Hello hello! This is my side blog for my COD (Call Of Duty) fixation! I intend on posting silly stuff here including art, drabbles, headcanons, etc.. Feel free to follow <3
Below is a little about me!
About Me!!
Name: Operator 823
Age: 16
Pronouns: Any (she/her if you can't pick lmao)
Interests: COD, video games, art, music, writing
Fav COD game: Black Ops Cold War
Boundaries!!
Note: Minors are welcome on this page
Dos:
-Spam reblog and/or like
-Spam asks
-Assign nicknames
-Offer constructive criticism or helpful tips (on writing, art, etc)
-Mildly suggestive jokes or asks (13+ type content)
Don'ts:
-Send NSFW (including in asks)
-Attempt to force me to answer personal questions
-Just send hate. I will block you straight up
-Repost my art on other platforms EVEN WITH CREDIT
#operator 823 drabbles - Tag for anything I write! (headcanons would be under this tag)
#operator 823 rambles - Tag for me ranting about things related and unrelated to COD
#catching strays - Tag for content about my upcoming fic!
#noncanon catching strays -Tag for my little drabbles of CS headcanons or rambles of the writing process or even things that were supposed to be in but removed!
Final Words!!
Made this account for funsies! You can find my COD OC blog here and my main blog here. Though it mostly focuses on random stuff. This blog is more designed to be all inclusive and comforting in a way. Everyone (who is a civil creature and sensible soul) is welcome here including those part of the LGBT+ community, minors, otherkin, therians, etc.. Hence why my name is very gender neutral, I'm fine with any nicknames, and you can use any pronouns for me! I want people to refer to me in a way that makes them find my persona comforting!
I feel like we moved on W A Y too quickly from the new skin for Adler LITERALLY BEING CALLED "DADLER"
Maybe it's just because of my Tumblr feed, but I haven't seen shit about it since it was announced
And like. I feel like this is huge??
Like, can this really be a coincidence? They could have called it so many things, but they chose "Dadler". They could have called it "grill sergeant" or "smokin" or SOMETHING GRILL RELATED. YOU KNOW. BECAUSE ITS A 4TH OF JULY SKIN??
But they. Chose. Dadler.
And there's too many people who work on these games for no one to be on Tumblr
NOT ONLY THAT- LISTEN TO ME, OKAY, LISTEN-!!
The apron? #1 dad?? The little paintings that were clearly made by a child??? The HAND PRINT??
This not only is a "haha, we know about you guys" skin.
Nonono
They are FULLY CONFIRMING THE EXISTENCE OF ADLER HAVING A CHILD.
This is past the small detail of his file having a redacted name in the "children" section. That was deliberate, but VERY small
This is upfront. This is saying so much more
And need I repost the existence of THIS PARALLEL???
WE DONT NEED TO TALK ABOUT JUST HOW SIMILAR THEY LOOK IN GENERAL. WE ALL SEE IT
I think they might be slowly bringing Dadler and Graveson to Canon. And I am not complaining one bit
🦖 - Hi I’m Harpy!
🦖 - I am a minor (15)
🦖 - I’m a crazy dinosaur obsessed freak of nature
🦖 - I’m also an average bird enjoyer
🦖 - I’m also a CoD fan but I only like the campaigns because I’m weird like that :/
🦖 - My blog will probably mostly be dedicated to CoD related content as it is my current hyperfixation!
🦖 - My CoD hyperfixation and my special interest in dinosaurs did a fusion dance, so I made a Dino!AU that I’ll definitely be posting about a lot (none of you are safe)
🦖 - I like to write and draw so that’ll be the main things my blog is dedicated to :D
🦖 - I’m here to make some friends and see who likes my stuff so hiiii :3
🦖 - DNI IF YOU ARE AN NSFW OR 18+ ONLY BLOG, TERFS + ANTIS GTFO, PROSHIP DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, PRO-GEN AI I WILL DRAW YOU PREGNANT SO DNI, ALSO IF U DON’T LIKE MUH STUFF YOU CAN JUST LEAVE LOL
hi! i read ur hcs ab adler and i loved them!! i was wondering how do you think adler and reader’s first kiss happened? i was thinking of reader with a normal job so nothing related to adler’s line of work but something like barista etc
i hope you have a wonderful day ♡
spiralled into a whole ficlet, hope i did it justice, nonnie <3
The bar was getting too noisy for your liking. Christmas fever, one would justify, but you didn't much care for it. You just wanted a quiet Saturday night with this guy you've been dating for a while now—some CIA man, apparently.
