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-> I'm currently open for making mood boards for my moots and people!! If you'd like to make request, just comment below!<3

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Mikheil Svyatoslav “Bell”, ‘Reznikov’ Marković

-> I remade my Bell!! I decided that my other Bell just wasn’t living up to my gold standard for my OCs soo..I created this cutie patootie(he’s the reason why Adler drinks so much coffee)<3

If anyone has any questions about him, feel free to ask!! I’d be happy to answer!

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Title: Miami, 1985 Character(s) used: Jack Boshaw(belongs to @liberty-mutual-138 ), 'Maria'(Belongs to me) Trigger warning(s): mentions of drugs, curse words

Miami, 1982 Jack didn’t belong here. Not in the sweat-stained air, the blinding neon, the heat that clings to your ribs like fingers. Miami is loud. Wild. Half-naked. It breathes in cocaine and exhales glitter and rot. But here he is. In black. As always. Some assignment. Some shadow mission from Callahan that he’s already half-forgotten because none of it matters. Not now. Not when he thinks he just saw her. Maria. Bleached hair like cocaine, tan leather hugging every inch of her like sin. Laughing under pink club lights. Her arms thrown around some man’s neck. Sunglasses at night. Lips stained red. And Jack? He stops. In the middle of the sidewalk. He’s not sure if she saw him. He’s not even sure she’s real. Because the last time he saw Maria, she was back in Liverpool- in that shitty rented motel they last stayed in, the one with the wallpaper falling off, cigarette smoke lingering in the air. She had that gorgeous warm brunette hair that he loved, the warm brown skin that contrasted perfectly to his pale one- at the time. And now—here? She’s dancing. He follows. Not chasing- just walking. Like if he moves too fast, she’ll disappear completely. Like she’s some ghost, the heat cooked up just to punish him. ‘Looking down on Mercy Street…’ The music from the club spills onto the street. Bass pounding through his bones. But he can still hear the song—their song. Not in the air. In his head. Peter Gabriel on a loop. ‘Looking for mercy.’ Jack slips past the bouncer. Shadows bloom under his eyes. He finds her near the DJ booth, spinning in slow circles, arms outstretched, smiling like nothing ever touched her. Not war. Not pain. Not him. “Maria.” She doesn’t hear him at first. She’s too far gone. High on something. Floating. Her mind’s probably fried. He gets closer. Brushes her arm. She turns. Slowly. And Jack sees it—the recognition. The flash of memory. But she doesn’t say his name. She just whispers, “Hey, tiger.” And it breaks him. Because that’s what she called him when he was eighteen, curled up in some crummy dorm room bed. Before CIA. Before blood. Before she left- before she fell. “Come home,” he says. Her eyes shimmer. Glassy. “You are home,” she murmurs, arms wrapping around his neck like a prayer. “Stay with me. Just for tonight.” He wants to. God, he wants to. But he feels the drugs in her bloodstream through her skin. Smells the fake sweetness. He knows that she doesn’t recognize him through all of the alcohol.  All of the men she’s fucked. This isn’t Maria. This is what’s left of her. “Mercy Street…” the song whispers again, deep inside his chest. She leans in to kiss him. But Jack—he pulls back. And for a moment, her face twists. Confused. Hurt. Like she’s not sure why it feels like rejection when she doesn’t even remember what they had. Doesn’t even know who he is. “Don’t go,” she breathes. “I’m not the one leaving,” he says. And just like that, she’s gone again. Back into the smoke. Back into the lights. Back into the crowd of men who aren’t him. Jack doesn’t follow. Not this time. He walks back out into the night. Hands in his pockets. Salt on his tongue. Still looking. Still hoping. Still aching.For a street that doesn’t exist. For the girl who once called him home.

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-> Small little mood board of my OCs(I don't plan on making any more for the current time being..) -> I haven't added my own, 'Bell' since he's just being forced into the Cia, unlike the other OCs, who chose, to be in it.

