perry-the-platypus-f1cs

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

I just had an idea. IMAGINE THE PREMISE OF THIS SONG

BUT with Phillip graves and bell.

ok so the song about a US Marine in Vietnam. His weapon jammed and he was deep behind enemy lines, and this bull of a Marine named 'Camouflage' appears to him and helps guide him back to safety before disappearing again. Turns out, that bull Marine died, but his ghost helped the other marine return to safety.

SO! just imagine the same sorta premise but with Phillip and bell, imagine if Phillip was sent on a mission as a young marine to Solovetsky to prevent Russian insurgents (or something along those lines) and he gets pinned under enemy fire before suddenly another soldier aids him in getting away.

but when he talk about the soldier to his superiors they have no idea what's he's talking about so they discharge him for mental health analysis and eh ends up talking to Adler about it who goes pale as a ghost (hehe) when he hears the name of the soldier who helped save his sons life.

Is bell a ghost?

did bell survive alders bullet?

WHO KNOWS

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

(I have reblogged this because I added more on to it. I made an error. Could’ve edited the post but I didn’t think about that lmao.) I totally didn’t make an entire PowerPoint because I was bored and wanted to prove a tumblr user right because they said Adler and Graves were related. Adler probably did have a fling now that I think about it because why not? He’s a snake. So even though it’s unlikely it’s not impossible. Enjoy my madness.

But is he the type to? Eh, probably not. But who knows? We know nothing about him.

Second timeline below to suit this theory ⬇️

@gravesrafe

Those years right there would actually work better. But CIA boy was still hunting Perseus down.

Hmmm I don’t know. I don’t know.

So if I based it off of these years things would make more sense. So Phillip is actually in his thirties in mw2. Hmmm. Gotta do some maths again real quick. So 2017, he left the military hmmm.

15-17 years of service to be a commander. Left in 2017. 1977 according to Gravesrafe. Divorce could’ve been any amount of time before 1981 in black ops Cold War so long as it’s been a year I’m thinking.

Adler was 44 in 1981. 40 in 1977.

1981-1977= so four years extra. 2000-4=1996. So he joined in 1996……at required age of seventeen. 1996-17 just to make sure= 1979. Hm, well that’s not right at all.

Hold on. So instead, 1977 plus 17 = 1994. Phillip was actually joining in 1994 then. So add on the 15-17 years of service to be a commander annnnd it’s 2009-2011. So he’s in and around 32-34 when he becomes a commander.

So add on till we get to 2017 when he leaves to start shadow company….

He’s 40-42. Damn.

I’m thinking my maths doesn’t make any sense in my PowerPoint now. Well it does and it doesn’t.

Yeah, I think that works better tbh.

Oh man, I was off by a good bit. I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up. Okay okay so my PowerPoint is assuming the possibility of a fling.

Gravesrafe is assuming while the wife was around which is way more logical than what I was doing and a higher possibility. God, I love using my brain and putting it to work. The miracles that happen when I actually get sleep Instead of feeding my new tumblr addiction.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

you have so many amazing dadler fics(current favorite is the vampire one)

Thank you! I have so many more ideas for my favourite father and son duo!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

just noticed that you had changed your blog color to Perry coded

I just figured out how to do that so I jumped at the opportunity.

It's really cool that you noticed!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Dadler skill full decoding

Please enjoy my terrible slideshow skills and my silly headcanons I made while half-asleep!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

If you are new to or been a regular of The Black Ops Fandom

If you have a favorite author/artist or just are liking what someone has posted in the fandom, please let them know both on here and on AO3

Either by a comment under their post, reblog with your commentary or even asking/DM them and mention it to them.

It doesn’t have to be like a five paragraph essay going over every single detail, something as simple as a emoji can really make their day. Even a simple” I love this” can do so much for them

One of my main goals this year is to revitalize interactions in the community and help them become the norm again. It’s part of reason, why I started Black Ops Fan Weeks as well. Because I feel that many talented fancreator don’t get enough credit as they deserved. Older posts and ones no longer around here deserved love too as they shouldn’t be forgotten

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Just saw you wrote stuff for crime scene cleaner and HAD TO FOLLOW!! DUDE I LOVE THAT GAME!!

(Ur now the coolest person ever fyi)

Omg thank you! I have so much that i want to write!

thank you so much or the follow! i hope you enjoy my writing 🫰

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Blood for the price of money PT11

Chapter 11: The end.

Summary:

Kovalsky is a sad, sad man.

He stayed in the graveyard for hours; he stayed until the sun peeked over the horizon, illuminating the gravestones in a warm golden light, but the warmth did little to dry Kovalsky's tears. 

Dexter licks at his cheek, trying to wipe away the falling tears.

Kovalsky laughs a broken laugh as he pats Dexter.

