not news that adler is so obviously based off of robert redford (made all the more obvious that @mickstart convinced me to watch spy game andβ¦. yuppp someone in the writerβs room was a fan of that one !!) but URGGRGGGH. i wonder if adler stole his drip on purposeβ¦β¦β¦.
i lost the creds to the bnw pic of adler iβm so sorry pls lmk if anyone knows!!
so this post has been gaining some traction again since robert redford's unfortunate passing... and i haven't had much time between starting my new job to have anything really intelligible to say- but i did want to bring this up to highlight how strange and sweet the relationship that adler fans in particular have with robert redford given his countenance and physical similarity to adler.
obviously, adler was inspired by robert redford- that much is indisputable. and as much as i loved robert redford well before i got into cod, it's still funny to watch some of his films and see certain traits or mannerisms carried over to adler's characterisation.
i suppose in a way i just wanted to give tribute and thank mr. redford for the way he unknowingly inspired many fans of adler in their characterisation of him. i've seen countless renders, art, writings, and just general creations that reference robert redford or use his body of work as a template or as au's to base adler related work on, including myself (though i've had a difficult time posting them because... well, excuses).
to risk sounding a little cheesy, it's nice to know that though robert redford's work and memory will live on in literally every monumental thing he's contributed to the world- not just his acting roles but his directorial work, his activism, his passion for politics, and of course, sundance- part of him will also always be prevalent within this little niche corner of the cod fandom, inspiring creatives and artists and general adler enjoyers alike. i've certainly spun ideas in my mind about adler that were inspired by certain redford films, likely to a degree where it's so ingrained in how i picture adler that i don't even notice.
but anyway- rest in peace, bobby. and thank you for all your work, both in film and in life, and for inspiring everyone whose heart you touched <3
After Frank got out of Walter Reed, the news was that I put him in that chair. I was the one who compromised his Panama mission in β89. Got Hudson and Mason killed. Woods injuredβ¦ All bullshit.
Two years and come and go and I still mourn the loss of one of my favorite Adbell fics(Skyfall)
oh man, this fic. I adored it. Basically the premise is that Bell!Reader rescues Adler at the Mall just before he was taken away. I can still picture the image of the two pressing their forehead together on the helicopter ride back to the safehouse. It shaped me like many Adbell fics of the time(I miss that era of Adbell and Black ops Cold War in general).
Unfortunately the fic was deleted around July or August 2024 when the author(I think it was Alpha- Bravo- Charlie- Delta, please correct me if I was wrong) deactivated their account(which was a huge loss for the Black Ops Cold War Community). Somedayy, I go though archives in the hope that someone had reblog the fic. I get my hopes up to see that there was a reblog only to find out that the Read More just redirects to the now gone blog instead. I still hope that one day, I will find the complete fic. If anything, I learn that if you like a fic, please reblog it because you never know if one day, it just vanishes
Wherever the author is now, I hope they are doing okay and maybe one day(unlikely as it at this point, they will come back)
Thank you! And, in actuality, while the whole thing is not complete, I am here to share some of the beginnings of it considering I have wrote so much for it that, sharing this tidbit will not, in anyway, ruin the rest of the story I'm still working on !!
βββββ ββ ββ β βββββ
WIP: Clink, Clink, Baby!
CW!Russell Adler x F!Reader
[About]: After moving into a new neighbourhood, you attempt to acclimate into the community.
[Wc]: 2.6k
βββββ ββ ββ β βββββ
A new dawn brought with it a new day, and with a new day, there were undoubtedly new opportunities.Β
The song of the summer was booming from the tinny metal speaker of the radio on the yellowish marble counter in the kitchen, windows open, white lace curtains blowing in the breeze. Hardly a singer, you opted to hum along with the melody of the song youβd almost squealed at when it came on the radio.