It was going decent, you'd say, which was the last thing you thought you'd catch yourself saying about a man as non-normal as him. But he had a brain in his skull, seemed to match your wavelength, and was even a touch charming. Heck, you'll take it.
So you knew he didn't take offence to you asking to call it a night; he understood you needed some quiet.
So you stood up as he graciously slapped a couple dollars on the counter and started making your way out of the packed bar, still chatting with him. A classic successful date, you concluded.
The problem arose when your jacket got stuck in the zipper of your bag when you tried to close it.
Correction, it arose when you decided to stop him at the door to fix it.
All you heard from him was a sigh as you looked down to adjust your bag before he's suddenly wrapping his arm around your waist and stepping closer.
It didn't happen fast: you'd actually say it was a gradual lean, but you were just too stunned to react when he bent to your level and kissed you.
Your mind went blank; you just closed your eyes and took it in as he pressed his lips to yours, feeling him tug you closer with the hand on your back. It lasted for about three seconds before he pulled away, leaving the faint taste of smoke on your mouth.
He just patted your back and stepped back, opening the door for you. Not another word spoken as he led you out.
Which is why you were pacing up to him now, all worked up, determined to give him a piece of your mind. You'd be damned if you let another man walk all over you and toy with your body. You speedwalked, storming up to him to close the distance you'd created when you were standing in place trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
"Hey!" You huff, voice loud for the first time he'd heard it. "What was that back in there?"
He languidly spun around, a goddamn cigarette already smouldering in his hand. "What? The kiss?" Well, at least he had a modicum of awareness. "What, you didn't like it?"
"Yes– no– ugh, where did it come from? You think we're that cozy now?"
"Didn't you ask for it?"
The question made you recoil. You weren't that drunk—you knew that. "When? I didn't ask for shit, you just–"
"The mistletoe."
You pause. Oh yeah. Mistletoe at the bar, hung over the doorway. No wonder you thought you heard a couple cheers from the patrons.
"..."
"What?"
"I still never said you could."
It was his turn to scoff now. "Really? Stopping me there, playing with yourself, waiting for me to do something?"
"I was fixing my jacket!"
The man's enigmatic exterior cracked a little as he let out a laboured sigh, running his hand over his face. Part of him wanted to say some choice words about 'women and their damn hints', but he held his tongue.
"Looked like you were asking me to," he huffed, letting his hand fall.
"You don't think, I don't know, that it looked just what it looked like I was doing, which was getting my jacket unstuck?"
"Oh, like that doesn't make me the asshole? Leaving you hanging while you stand there, stalling with the bag looking all pretty for me? What was i supposed to think?"
You faltered, but ignored the way your cheeks felt warm at that compliment, pressing on.
"You were supposed to ask! Just... just ask! Before you decided to spring a kiss on me!"
"Right, cause I just wanna kiss you in the middle of a sweaty old bar so bad." He huffed, getting a little worked up himself, trying to knock sense into your head. "I did it for you."
Why couldn't you just understand that, he thought. He didn't need to take advantage of you, why couldn't you see that? That he was trying to be romantic for you?
You scoffed, putting your hands on your hips as you exhaled a cloud of fog into the air. Sure, you were still a little peeved, but the unusual sentiment from him left you at a loss for words. You didn't even really think he felt that inclined to be...what could you call it, romantic?
"Just... ask next time." You conclude, deciding to drop it at that.
And he took a second to nod on response, muttering out a "Fine." He brought the dimming cigarette to his lips again, drawing in smoke.