Dexter always knew how to comfort Kovalsky; he had done it when Elena had been diagnosed and Kovalsky had barely been able to eat.

Now here they were curled together over the grave of his dearest Elena. 

Kovalsky didn't know when he got home; he didn't know when his legs had finally drawn themselves upwards and Carrie shook back down the familiar winding roads, but before he knew it, he was standing in the lounge of the very home that a few months ago he had hoped to bring Elena back to.

Kovalsky tried to imagine it, Elena running rampant through the apartment, Dexter chasing after her playfully. 

But no matter how hard his mind worked to formulate a universe where that happened, it always turned up blank.

Kovalsky rubbed at his sore eyes, smearing dirt across his face. His eyes looked across the room only to land on an object that, no matter how far back he traced in his memories, he did not remember being there. 

His heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled forward towards the kitchen island.

It was a letter, like so many before it.

When he first started working for Big Jim, the Mafia boss would send him emails with the details about whatever job he wanted Kovalsky to do. But as Kovalsky began getting deeper and deeper in the criminal world, Bug Jim started taking more precautions.

He started sending the information in small, unmarked letters, no stamps, no address. Three simple words written on the envelope in scraggly handwriting. 

 To Mr. Kovalsky. 

And now here Kovalsky was, staring at a white envelope that stood out against the black marble of his kitchen countertop like a sore thumb, his throat tight and lungs sore from sobbing.

Kovalsky exhaled a breath that rattled his lungs against his ribs. Extending a hand, his hand brushed against the cold paper envelope, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. A job—this was another job.

He sighed shakily, his hand unsteady as he limped over to the couch, letting himself sag against it as he sat down, the leather cushions sinking around him. He looked down at the note.

Slowly he ripped the envelope apart, watching as several hundred dollar bills spilled onto his lap—the upfront payment.

His throat tightened, and Kovalsky drew in a shallow breath as he shakily stared at the thick pile of money spread along his lap. He turned his head towards the note in his hand, slowly unfolding the paper.

This was a job, another bloody mess that he had to clean. With bated breath, Kovalsky began to read the words scribbled onto the piece of paper. 

Dear Mr. Kovalsky. 

We’ve heard about your recent escape from prison and hope this letter finds you in good health. 

Come to the address written below at your earliest convenience. Dress formally. 

- Big Jim.

Kovalsky stares blankly at the note, his eyes floating down at the address written on the end of the paper. Kovalsky stares at the words, dumbfounded. ‘Dress formally?’ Dress formally, his ass.

Kovalsky stood up, letting the money fall off of him and scatter on the floor. He stomped towards his closet, slamming it open, making Dexter jolt and release a small whine. Kovalsky sighs.

“Sorry, buddy.” Kovalsky says, shaking his head even as the heaviness in his heart doesn't dissipate. He had a job; he needed to see it to an end. 

Maybe he would let himself get caught; maybe he would screw up so spectacularly that Big Jim would kill him.

Maybe if he failed, he could see his daughter again. Grim determination grips Kovalsky as he snatches a hoodie and a pair of jeans from his closet. 

Big Jim wanted him to dress formally? Fuck that.

-

Kovalsky's SUV skidded to a stop in front of the address Big Jim had given him. 

17 Oakwood Drive. 

Kovalsky opened the car door and stepped out, slamming it closed behind him. He sighed out his nose, turned on his heel, grabbed the mop and bucket out of the back of his SUV, and viciously stomped towards the building.

But as Kovalsky reached the first step of the building, he paused. The porch lights were on, illuminating the wooden signage displayed on the entrance door. 

Kovalsky's breath stuttered in his throat as he fought a sob.

Wooden Oaks Chapel 

What kind of sick joke was this? Kovalsky’s mind swirled with the possibilities.

What was Jim playing at? 

Kovalsky sighed, shaking himself, his throat tight with grief. He could do this. He needed to do this. Kovalsky stepped forward and pushed the door open with a small creak. 

The sounds of a small choir make Kovalsky's heart stop as his eyes dance across the pews stuffed with several people masked in black balaclavas. They blended into the suits and dresses adorning their figures. Kovalsky stumbled backwards.

The letter wasn't a job. It was an invitation.

His heart throbbed in his chest as he looked down the aisle at the deep brown and golden closed casket that stood atop a pedestal. 

A framed picture was placed on top of the casket. In a normal world the picture would have been surrounded with flowers of all colors and sizes. But this world was anything but normal. The picture was framed in thick stacks of cash, some ripped into cylinders, others stacked into thick bricks. 

But it wasn't what surrounded the picture that caught Kovalsky's attention. It was the picture itself.

There was an image of his daughter. His true daughter, not the sickly image of her lying against white bedsheets with tubes stuffed into her nose and arms. 

