#I love the cia

[sp1neuser]

I’ve never really used tumblr, so let’s start off with something fun lol.

Here’s a bit of an inside joke from my comic, Atticus, Made some MINDBLOWING revelations at his Fathers public funeral. (He was extremely intoxicated. 😔)

Two color ways , the original pen drawing and pookie bear❤️ 👍

[unpretty]

reading what happened to season two of 'the real adventures of johnny quest' really is like. the nightmare fucking scenario. you make one season of a show where you try to bring back an old pulp show but turn it into something grounded and cool without the racism or sexism but with real cool science, and then season two they just hand it over to some guys who are like "yeah we're going to bring the racism and sexism back, also real science sucks so everything is magic now"

[wishchip106]

idk who they were trying to fool with that Moira x Charles

they’ll just both be waiting for the other to put it in 🤨

personification of this picture honestly

[smilesrobotlover]

Thinking about how in my timeline, hw happened for Midna after tp, which means she’d either be pregnant with kori or will have him there. So take a PISSED off momma and a clueless child :)

[waroferas]

destiny :3 (said with agony)

here are some thoughts i want to share

i wanted to share the gifs bc i like them. weee look at tthem spin

Cia

the background is a darker tone of the blue i associate with the hw royal family. there is purple overlay/shading on her because of ganondorf's influence on her. there is a soft yellow light highlighting her face- this is the glow of the triforce. i'm also using my own design :3

Link

i associate the general tone of blue in the background with the hw royal family due to the scarf included in the hero’s tunic, plus the same material/blue of the scarf is used on the flags of hyrule castle. this is the second time now (in art i’ve posted) that i have obscured his face- i like doing this to invoke a weak sense of self, which is something these two have in common in my mind.

misc.

originally this was going to be 16 frames with 4 little "scenes" of these two. Cia before she started to realize her plan wasn't going to work -> Link before he got the master sword OR Link just before fighting Dink (does not make much sense now with where it ended up but it's important to the original thought) -> the 8 frames that i Did end up making. I think it's interesting if these two struggle with similar things but show off the opposite ends of the spectrum of reacting to it. Cia knows her fate and creates a self fulfilling prophecy in her anger and panic, Link knows his fate and gives himself up to it too readily, which not only leads to a kinda blank slate persona but also turns the power that the master sword gives him into the catalyst for the Dark Link fight. they don't spend enough time together in canon for this similarity to ever really shine, but i like to think it's something that they eventually talk about after the war there are several versions of this post that could have existed. i have had army dreamers associated with link for a while now so the trend was very convenient LOL but there is also an animation draft for over & over by rio romeo that would have been hell on my wrist!! but trust me it's really good

there is a single frame at the end of cia's segment that i can't get rid of it actually drives me nuts

[kheprriverse]

Ok I can't hold my curiosity back any longer:

In the recent Volga and Ares pic and the Volga sheet, what is the sort of purplish blue scar like thing?

Is it where he got touched by dark magic?

Ohh its totally ok to be curious here <3

But to answer your question: yes! Here's a quick thing for you too, to give a vague idea of what happened

Its a rare dark magic spell and requires a lot of energy, but some mages can mark another living being and use that mark to command them. To Volga its like a deep slumber and what he experiences would be like a strange dream.

There's also an offshoot to the spell that's even more difficult to master -- let alone use for long periods of time -- and its directly marionetting whoever is marked. Cia can also do this (and has done it in my au) but it's very hard on her and she has to release control after a few minutes. (think puppet zelda vibes, but the mage is still separate from the puppet and has to mimic the movements/attacks in order for the puppet to do em)

After he breaks from her spell, the mark is still left over like a scar and wouldn't actually disappear unless Cia is killed (which she isn't). And while Cia probably isn't gonna take control over him again, the leftover mark does still make him vulnerable to other dark mages in the future. This goes for anyone else who's marked by her as well.

Here's the posts that are being referenced in the ask: -> Volga's ref -> Volga and Ares pic

[moeblob]

Cia ! Because I'm thinking about Dark Deity again due to that anon.

[silverspleen]

STUPID SHIP MEME DRAWINGS.

I just think they should kiss maybe?