Trays lined the kitchen counters, the smell of chocolate, vanilla, and sugar encompassing the entirety of the house. The sun beamed through the windows, a slight sheen on the cookies youβd spent most of your morning baking.Β
Sweat brewed on your brow, the sleeves of the sweater youβd slept in the night prior bunched at your forearms. Hardly dressed for the heat of the peak summer in California, you realised, but the night prior, whilst you had been digging through boxes, after a day of pulling and pushing furniture into the house, and the time spent unpacking dishes, and decor, when youβd finally made it into your bedroom β you hadnβt the energy to muster digging through the boxes labelled with βCLOTHESβ, and so, you settled with one of your fatherβs old sweaters, the bottom edges of it marked with the oil of the car that had driven you to where you were there and then.
Heβd been firm in driving you up, making sure you got settled, even though he and your mother were planning on making the trip back to San Diego in just a month's time for your birthday. You allowed him and his fatherly ways to completely consume you, smiling at him as he left you with a kiss on the head, and a well meaning βgood luck, have fun β but not too much fun.β
It was then that you realised, as the car drove off into the distance, that your life was changing.Β Hopefully for the better, too.Β
Taking a step back, you huffed, admiring the fruits of your labour. From out the window, you heard the shifting of the tree to the right of your house, the breeze much too gentle to bring a sort of coolness to counter the ferocious heat. Still, with the AC finally working, after a couple closed-fist bashes on the top of it β and an excitement blooming in your chest, you figured that, even with the warmth, you had all the means to have a good day.Β
Leaving the cookies to cool, you moved through your house, stripping yourself of the scruffy sweater as you finally dove into the boxes of clothes youβd pushed to the corner of your bedroom, sitting on your knees as you pulled each piece out separately, holding it out in front of you.
They were destined to move from box to pile; you hadnβt intended on putting anything away β still knowing you were doing away with the floral wallpaper your grandmother had decorated the house with. A sign of independence, you know that, as sheβd decorated the walls with it after divorcing your grandfather, butβ¦ well, the reds and yellows werenβt exactly to your taste, and doing away with them would be, in some way, a sign of your own independence.Β
Until then, your bedroom was not intended to be the best looking β only practical. Similar to the blue and white striped, knee-length dress you pulled from the box in front of you.
It had been your mothers when she was in her early twenties, her pride and joy, you heard her voice rattle through your head, followed by the sound of her chortled laughter as she accompanied that claim with, donβt give me that look β it was way before you came along!Β
Home away from home, knowing that, even though she was only one telephone away, she would be there with you in the form of the dress that she seemed to value more than her child. Nevertheless, the fact that sheβd trusted you enough with it was sweet enough to put a prep in your step as you slipped on your white pumps, rushing back out into the kitchen at the digging of the timer that had been ticking away.Β
When the cookies were piled into a basket lined with a kitchen towel, you slipped into the bathroom, finishing up getting ready for the day: swiping your cheeks with cheek red blush, applying lipstick on your bottom lip, rubbing your lips together. You smiled at yourself in the mirror of your bathroom, the smile quick to become a snarl as you bared your teeth, scrubbing away at your front teeth with the pad of your finger in an effort to get rid of the lipstick that had marked them. When it was gone, you trailed your tongue over them, proceeding to smile again, speaking out loud, extending your hand out as though you were introducing yourself to someone.
