the KGB, Illya’s own decisions, and the decisions that are made for him by both circumstance and others.
The thing that really struck me about the story was its carefulness in dealing with its subject matter. In a number of older MFU fic I’ve read Illya is written as a defector who is strongly loyal to not just UNCLE, but also the United States. This fic approaches Illya’s position much more complexly, and is a breath of fresh air that acknowledges both the false dichotomy of the Cold Word, and the careful balancing act Illya must uphold.
Excerpt: “I reached to try and move the twigs in a way so as to deflect the relentless spigots of rain, and as I drew back I touched Napoleon’s hand lying lax across a mass of branches. Surprise made me freeze and as I paused the feeling of his skin beguiled me. His wrist was surprisingly narrow under my palm. The edge of his glove was soft and curled over so that the rain had begun to dampen the lining. Where my skin touched his, warmth began to build. I sighed quietly and in doing so noticed the silence.
Napoleon had woken, but he could not know the sound he had been making and thus not know that I could tell he was now awake. I could have just patted his hand in some comradely fashion and moved away, but I did not choose to do so.“