Obsessed (positive??) with the dynamic of guy who betrays his country so he can run off with the militia he's been working with because he gets a case of loyalty feelings so bad he goes and blows himself up X morally upstanding traumatic backstory woman having the worst fucking time of her life (again) who really just needs someone to be as fanatically loyal as possible to her, as a person who is really into the inherent eroticism of the hierarchical military power dynamic focus on loyalty and the use of "yes ma'am" as I love you.

Obsessed (negative) with the propaganda implications that we seem to have ignored of the fact that the three most important people in an arabic woman's life are 2 (two) white guys and her brother, who betrays her and becomes a villain in the later games, and the fucking insidious-ass narrative choice of placing one of said white guys in said militia as like, the tacit fact that this organization is ok only because the western white guys are cool with it. Stop introducing more ULF people just to kill them!!! I SEE YOU WRITERS!!! YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME!!!!!!

because, once again, the character dynamic? I am sick for it. He dropped a building on himself for her and then came back???? He came back???? He could have gone anywhere but he came back to her???? I'm unwell. I think I have covid. I need to go lie down.

Anyway my city now my characters now smashing them together like barbies watching that .gif of them staring at each other eighty times reading all the fanfiction goodbye

you shouldn't blow yourself up in the furnace I want to blow myself up in the furnace for you as my own personal choice and you should order me to do it because you're such a good leader what is wrong with youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrgh *gnaws on furniture*

WE DON'T EVEN GET TO SEE HIM COME BACK TO HER. THANK YOU FIC WRITERS YOU KNOW THAT REUNION MUST BE SO ANGST THE COMPLEX DYNAMIC OF SACRIFICING YOURSELF FOR SOMEONE AND MAKING IT OUT AND BACK TO THEM AGAIN!!!!!!! THE GUILT! THE YEARNING! THE LOYALTY! I AM GOING TO EXPLODE.

[skyward-floored]

Volga gets some spotlight for a change (hdw au)

Comes after Volga confronting Cia (and Link on Skyloft, but it’s slightly less necessary to understand this)

...

Volga seeks out and fights the strongest. That is his objective.

He goes where the sorceress tells him, leads monsters into battles as she deems fit. He sees others only as adversaries, evaluating them solely on the threat they pose, the strength they wield.

Nothing else matters.

Only his orders, and strength.

The Hylian army is at their gates, working steadily through the valley, and despite the sorceress increasing Volga’s power, they’re still advancing, calling upon the Great Fairy to aid them. Volga himself is forced to retreat back to Cia’s side, and he stands silently beside her, waiting for her orders.

She’s watching the battle with a look in her eye that grows steadily more enraged, her knuckles whitening on her staff. It isn’t long before she orders him back out, commanding him to find the princess and crush her.

Volga nods, preparing to obey, when the sorceress stops him, a manic look in her eyes.

“This time you will destroy them,” she snarls, and thrusts her hand against his chest.

Power rushes through him, greater than what he had received before, and Volga roars as it fills his veins, turning into a dragon and leaping into the air.

This time he will be the strongest.

Volga glides across the valley, making a beeline towards the army’s leader, the princess’s sword flashing across the battlefield. He lands with a roar, and she quickly turns her attention to him, eyes widening as she leaps out of the way of his first attack.

Volga is merciless, using his weapons of both spear and claws, shooting fire and dive bombing with his dragon form. The princess is annoyingly stubborn though, avoiding nearly all of his attacks, parrying blows and dodging flames.

Some distant part of Volga is impressed.

He snarls as she avoids yet another thrust of his spear, and the princess looks at him, something odd flashing in her gaze.

“Volga! Come to your senses!” she suddenly shouts, parrying an attack. “I know you to fight with honor! What glory is there to be found in using dark magic to win all of your battles?”

“Don’t mock me!” Volga snarls, slamming a clawed hand towards her. How dare she?

“Open your eyes!” Zelda shouts as she dodges, still not giving up. “I believed you to be a proud dragon warrior, not a mercenary for darkness!“

Their weapons clash, and Zelda looks up at Volga without fear, her blue eyes bright.

“Think of your family, Volga. Look past the darkness clouding your vision.”