It didn't escape you that he didn't apologise, but you elect not to press on. Especially because it'd make what you had to say next all the more embarrassing.
"Besides, that was a shitty way to kiss me." You huffed, looking away at the ground. "..for a first."
His eyes darted back to yours.
"I mean, you could've asked any time. Not like I'm gonna say no." You murmur, still avoiding his eyes. And out the corner of your vision, you could see him closing in on you.
"Would you?" He asked, and you could just hear the smirk in his voice. Finally, you gather the courage to meet his eyes again, with the same firm expression.
"Yes."
He smiled more, or at least looked like he did beneath the scars. "Fine," he murmured, stroking the hair out of your face, "may I kiss you, sweetheart?"
You couldn't hold back the twitch of your lips that betrayed your expression. "Yes," you huff. And the charade of you trying to act like you weren't more eager than he was flew out the window as you met him halfway.
This time, he was gentler. Cradling you face in his hand as he pulled you closer, he kissed you more deeply than before. You almost smiled as you felt the soft ridge of his scar against your lips, and you dared to even put your hand on the bulk of his shoulder to press yourself closer to him, even as you parted lips.
I mourn whenever I remember Bell is dead, especially after the outro cutscene for season three. WHY THE FUCK DID THEY BRING STITCH BACK OF ALL PEOPLE?! IT SHOULD'VE BEEN BELL!! They didn't even have to confirm Bell's gender either, could've just referred to Bell as 'them'. OR THEY COULD'VE REVEALED IT, I DOUBT ANYONE WOULD'VE CARED!!
TREYARCH PLEASE BRING MY SOPPING WET CAT OF A MAN BACK!! I NEED BELL BACK NOWWW!!!
Would you be interested in a Black Ops theme fanweek community?
lately I’ve been thinking of making a community here on tumblr to create fanweeks for Black Ops. Right now, in thinking of doing stuff like theme weeks, release date anniversary weeks and ship weeks
as of now, the first fan week I’m thinking of will be the third week of June(to give people time) ,Everything from fanart, fanfiction,gifs, aesthetics boards to analysis will be allowed(just no Ai ew). I’m open for ideas and prompts for the first fanweek(just comment and or reblog). Even if you are not planning to be creating for this(or are more modern warfare) , come on over anyways to check it out(and be sure to not only like but if you can, comment and or reblog, it will make our day)
if you are interested for something like this, please comment and reblog(likes are always fine too)
I love to hear your thoughts and be sure to share with friends about this as well
A/N2 : Believe it or not this chapter had around four different names before I settled.
Word count : 2,528
TW : Prescription drugs
The meal proved to be a pretty decent distraction from the knee pain. Even having already had breakfast Adler ate it all. Each and every flavor he encountered reminded him of his past there. The rest of the town had changed but it seemed Squirmy’s Diner was some relic, meant to remain untouched by the passage of time. Once Adler was satisfied he called for the check, but he noted how instead of the other teen server, a young man with the name tag “Jeremy” came by to deliver the check, run the transaction, then give Adler his receipt. Adler didn’t bother asking, assuming that the other teen had decided to shift responsibility to their coworker. He took up his crutches and left, awkwardly hobbling on the unfamiliar aid.
The autumn air bit his face as he stood outside, finding himself not knowing what to do. A few sparse cars passed by and the sidewalks were empty except for a single stray cat wandering near the edge of the gas station across the street. Adler sighed and made his way to the sidewalk, deciding to simply see where the nearest bus stop was, when it would pick up, and head back home.
Then he heard a slam like something hitting metal. Instinctually his head snapped towards the noise and his right hand reached for his gun; the one that wasn’t there.