No, this was a picture of his daughter. How kind, joyful daughter who ran through fields of flowers unafraid of being stung by stray bees.

The image itself was from a family photo that his wife demanded they have together, with Kovalsky hugging his two girls, his wife leaning her head against his shoulder, and Elena spread out like a cat across his lap, splayed out like a yawning cat. 

The sob tugged at Kovalsky’s throat until it was too painful to contain.

The sound echoes throughout the large chapel, but none within it moves; not one darkly clad attendant moves an inch. They were statues, unmoving, uncaring stares here to observe him in his grief.

Kovalsky slowly walked along the aisle, headed straight for the coffin, uncaring for the eyes that followed his every movement. He stumbled towards the casket, his legs swaying underneath him as his vision blurred with tears. 

Another sob tears through his throat as he slumps forward, his knees buckling underneath him as he presses his forehead against the cold wooden coffin. Anguish clawing at the heart like a vicious cat.

He pressed his head against the coffin firmly, his muscles setting in place like stone as tears slid down his cheeks past his red-rimmed eyes.

What was this? Some kind of sick joke? All these people dressed in black only to see him sob and grieve over the death of his daughter?

He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t stay here, sobbing in his grey hoodie and jeans as impeccably dressed attendants watched from the sidelines.

He didn't even know these people, and yet here they were attending a mock funeral held for his daughter. 

Kovalsky felt the wood start to indent in his forehead as his body shuddered. The tears are steadily streaming down his face. 

A large, warm hand pressed against Kovalsky’s shoulder. He paused, turning his head slowly to the side, looking up to see the owner of the hand currently pressed against his shoulder in a small, comforting gesture. 

His eyes widened as he gazed up and saw a large, hulking Italian man with a look in his eyes that Kovalsky knew all too well.

This was Big Jim.

Kovalsky's lip quivers as he looks away from Big Jim, pressing his head against the coffin once again, trying and failing to stifle his sobs. Big Jim must’ve known that Kovalsky wasn't going to be able to continue working as a cleaner…

People said there were two ways you got out of Big Jim's mob: as a narc being hunted to the ends of the earth only to die a painful death or in a body bag. Kovalsky knew all about these scenarios.

 After Lala, he was the one who had to clean up the messes left behind. 

Now, he had no more use. Kovalsky forced his body to still his tears still flowing down his face and tinkling against the clean floor.

Nothing else mattered; if he died here, Big Jim would take care of Dexter, either by killing the hound or by sending it off to an adoption center.

Kovalsky waited. He waited for the sound of a gun cocking. He waited for the cold press of metal against his skull.

He waited for the bang that would end his life in one merciful act. Deep down, Kovalsky was bitterly grateful for the small mercy of a clean death. 

It was ironic; once his blood spilled against this floor, it would be cleaned by the next unfortunate soul caught in the mess of the mob. 

But nothing ever came. No, the warm, large hand remained on his shoulder, a silent comfort. Nothing came.

Kovalsky waited, and nothing came.

Suddenly the big, burly Italian knelt down next to Kovalsky. The mafia boss's hot breath washed over Kovalsky's ear as Big Jim leaned in and whispered into Kovalsky's ear. 

“We're letting you go. Try not to get caught, Mr. Kovalsky. The underworld will always have a place for someone with your talents.” Big Jim said his voice loud enough for it to echo throughout the whole chapel. Big Jim's words made Kovalsky pause.

“What?” Kovalsky whispered. No, this couldn't be it; he should be dead. His use has run out. Jim had no reason to leave him alive, but here he is letting Kovalsky go. Letting Kovalsky out. No one gets out of the mob; they get out when they're dead. 

Big Jim stood up, looking down at Kovalsky, something akin to pity or perhaps mercy glinting in the dark brown depths of the mafia boss's eyes. 

“We're letting you go.” Big Jim repeats before turning on his heel and walking down the aisle of the chapel. Slowly but steadily the other masked patrons stood, and one by one they exited the chapel only a few steps behind Big Jim.

But as the patrons left, Kovalsky's eyes widened. He knew those people. They were his clients, the endless amount of people who he had saved from years in prison by cleaning up their messes. Among the crowd of leaving patrons, one caught Kovalsky's eye.

A woman in her early twenties standing far too close to Big Jim for any usual lackey. Kovalsky blinked his eyes, watering with realization that woman was Big Jim's daughter. 

Big Jim hadn't let Kovalsky go out of respect for the cleaner, although Kovalsky guessed that was a small contributing factor.

Big Jim had let Kovalsky go because he knew what it felt like to be close to losing his daughter, and he could only imagine what Kovalsky was going through.