Volga falters just a hair, a snarl dying in his throat. There is certainly no darkness clouding him, merely the extra power the sorceress provided, but Zelda’s words of family carry a spark of something different. Something... important?

Volga shakes his head, frowning.

...What had she said again?

The spark fades, and Volga roars, hitting her backwards with a clawed hand. The princess is thrown to the ground with a cry, but before Volga can press his attack, there’s a flash of blue and green, and the Hero stands in his way, sword raised.

He has a stricken expression on his face, but Volga barely registers it, roaring again as he goes to face the both of them. The princess regains her footing as the hero slams his shield up to block Volga’s spear, and the three of them resume the fight.

Other monsters join the attack, and the hero’s attention is drawn to keeping them away from his princess, mostly leaving her and Volga to fight alone. Volga draws constantly on the sorceress’s power, and it’s soon obvious the princess begins to flag against his brutal attacks.

She fights on though, tenacious as ever. Soon enough Volga finds their weapons locked again, her eyes fixed on his face.

“Knight Volga, I thought you a protector, a dragon of honor,” she says, voice breathless but earnest. Blood drips across her eye but she doesn’t loosen her grip to wipe it away. “This isn’t who you are, drawing on dark power, fighting in wars for a cause you don’t believe in!”

That persistent spark of something comes back in Volga’s mind, flickering in his thoughts, buzzing in his memory. It makes him falter, just a little.

“Please,” Zelda repeats, still straining against his spear. “For Link’s sake.”

The name rings familiar, and Volga stumbles as a face flickers in his mind, blue eyes shining through the murk. Looking at him in trepidation as information spills from hylian lips, scales glittering in places they have no right to be.

What is this memory?

He can’t recall the events that led to it, or what came after, or even where he was when it occurred. In fact... all he can really recall is the sharp urge to fight the strongest, destroy the enemy, do as the sorceress commands.

Who is the boy with scales on his arms, and hair nearly the same color as his own?

“Volga,” the princess speaks again, less strained now, and Volga belatedly realizes he’s stopped fighting. “Fight past this darkness. I know you are more than what Cia is letting you be.”

Cia.

The name is like a clap of thunder in his head, and suddenly the darkness he’d denied was choking him is all too evident, coursing through him alongside his fire, constricting his thoughts and twisting his actions. Its influence is overwhelming, and Volga clutches a hand over his chest, thoughts whirling as memories rush back.

Cia invading his home and forcing him under her service, ignoring his wishes to be left alone. Using her magic to make him fight, starting a war over lust for his son, putting him on the opposite side of his own kin.

Purposely obscuring the fact that he had a son.

Volga snarls, anger rising as flames drip from his lips. Cia used dark power, foisted upon him without his say, using him as nothing but another pawn in her game and his son—

“No... no!” Volga shouts, gripping at his head with both hands. “I won’t be ruled by darkness!”

He won’t remain Cia’s puppet for another second.

Volga lashes out at the darkness coating him, tearing at Cia’s influence in his chest. He can feel her power fight back the moment he pushes against it, darkness reaching up to claw at his mind, but Volga tears back with claws of his own, refusing to succumb to it again.

He pushes back with his own power, not that of the sorceress, fire clashing with darkness.

A roar builds in his throat as he gains a solid foothold, and he pushes it out, Cia’s dark power leaving him all in a rush.

And he is free.

Weakness follows the loss of power, but even as Volga drops to a knee, he feels more clearheaded, more alive, then he has in weeks.

And it’s overwhelmingly refreshing.

Volga curls his fingers into the dirt as he regains his bearings, clutching his spear as he raises himself up off the ground again. The princess stands a few feet away, watching him with a hopeful look on her face, and Volga huffs, looking away.

...right into the eyes of the hero.

His son.

Volga stares, the boy staring back with an uncertain look on his face. The hero’s gaze is interrupted by a monster slashing at him, and Volga shakes himself, then looks around the battlefield, taking in what he’s missed.

His gaze falls on the princess again, and something burns in his chest, a need to finish what he started. Volga raises his spear in challenge, pointing it at her and the hero.

“This time I will duel you properly. I will win this fight under my own power,” he declares.