βHi, I just moved into the neighbourhood, anβ I was just wonderinβ if ya would like a cookie, yβknow as a, uh, gift of sorts?β Your eyes narrowed, peering into your soul as you cleared your throat, rolled your shoulders, and blinked. βHello, my Mimi just recently moved to Florida, and she left me her house soβ¦ Iβm your new neighbour! I baked some cookies, would you like one?β You pursed your lips, βThey donβt want my whole fuckinβ life story.β You settled your hands on your hips. βHi! Nice to meet ya, Iβm your new neighbour and I baked some cookies, would you like one?βΒ
You nodded to yourself with the last one, turning on your heel, shoes squealing against the tile as you headed back towards the kitchen, determination brewing in your chest, a smile on your face as you took hold of the basket and looked towards the front door. Rehearsals wentβ¦ alright, you supposed, maybe they could have been a little better, but how bad could the real thing really be?Β
A door slammed in your face.Β
It slammed so hard that the knocker bounced and hit it with a thunk, and you stood there, basket full of freshly baked goods, blinking back (what must have been) the fourteenth set of tears in the span of the fifteen minutes since leaving the house. The mood youβd had that morning, dancing in the sunlight and basking in the comforting smell of you. Mimiβs infamous cookie recipe had well and truly died with the last grimace of the elderly man who shut you out with the, quite frankly, rude quip of βArenβt ya a bit too old for the girl scouts? Beat it, Jezebel! Iβm not interested.βΒ
You hadnβt been rude to any of them β a couple of them never even opened the door, and the skip in your step was replaced by the sluggish pace of you dragging the soles of your feet against the concrete, walking up the drive of the final house in the street.Β
Youβd been to every other, and in spite of the bitter mood youβd been put in, you persevered. Besides, even if they were just as unfriendly as all the ones whoβd come before, you well and truly weathered the majority of the embarrassment, and when you returned home, youβd at least have a pile of cookies to drown your sorrows in.
The last house on the street was identical to the rest of them, burnt orange tiles on the roof, cream paint on the front with the white curtains in the front drawn. It seemed youβd moved into a neighborhood purely inhabited by vampires as, when you looked across the road, back at your home, you realised you were the only person to have their blinds pulled open.
Sucking up a breath, you bowed your head as you stepped onto the brick of the porch, approaching the front door. With the basket resting in the crease of your bent arm, you used your other hand to knock at the door. The muscles in your chest ached as the sound of your knocking resonated throughout the house on the other side of the door β how strange, youβd thought; it sounded almost empty. You twisted your foot into the ground, shifting on your feet as you stared at your reflection in the pane of the glass of the door.
As the seconds ticked by, the hopes of meeting someone genuinely worth while wilted, and upon enough time passing for you to conclude that no one was coming to the door, you released the breath that had caused your chest to swell, turning, head down like a sulking child, glancing at the basket full of cookies.Β
As you went down the steps of the porch, beginning to head up the path, your eyes watered terribly, threatening to spill down your cheeks, your bottom lip wobbling. You stilled, however, when there was the clunk of a lock, and the squeal of hinges.Β
βYou need somethinβ, kid?βΒ
Standing in the doorway was a man. In spite of the slight distance between the pair of you, your shoulders bunched up, noting how he seemed to loom over you. With the sunlight gracing his features, it highlighted the scar on his face. Jagged and brutal, you felt your eyes widen before you even realised it, quick to blink in an attempt to ward it off; the last thing you needed was for another neighbour to hate you. The longer you gawked, admittedly unable to look elsewhere, you followed the lines of the scar like a path, and it led you just beneath his sunglasses. It went further, you realised, the top of it stopping just before his eye.Β
Lucky, you thought. He got lucky.