Adler’s tense shoulders eased as he saw the teen from only minutes ago standing to the side of Squirmy’s, half hidden by the large dumpster. He could see them moving before once again he heard the slamming noise. They repeated the action, seeming to be kicking the side of the garbage container in anger. Once they tired themself out they took a couple steps back, revealing that their cheery work hat was missing and the bottom half of their apron was soaked in fresh oil. Their eyes were glued to the apron, fists balling at their sides, before they crudely ripped the fabric off of them, snapping the neck strap. When the waist strap didn’t come undone so easily they struggled a few times, tugging at the fabric to no avail. Finally they roughly pulled the string, releasing the knot, and balled the apron up so they could throw it at the brick wall beside them. The teen was reeling back to throw when they caught sight of Adler and froze.
The two held each other’s gaze silently. No words. No shifting. No silent communication. It looked more like a standoff than anything.
Adler could only assume they were barely holding it together. He could see the anger boiling in their eyes and the way their muscles remained tense, but he could see the glint in their eyes like there was a misty wall of tears just barely held back from breaking and letting the flood gates open. He knew that feeling. Knew how it felt to have it all threaten to boil over yet to keep the lid on as if it would stop the anger from exploding.
The teen’s expression remained hard until, after what felt like an eternity, their face melted into something that seemed like consideration. Adler’s face stayed unreadable until he saw Squirmy come through the back door of the diner and walk up to his worker, putting a hand on their shoulder. They whipped their head around to look at him but he didn’t even flinch. Their expression softened the moment they realized who had grabbed their attention. Adler could not hear but Squirmy said something to them and they nodded the tiniest of nods. Both looked back at Adler and the man merely stood there, unsure of what to do.
Squirmy gave him a look he’d never seen before. Adler tried to read the expression but all he could gather were the flat observations of the face. Brows pressed together only slightly, corners of the mouth downturned into a frown, eyes darkened and pleading. Adler knew Squirmy was asking him for something but what was unclear. He merely tore his eyes away from the old man only to find himself magnetized to the teen beside him. Their own expression was that walled, defensive stare, but Adler could still see that hint of consideration deep inside. Adler suddenly understood what may have been going on. At least, he thought he did. The scarred man looked at each of them and shook his head before continuing down the sidewalk, ambling with his crutches awkwardly. He wasn’t going to meddle in this, in the teen and whatever problems of theirs that Squirmy thought he could fix. It wasn’t his business and he wasn’t going to let it be his business. Though he couldn’t see the reactions to his rejection Adler could practically feel the stares on his back. They didn’t burn like jealousy or anger but rested heavy as if some weighted blanket of guilt was being cast on him. He merely shrugged it off as he walked, eventually out of sight.
The tense moment plagued his thoughts as he waited for the bus at the bus stop and as he rode home. Once on the corner of his street he made his way home only to find the image, the kid’s intense eyes, burned into his retinas like an old bubble-screened TV run too long. He’d seen those eyes before. In his own mirror staring back at him in his childhood home, in the barracks mirror staring back at him on the final day of boot camp, in the dingy mirror of the safehouse staring back at him in West Berlin, and in the mirror staring back at him in his current home.Those fiery eyes were that of nine hells and they were barely contained like some rabid creature hardly held back by the feeble bars of a crude cage. Adler only finally snapped from the image as he arrived at his front porch steps. With some focus he made his way to the front door and dug around for his house keys in his pocket.
Inside felt like a safe haven from the chilly outside and Adler was quick to shut the door behind him and lock it. He didn’ even bother putting his crushes up nicely, instead leaning them against the countertop as he passed through the kitchen to get to his room. Though he limped slightly he forced himself to walk without them as he was sick of the way they made his palms ache and shoulders tense. Adler passed by his office on his way to his bedroom only to notice that his answering machine light was on. He paused and turned around to make a detour. Adler entered his office, a neat minimal space with a simple window, desk, and bookshelf, and leaned down to click the play button on whatever message had been left for him.
The voice of Sims split the air immediately, “Hey, Doc, heard ya got it bad. Wanted to wish you some good luck or somethin’. Heard you went back to Cali. Sunshine and girls, huh? Doesn’t seem your style..”
There was a long pause before Sims spoke again, “I’m kinda stalling, here, I’ll be honest. I overheard Hudson having a conversation with some other agents. Said he didn’t think you’d make it back to working again.”