He has other business, important business even (Cia will pay, he swears it), but his pride insists he finishes this fight. He wants to show the two of them how he really fights, no dark powers, no false strength.

To finish the fight he began in an honorable manner.

The princess hesitates at his request, exchanging a loaded look with her hero. But he nods, and she nods as well, pointing her sword back.

And they start the fight anew, dragon, princess, and hero.

The fight is invigorating, to say the least. Volga’s very scales seem to buzz with excitement as he battles the two, the old fire coming back to his blood. They’re an incredible team, truly powerful, and fighting them helps immensely with continuing to wake him up, forcing any remnant of Cia’s power from his bones.

They weave in and out in tandem, one of them striking, and then darting out as the other attacks. Despite the remaining weakness from the loss of darkness, Volga matches them blow for blow, his blood singing as he duels the two.

He hasn’t had a fight this challenging in years, and it reminds him of older days, of other duels.

A smile on a tanned face, ruby-red eyes, hair the color of new-fallen snow...

Volga promptly pushes that image aside. He needs to focus on the here and now, and his strength is fading, the hero and princess still pressing their attack.

As much as he hates to admit it, Cia’s actions have left him low on strength, and as enjoyable as this fight is... he’s fading. Rather fast.

And suddenly, he finds himself on his knees, a sword pointing at his neck.

Volga looks at Zelda, then over at his son, both of them breathing hard. An odd feeling of pride runs through him as he looks at the boy, and he almost smiles. Only one other person has ever been able to truly best him in battle, and it’s clear both of them learned from her.

Impa taught them well.

...It was no wonder Cia wanted one dead and the other her captive.

Anger courses through him at the reminder of the sorceress’s treachery, but his energy is spent. Too spent for him to reasonably mount a successful attack on her.

His vengeance will have to wait.

The princess opens her mouth to speak, but Volga beats her to it, closing his eyes as blood runs from a cut over one of them. “I accept my defeat with honor. I lose, but I do so without regrets.”

He exhaled and looks up at the two of them, and his son meets his eyes again, blood and dirt smeared on his face.

Volga gives him a singular nod, then despite his weariness, turns into his dragon form and takes off into the skies. He needs to rest, and recover from his wounds before figuring out what to do next.

And... process the ramifications of having a son.

Impa...

Link and Zelda watch him go in silence, Volga’s wings bright as a comet as he glides away. They’re both breathing heavily from the battle, small injuries bleeding, burns stinging. Zelda is smiling though, and there’s a hesitant sort of hope in Link’s eyes as they watch the dragon grow smaller in the distance.

Zelda squeezes Link’s shoulder as Volga finally disappears from their sight, but they don’t have time to dwell on what just occurred.

Cia still needs to be taken care of. But then...

Link supposes they’ll figure it out.

[bobbimorses]

black widow & hawkeye #1

[greghatecrimes]

Cameron's gay as hell I would be more into my partner if they did what chase did

This is so real because me too. If my wife killed a dictator I would stand by her forever and be even more madly in love with her. Cameron was just too lost in the comphet to realize she was never attracted to men

[the-worms-in-your-bones]

I am once again going down the rabbit hole of trying to figure out the ages of the Gallifrey characters

[wishchip106]

At what points during first class do you reckon Erik and Charles fell for eachother?

somewhere between these two points for sure🤔

or maybe even love at first sight:

but with gayness being illegal in the sixties who knows how long it would’ve taken them to actually get together though 😔 sighh the gays never win 💔

[tomialtooth]

I like* AdBell but only when weird and fucked up and not lovey at all. I don't like it when they're genuinely in love and have some semblance of a normal relationship. To me, what they have is barely a relationship at all and certainly not a healthy one. Adler is not a good person and I do not believe he is capable of perceiving Bell as an equal. Therefore, despite the amount I shitpost about it like 99% of AdBell content out there does not appeal to me whatsoever.

[lunar-alden]

So I was doing my dailies in LaDS while in the break room at work and…

……………I’m—

Yes Sir, right away, Sir 😳

[pampanope]

Story time!