βKid?β called the man in front of you, lips drawn into a thin line.Β
Immediately, as though under his command, you turned so you were facing him, fighting against the urge to bound up the steps and squeeze him for being the first person to actually address you without hurling an insult your way, reminding yourself of what you had rehearsed in the mirror.Β
βMy Mimi moved away, cause she was gettinβ old and she left her house to me, a- and I, uh, I,β you stared at him harder, nearly flinching as you felt the cogs in your brain, that had been frozen by the coldness of the other neighbours, stick together. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth, it was like your mouth was full of sand. Your heartbeat was ringing in your ears, and so, you extended you took hold of the handle of the basket resting against your arm, holding it out to him. βCookie?βΒ
βCookie?β repeated the man, arms crossed.Β
βDo you,β you said with a breath, βwant a cookie? T- Theyβre chocolate chip, I baked them fresh this morning!β
Β With the look of blatant boredom on his face, youβd half expected the man to turn step backwards into his house, slamming the door without bothering to answer you. However, he beckoned you forward with his pointer and middle finger, the request almost as captivating as the call of a siren. You answered it happily, like a sailor trudging into the water as you walked up the steps to him, the basket still held out to the man.Β
Extending his hand out, you noticed his fingers and the top of his hand were branded with brown, slightly fair hair, almost blending into his skin, the veins on his hand prominent as he took a cookie from the basket.Β
Bringing it to his mouth, he paused, and asked βThis some sort of peace offering?βΒ
βUh, no,β you said, nostrils flaring, βI justβ¦ thought itβd be a good way to meet the neighbours.βΒ
βHowβd that go for you?βΒ
You looked down at your shoes, mumbling, βNot very well.βΒ
The man took a bite of the cookie, βThis your recipe?βΒ
βNo, sir,β you answered, βItβs my Mimiβs, actually, used to own a bakery βround here back in the 50βs.βΒ
Humming, he put the rest of the cookie in his mouth, chewing with an enthusiasm youβd only assumed to be mocking you and your efforts to be nice. Dusting the crumbs off his hands, he grunted as he swallowed it, βTalented lady.βΒ
βOh, thank you β did you know her?βΒ
βNo,β he said, tucking his hands into his pocket, βPeople βround here donβt acclimate into the community anymore. Or, at least, I donβt.βΒ
You frowned. βOh, well Iβm sorry to have bothered youβ¦β
βAdler,β he answered, and much to your surprise, he extended his hand out to you. And you took it, had to keep yourself from breaking all the bones in it in fact, as the overwhelming, bonecrushing urge shook you to your core. In your mind, you clung to him like he was a lifeboat, and you were in the middle of the ocean, fighting to keep your head above water, whilst, in reality, you carefully shook his hand. It was paw-like, his hand, thick and firm, callouses pressing into the palm of your hand. His hold was much firmer β maybe he intended to break the bones in your hand β and his hand near enough swallowed yours whole. And when he pulled his hand out of yours, in spite of the raging summer heat that was causing your shoulders to tighten, your hand felt cold.Β
βYouβve got a strong handshake on you,β he said, βYour daddy in the military?βΒ
βFought in Vietnam, sir,β you answered with a nod, blinking as you observed the man in front of you. By the looks of things, he was just as old, if not slightly younger than your father, and with the scar on his face and the firmness of his handshake, you figured just the same was true for him too.Β
βGood man,β he said, a chirp in his tone in spite of the fine-lipped expression on his face. Your eyes drifted to his scar, and then quickly rose in an effort to try and spot hit eyes in the yellow glass of his aviators.Β
βHe retired a couple years ago,β you explained, βHe was in the army since he was young, but hisβ¦ mind got sick while he was fighting over there. Doctors said heβs got, um,β you tapped your foot against the floor, brows knitting together as you huffed, βI forgot the name for itββ
βPTSD?β Adler asked, βUsed to be known as shellshock. Thatβs what they used to call it back during the First and Second World War.βΒ
βYes, thatβs it,β you answered, nodding your head, βHeβd kill me if he knew I was telling a stranger his business.β It was a realisation meant to be contained to the confines of your mind, and you brought your hand to your mouth much too late to keep him from hearing you.
Your plan for the morning had gone horrifically, and even when you had gotten what you wanted, the world seemed to be against you. You waved the, metaphorical, white flag of surrender as you cleared your through, averting your gaze from his sunglasses to the pile of cookies still in the basket. βDo you want some more of them? Iβm not gonna eat them and, well, Iβd rather them not go to waste.βΒ
Adler looked down at the basket, pursing his lips. You noticed how the scar tissue on his face took on a slight tinge of purple when he did so. Without a word, he took another one and said, βIβm more of a Molasses man.βΒ
With that, he turned on his heel, and before you had the opportunity to bid him farewell, he closed the door behind him, leaving you standing on the porch with a flushed expression, and still, a basket full of cookies.Β