Adler felt his fists clench at each side. Hudson had always been a roadblock. Keeping secrets during the mission, doubting Adler’s methods, giving poor direction, Hudson seemed to always find a way to ruin things.
“I’m giving you a heads up,” Sims continued, “because I think there’s a chance if you do come back, Hudson is finding a reason to make you leave again. We both know he doesn’t like you. And, honestly, you’re one of the few I trust here. Keep your head on a swivel, man. Heal up and get back in the game.”
The machine beeped, signalling the end of the message. Adler would have clicked the stop button so the tape wouldn’t run but it wasn’t like there was anything else saved on it. Not until he heard the new voice ringing through the room. This one sent a practically paralyzing wave through him, jolting his insides and tightening his chest.
“Russ, I’m sorry for calling, I just wanted to let you know that… Well I wanted you to know that I really do hope you get better. I hope something in you changes. I know you’re abl-” Adler clicked the stop button. He couldn’t take hearing his ex wife's voice any longer. When he first got that message, years ago, he had listened to it on repeat until finally he forbade himself, taking pity on himself for how pathetic it was to fall asleep at a bare wooden desk with his hand resting heavily on the rewind button. Since then he preserved the tape, changing it out for a blank one whenever he left home for a long time just in case he got calls and the messages overwrote the one from his ex. Why he saved a tape he would never listen to he did not know. This past mission he must have forgotten to change it.
Adler stared at the answering machine, tempted to simply defile the tape and rip its film out, but he remained motionless as two halves of him fought for dominance. A part of him whispered to leave it be and another thought that perhaps destroying it would give him some kind of respite from the torment of the memories. For once he found himself indecisive. Adler was a man who knew how to make the hard choices. He knew who to kill and who to torture, where to go and what to do. Adler always called the shots yet right at this moment he felt helpless against himself. The two sides fighting left him frozen staring at the machine.
Finally, like some kind of compromise was found, he opened up the machine, took the tape out, and made his way to his kitchen. As his foot pressed down on the lever of the trash can and he held the tape over the gaping abyss of the top he hesitated. The action made him want to do nothing less than vomit but he dropped the tape inside and walked away as soon as he could muster, just to avoid dunking his hand inside to retrieve the tape. Adler didn’t even care about taking his leather jacket off anymore. He quickly located a clear tape in his desk drawer and put it inside the machine. He then went to his living room, plopping down in an armchair a little heavier than he’d have liked. The man removed his glasses, haphazardly tossing them on the coffee table, and ran his hands down his face as if rubbing at the flesh would take away all the wear and age; like the scars would wipe away like dry erase marker on a white board, the wrinkles of time would simply melt back into their past youthfulness, and the dullness in his eyes would polish into something brighter.
Just as he leaned back and attempted a calming deep breath his watch began to beep. Adler groaned and didn’t bother to look as he fumbled with the buttons to shut the alarm off. He knew it was his alarm for his antibiotics but he couldn’t be bothered. Not when they didn’t help with the pain like Oxycodone did and he knew his body was strong enough to fight off just about anything. Of course, just to keep the suspicion off, he would likely throw the pills out later just so he would refill his prescription at the proper time.
All through life Adler hadn’t cared for medication. He was consistently certain his immune system was just fine and consistently his body proved him right. No coat in winter? No cold. Hung around his sick friends? Perfectly fine.Slight rise in body temperature? Nothing came of it. Why would he need to start worrying now? He sure didn’t have this kind of luxury medication in ‘Nam and he had survived.
‘Nam.
Vietnam.
The Vietnam War.
Adler hadn’t been some expendable cannon fodder soldier in those times. He was special. His services were extraordinary and the results of said services had endless worth to the CIA. Back in those days Adler was much younger than he was now. In his early thirties he had been at least a little lively. Thinking back to those times only served to remind Adler of the memories implanted into Bell’s mind.
His little lab experiment.