The origin of Red11~ posted here because it’s too long for the discord server💀

Emile ([REDACTED]) belongs to @kings-out-of-pocket-hell

Efren|7-11 (here in spirit lol) is mine~

Guest starring Russell Adler✨

——————-

Emile watched his scarred mentor lay flat three manila folders, each of varying thickness. The room was of the sterile variety that Langley as whole was fond of with nothing but the blandest tables and folding chairs.

He leaned forward, eyes filled with unbridled delight. The bland setting did nothing to dampen the excitement bubbling in his chest.

Finally, after years of lectures, rigorous physical conditioning, the marksmanship training, lessons on field craft, torture resistance, and the skepticism from his peers, this is it. No more tagging along on an op, no more hanging back when shit got interesting. His first operation as lead.

As if sensing the glee coursing through him, Adler raised a brow from across the table. The older man tapped at the middle folder to direct Emile’s attention, which, in Emile’s opinion, was completely unnecessary. He‘d never been this locked in.

“I’ve got a job for you,” Adler began. “Something I trust you can handle. We have the location of a suspected terrorist cell, embedded deep inside a mountain, too deep for satellites to confirm. You’re gonna have to go in and get visual and signal confirmation, as well as the layout of the compound.” The man paused, placing a thick folder on the table. It was heftier than the other three. “Here’s the full brief. Memorize it.”

Emile gave the thick brief the barest glance before immediately snapping his eyes back to the first three folders. Yeah, no. That’s not what he’s here for.

Actually, technically, it was what he woke up at the ass crack of dawn for. But it’s not what he wants. Not really.

Adler chuckled beneath his breath. “Fine, I see how it is.”

“‘Course you do. You’ve got me on pins and needles here, old man,” Emile grinned, “don’t keep me in suspense. Gimme.” The blonde crept a hand towards the rightmost folder. It was lightly smacked away by the other man.

Adler pinched the bridge of his in exasperation. “Kid, you’re being assigned an asset. It’s no big deal. This is a standard component of field operations.”

Nope. Adler wasn’t gonna dress this down as something mundane. “Yes, it is...But! Only fully trained intelligence officers get to be Handlers. Which means I am now a fully fledged intel officer. Today I’m getting my government sanctioned Scary Dog privilege. I’m over the fucking moon, sir.”

Adler, for his part, sighed and leaned back in his seat, as if drained by the exchange. He took a long sip of what must be lukewarm coffee, before making a ‘have at it motion’ with his free hand.

Emile snatched the rightmost file his hand had crept towards earlier. Azure eyes scanned every detail, eating up the feast of personal intel before him, all of it laid bare to pick at and examine within the palace of his mind. He sank into the deep concentration he’d adopted for analysis.

Huh. No photos. Not even a name, Emile mused. Must be to eliminate all bias. Relax, Adler. Pretty privilege won’t be a factor here.

The master, meanwhile, silently watched his protege work. He observed the younger man shuffle through page after page, folder to folder, noted which of the dossiers he spent the longest time examining.

Adler had his own guess as to who the younger would pick.

“Well? Your thoughts?” Adler asked after what he felt should’ve been enough time had passed.

Emile blinked, seemingly resurfacing from the depths. He stretched languidly before placing all sheets of paper in their proper folders.

“This is exactly what I imagined choosing my first starter Pokemon would feel like.”

“…I’m gonna pretend I understand what you said for the sake of moving on.”

Emile chuckled. “Heh. Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” He carded a hand through his hair briefly.

“Okay, to start with,” he pushed the file to the left the slightest bit but forward, “this one’s skilled, as expected. Service record’s impeccable and squeaky clean. He’s shiny. Perfect. Boring.” The blonde waves a dismissive hand.

“Boring?” Adler tilted his head, a clear order to elaborate.

Emile tapped at the table in thought. “Boring, as in the guy’s record may be stellar, but his résumé’s full of the basic ‘breach a target building and spray everything with bullets’ kind of work, which I’m sure he’s very good at, but I need more nuance, more variety. I also get the impression subtlety is lost on him and he won’t be finding it anytime soon.”

“Hm. Next?” Adler asked.

Odd. The man would normally needle him for more.