Kovalsky had cleaned up his daughter's mess after she went ballistic at a frat party, killing all the attendees, even stringing her boyfriend up and shooting him with a crossbow. Kovalsky had been the one to scrub the scene clean for several hours.

Kovalsky was the one that made sure Big Jim's daughter would never see the inside of a prison cell, and because of that, Kovalsky was contained in a cell for months, and when he got out, it was too late. 

Kovalsky was free now, free from the compulsion of working for a mob boss; he was free from the long, sleepless nights required to clean up every bloodstain and pick up every piece of evidence. 

Kovalsky was free, and he deserved it. 

Since he started this job, he has sacrificed everything to keep himself going. Now everything was ruined.

Kovalsky always told himself that if anything happened to Elena, he would try with everything in his heart to get her back.

But now as he sobs against the cold, unforgiving coffin in an empty chapel, for once in Kovalsky's whole life, he doesn't know what to do. 

Eventually he was able to pry himself away from the casket and trudge his way back to the car, starting the engine up and driving down the winding roads, contemplating if he should steer himself into the ditches surrounding the concrete roads. He could just imagine the new headlines.

Wanted fugitive found dead in a ditch. 

For whatever reason, Kovalsky didn't follow through with the thought; instead, he continued down the roads before coming to a stop in front of his apartment. It was dark now; the sun had long since set behind the horizon, letting the moon and stars fill the sky.

When Kovalsky looked up at the astronomical sky, he could not help but notice a star fluctuating with light pulsing in the night sky, flickering awkwardly.

It was as if the star was waving at him. Kovalsky shook himself, the nightly chill creeping into his bones as he retested into the warm but empty el tac of his home. Deter barked happily when he saw Kovalsky enter through the door. 

“Heya, buddy.” Kovalsky greets him softly, leaning down to pet Dexter between his ears.

He stood back up, walking towards his bedroom. Kovalsky willed himself to collapse, and the cold bedsheets felt as if the bed sucked him into its comforting embrace. He felt his eyes grow heavy as Dexter's warm body pressed against Kovalsky's legs. 

Kovalsky let his eyes close as sleep sucked him into a dreamless embrace, a stray tear slipping down his cheek.

He was so tired. 

Notes:

WOOOO last chapter of the central series if ya'll are wondering what the extra chapter is for, it's going to be a what if one shot! I hope you've enjoyed this series as much as I have enjoyed writing it! thank you all for your support! there will be more content on crime scene cleaner and call of duty so please check those out. once again thank you all so much for your support and I hope you all have an amazing day/night!

@anditshallcrumble hope you enjoy!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

I genuinely screamed so loud when I saw that you wrote about Crime Scene Cleaner, it's one of my favorite games tbh.

OMG yessss. I love the game so much! I plan on writing so much more different fics on crime scene cleaner because the fandom is BARREN.

Kovalksy deserves a damn good holiday with Elena.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

haven't done one of these in a while sooo

PT2 of the shadow company Bell au is in the works soldiers!

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Dadler and Graveson AU Shadow company Headcannons

1.Adler bought all of Shadow company sunglasses for the PMC's one year anniversary. Adler likes to think of it as a way to continue his legacy but he gave Phillip the ones that he wore during Vietnam. (yes these are the sunglasses that the operatives wear on mission)

2. Phillip is always the early bird, and whenever he's on base with the shadows he makes them all coffee/hot chocolate in the morning. (there is a whiteboard on the fridge with everyone's favorites)

3. Phillip has such a “told you so” attitude when one of his soldiers does something stupid but he’ll still patch them up if their hurt or sick.

4. Shadow company is just own huge gossip mill, that somehow Phillip wasn't aware of until a shadow asked him if he had a pet bald eagle.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Adler and graveson head cannon based on the new dadler skin!

Phillip bought Adler the watch for his birthday and the Adler has adamantly refused to take it off under any circumstances.

aand if you want to add a lil more then imagine if the golden bracket he is wearing, is a replacement for a wedding ring that his partner (*cough* BELL *cough") got him because of the dangers of his job, right next to the gift his son got him.

gifts from the two most important people in his life right next to each other on his wrist.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

just saw someone post “it’s common knowledge ur not supposed to spam reblog from someone ur not mutuals with” …..?????????? am i confused??? IS that common knowledge???? i try not to spam if i can help it but i actually personally love seeing spam notifs lmao??? unless i dont know what spam reblog means

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

An Au idea just spawned in my head now it wont leave, so now I will share it with you all.

What if after Simon took his revenge and killed Roba he was found by a certain gothic family that has a taste for the dark arts.

What if when ghost returns from his deployment he's greeted by his peculiar new family.

Yes it is the addams family.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

My English teacher just saw me writing fanfiction in class made EYE CONTACT with me and just nodded.

then she let me write fanfiction for the rest of the whole lesson.

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]