That memory he planted, where he led them to the helicopter to dispatch for that day’s mission, he had been smiling. The detail was no accident, either. Of all the lies in the entire situation surrounding Bell, that smile hadn’t been one of them. Sure, he didn’t lead Bell to the helicopter, but he led someone to the helicopter and he smiled at them.
What was so worth smiling back then?
Adler had been in the midst of a war that didn’t seem to end. One that was fed by rich men with no other fun except to watch little working class ants go off to die overseas. The only smiles that ever went around Camp Haskins were that of drunk men playing poker, betting MREs like they were anything more than flavorless packets meant to sustain. The other soldiers had no goal but to survive in the brutal fields and forests. The jungle was the only thing half of them knew at that point and it was a dangerous place. Unlike them, Adler had more than that. He was an important asset, a team leader, a man worth being revered. He had something to gain and something to lose, though.
Something to lose.
What did he have to lose now?
Adler had a house and truck he could easily replace. Beyond that he had money and a knee injury but nothing more. What did he have then that he doesn’t have now? Over time all he ever did was gain more control, more money, more connections. He was even less expendable than before and, almost a greater point of satisfaction, he was a nuisance that the CIA couldn’t rid themselves of. The CIA needed him.
If he was so needed then why was he so alone in this moment of darkness?
What was missing?
Adler’s eyes slowly drifted towards the archway into the kitchen. He couldn’t see it but he knew what he was looking for. The trash can. The tape. His ex wife. She had given him someone to come home to, someone to care for, someone to live for. She was his purpose.
Now she was missing. Not even that, no. Adler knew she was somewhere. In fact, if anything, she was somewhere here in San Diego. He was here too.
Or was he?
The man surely was here in the flesh, but without his purpose, that thing which sustained him and seemed to justify every misdeed he’d ever committed, he wasn’t truly there in his head.
the first time Philip Graves calls home, its the first time he kills someone.
his hands shake as he punches in a number he knows like the back of his hand, despite the tears blurring his vision. it's instinct, the way his fingers find each button.
the ringing doesn't do much to bring him out of his spiraling. he knows he shouldnt be calling this late, but he can still smell the gunpowder and blood. he still cant close his eyes without seeing the life seep out of another man, not much older than himself.
it's terrifying to come face to face with mortality.
Graves goes where he always does, just like he did when he was a young boy. it's all he knows; whether he pulled a trigger, or tripped on his laces. blew his brains out, or skinned his knee. he made a mistake, and so he goes home.
when Russell Adler finally answers, the dam breaks.
Philip sobs into the receiver, blubbering confessions and apologies between gasping breaths. he begs his father for forgiveness, but he's pleading with the wrong creator, and Adler tells him as such.
Russell Adler was never a very comforting man—especially not over the phone, where he cant just hold his son until he's too tired to cry any more—but he knows the man is trying his best. he listens, gives the truth (no matter how harsh it may be), gets Philip to slow down and breathe.
he doesn't lie. he doesn't tell him it gets easier, because it doesn't. it never will. kills are a count Philip will never be able to cut down, or scrub clean. it'll only grow. that's the job, he says, and Graves hates that he's right. hates that his father cant grant him the absolution he's looking for, hates that nobody ever will.
he tells him that every man has his first, that all can do is move on. makes him promise he'll come visit before he hangs up, concern peeking through every word.
the grief sin still clings to his insides when the call's over, but over the years he manages to sleep a little easier, manages to grow around it.
manages to stop caring.
distancing the enemies from their humanity in his brain makes it simpler, he learns. teammates become brothers, but enemies become nothing more than targets. it's simpler to execute, simpler to betray. simpler to move on.
he thinks, lying in burning rubble, blood dripping from his lips and ears ringing, that his father would be proud.
I’m actually speechless. This is. The. The. Holy shit, man. Your verbiage is amazing and the transitions between past and present are incredibly smooth. You don’t even have to say much in the resolution to tell the reader what’s up. This is show not tell at its finest. You’re actually amazing
prguitarman
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theartofmadeline
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