“Right…” Emile eyed the other with suspicion. He pushed the middle file forward. “This one? I hate to say this, it’s such a ridiculous nitpick, but he’s a bit of a yes man. I don’t need or want one. If I happen to fuck up, i need someone to set me straight. Get in my face about it. Everything else about him is great. Really. But…not what I want.”

He was being picky, sure, but he wasn’t gonna leave anything to chance. He needed someone with a spine, someone who won’t let themselves get steamrolled by him.

Again, Adler gave a noncommittal answer, this time a grunt of acknowledgment, and motioned for him to get to the final dossier.

Just like previously, that seemed too easy. Emile began to suspect something was afoot. If it was anyone else sitting before him, alarm bells would’ve been ringing in his head by now; and yes that’s a wild statement considering the reputation of the man before him.

Emile glanced at the final dossier, his right hand splayed wide over it like a possessive spider over captured prey. He’d saved the interesting one for last.

“This one,” Emile pushed the last dossier towards the center after sweeping the rejects aside, “Clearly, like the last two, his record’s fantastic; several successful missions, solo and team, as well as variety in his skillset and experiences. His evals paint him to be a free thinker when necessary yet easily falls into line and can take orders. When you put all this together, this guy pulls ahead of the others by a small margin… ”

“But..?” Adler prompted, shifting forward in his seat.

Although Emile couldn’t see the man’s eyes, shielded behind Oakleys as they were, he felt the heat of them. Years of exposure had never made them any less unsettling.

“I noticed some strikes against him on an otherwise impressive record.” Emiles pulled the relevant page out of the folder. “Guy’s got a record of violent outbursts and—-well, reports of him ripping out two men’s throats. Two. I have questions.”

”Of course you do.” Adler, the bastard, didn’t bother to hide the smugness coloring his voice. “The torn throats happened during a raid two years into his time as a vanilla Marine, very close quarters. He’d been jumped and lost his firearm in the scuffle, but managed to dispatch both—“

“Wait, I’m sorry, ‘both’? As in, within the same instance? He chomped two throats, in a row? Consecutively?!” What the fuck. Why am I fixated on this?

“You’re fixated on this.”

Shit.

“No. Nope. It’s just…impressive is all. Please, continue,” said Emile. He fought off the sudden urge to press a hand against his throat.

The scarred man obviously didn’t fall for his bullshit with how the corner of his mouth was lifted. “The violent outbursts, on the other hand, were actually two separate instances. Well…more like cases than instances,” Adler said.

“Yeah?” Emile asked,leaned closer.

“The first case happened during his early days of basic. A couple of recruits from his cohort thought it would be cute to mess with the moody guy. Repeatedly. Moody guy had enough and sent them to the infirmary.”

Emile let out a low whistle at that. A spine. This was promising. “Nice. And the powers that be at the time didn’t boot him from the Marines?” Honestly, beating the crap out of your bullies screamed devil dog behavior, really on brand of them.

“No need.” Oh. That was a full blown smirk on Adler’s face. Holy shit. “Kid got squared away and humbled by a passing spec ops operator at the behest of a drill instructor. He’s been well behaved and obedient ever since. Mostly.”

Wow. Note to future self: conduct an extensive, invasive background check of this guy’s past. Because he needs more, dammit. And he’s the goddamn CIA now, no need to jump through hoops to unlock someone’s backstory.

“That’s one. What about the second case?” Emile found himself mentally cataloging the gear they’d be needing. Heh. I guess I’ve made my mind up.

Adler downed the last of his, now frigid, coffee before continuing. “The second happened a year into his time as a Force Recon operator. Heard a rumor about a Captain abusing his rank to coerce members of the lower ranks into acts of…that nature.”

The younger scowled. Jesus.

Adler nodded. “Yes, Exactly. Our guy caught this captain in the act with one of his fellow squad mates. From the official reports I’ve read, that officer was absolutely mauled.”

Emile took in a ragged breath. Just what exactly are you gifting me, Adler? Because… “Okay but this time, he had to have been punished severely.”

“Three month’s suspension,” the other man chuckled, “a slap on the wrist. They couldn’t punish our guy in a meaningful way for this, the optics would be terrible. Not to mention the uproar it would cause among the enlisted. But they had to do something.” Adler shrugged. “So, slap on the wrist it was.”

Emile let out a bark of laughter, giddy and light with elation. He took a deep breath, leaned back in his seat, mind warm and fuzzy, and closed his eyes for a moment before speaking.

“I want him. Gimme the spicy one.”

I want him. I want the one who’s gonna literally fight tooth and nail to survive when the odds are stacked against him. I want the one who’s gonna take matters into his violent, vicious hands when a comrade can’t protect themselves. I want all of that for myself. I’ll be the one to hold his leash. I’m gonna point all that teeth and violence at the enemy. He’s dangerous. But screw safe. Safe doesn’t get shit done. It’s why I’m here.

Emile thought of Oscar. He thought of how he’d gladly suffer countless sentences for him if it meant keeping him safe.

“Heh.”

The younger man blinked. ”Eh?” Whoops. He’d been fantasizing about the new murder puppy. In front of Adler. Fuck.

Adler snorted. “Good to know you approve of this one. I won’t have to tell the Marines to cancel all the arrangements made.”

Emile stared down the smug face across the table.

“…You’re a bastard, you know that?” he asked in disbelief. “Why even ask me to go through the others? Did I even have a choice?”

Adler stood, gathering the two rejected folders. “Yes. If you chose any of the other two, I’d have taken care of it. But I know you. You were never gonna take them. I knew you wanted someone who matched you psychologically. But you had to make that decision for yourself.”

Great, Emile thought. His mentor knew him enough to find the right candidate to match his freak. The man should consider matchmaking as a side hustle if the CIA no longer worked out.

“Here,” Adler said, sliding a small photo towards Emile. “A peace offering for bamboozling you. It was fun.”

“Tch. I was not bamboozled.“ Emile muttered. He snatched the offered photo eagerly.

Oh.

Oooh.

Maybe Adler made the right call withholding photos. Impartiality would’ve been thrown out the window.

Pretty, was Emile’s immediate impression. The eyes in the photo were fierce, the hair a non-regulation mess, and a beauty mark sat at the corner of the left eye. Emile then noticed the name scribbled in Adler’s neat handwriting.

Efren Torres Aldrich.

Efren. EfrenEfrenEfren. Heh. Effy. Emile ran a reverent thumb over dark eyes, wondering what they would see once they’ve peered into his own dark blue. He gently tucked the photo into his shirt pocket, a hot brand nestled against his heart.

Adler slid the neglected brief closer to Emile. “Like I said, memorize it. You’ll meet him tomorrow at Langley Air Force base, 0500.” He gathered his empty mug, files tucked under arm, before reaching over to ruffle Emile’s hair. “Don’t scare the poor guy away, kid. I actually put effort into pairing you with someone who’d watch your back.”

Emile let warmth wash over him as he leaned into the affectionate touch. “I make no promises,” he teased. Hm. Would Efren like having a hand in his hair, too?

He felt Adler make his way towards the door as he settled in, ready for hours of reading, careful planning, deciding which insertion points would be the least detectable, which exfil routes were the least hazardous in all that mountain terrain, maybe study a topographical map of the area, and if he needed to make contact with a trustworthy local source to have—

“Emile.”

Deep blue eyes blinked into awareness, mind resurfacing.

“Yeah?”

From the open doorway, Adler gazed at Emile. The man appeared to consider something.

“Good luck out there. Remember…” Adler paused, voice heavy with faint emotion the younger man can’t quite identify, “as handler you’re responsible for the well being and, to an extent, actions of your asset in the field. Call the shots and he’ll follow. Got it?”

Somber and pensive Adler was a rare creature, one Emile wasn’t well versed in dealing with even after years of knowing the man.

“Understood,” Emile said, nodding, matching the other man’s tone.

The mood possessing Adler was gone in an instant. He gave a brusque nod before shutting the door.

I’m gonna steal his jacket when I get back, Emile thought fondly with a chuckle as he went back to reading. And gotta have all my prep finished early enough so that dear Efren won’t have to put up with my sleep deprived whining.

Emile spent the rest of the day quietly poring over mission intel, hand occasionally reaching to cup his throat.