Characters used: Top Left - man in the grey suit, Elias "Freiherr von Bern" Greyson Top Middle - woman with dark hair, Fernanda 'Baithong' Santos Top Right - man in the uniform, Amon "Von Stuttgart" Blutstein Middle Left - woman with the bun, Fia Elena Graves Middle Right - woman with the long hair, Sophie Henrietta Schwarz Bottom Left - man with the facial hair, Santino 'Cruzo' Navarro Bottom Middle - woman in the black clothes, Cristina Calabrese Bottom Right - man in the white shirt, Harland Miles Callahan

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𓅆 | Elias "Freiherr von Bern" Greyson

Basic Information

Name: Elias Freiherr von Bern

Codename / Alias: Greyson/Crowface

Age: 35

Date of Birth: 18 June 1964

Place of Birth: Bern, Switzerland

Nationality: Austrian, Swiss, American

Gender / Pronouns: CIS Male | He/Him

Languages Spoken: German(first language), English, French, Italian, Spanish, Romanian, Russian

Professional Profile

Affiliation: CIA, MI6

Rank / Title: Informant

Years of Service: [Redacted]

Specialties: Interrogation

Previous Assignments: [Redacted]

Current Status: Active

Psychological Profile

Personality Traits: Friendly, charming, sweet, genuine, suspicious

Strengths: High pressure situations,

Weaknesses: [Redacted]

Fears / Phobias: [Redacted]

Moral Alignment: Lawful Good

Motivations: [Redacted]

Appearance

Height: 1'83cm/6'0ft

Weight / Build: 58.5kg/129lbs | Lean-Skinny

Hair Color / Style: Light brown/Dirty blonde | Usually softly put back, or to the side

Eye Color: Light blue

Skin Tone / Complexion: Fair

Background / History

Childhood / Family: [Redacted]

Recruitment into CIA: Recruited by Amon "Von Stuttgart" Blutstein

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“Mayhaps the bastards will rot in hell.”

-Unknown source

Characters:

-> Fia Elena Graves(Top Left)

-> Elias Freiherr von Bern ‘Greyson’(Top Right)

-> Amon "Von Stuttgart" Blutstein(Bottom Left)

-> Alexei ‘Bell’ Kakarov(Bottom Left)

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-> I’ve been thinking more about Fia Graves’ death, since she dies right after the events of Black Ops 6, and in the game(in my AU) there’d be a cutscene of her death :c

Fia gets killed in 1991 in August, giving a speech with the president and other influential figures such as senators, politicians, CIA officials, etc..

Right when Fia is finishing her speech, a sniper’s bullet pierces her throat and she honestly bleeds out on stage in front of the huge crowd. It hit her carotid artery(dunno which one yet) but lowkey she dies, on stage; although right before she dies she shoots the sniper with her gun and then she finally dies.

She dies at the age of 47 which is extremely young, but most importantly the world lost a baddie😭 Yes chat, Russell knows about her death and yes he is sad!! But like he’s great at being an asshole so people don’t notice that he’s grieving too, in his own way. And her children, Phillip Graves, Lauren ‘Lottie’ Graves, and Stephan Sinclair Adler, are also grieving.

But honestly the world is grieving because the literal CIA Director just got shot AND died

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I dont think anyone ever asked you but. Did Fia and Russell ever have more kids? Another kid that isn't Phillip. I love your content, and your ocs. Please dont stop posting lorvdz💐🪻🌷

Hi Anon, and thank you so much, you’re so sweet!!😭💟 Feel free to ask more!

And that’s actually a question that’s been bugging me, since yes Fia and Russell did have more children :3

Specifically 2 other children, three(including Phillip) children in total, two boys and a girl:

Stephen Graves

Lauren ‘Lottie’ Graves

Phillip Graves

Although this is all I currently have of them :’]

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I found Fia Graves’ voice claim!!

In game description of her accent:

“In public, especially during official briefings or while delivering speeches, she speaks with a flawless, hyper-enunciated American Standard accent—what linguists sometimes call General American with the faintest influence of Mid-Atlantic tones, the kind of voice drilled into women of high society and power. It’s the same cultivated sharpness you’d hear from the daughters of senators, diplomats, or presidents. Her mother made sure of that.”

However, I posted Fia with her real accent which is a soft Texan accent- she only ever uses it when she’s at ease though :3

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Hey! So, I’ve been thinking of putting some ocs and stuff on my page and I’m very very VERY new to tumblr and not too great at writing so do you have any advice? It’s totally cool if not! I just barely discovered your account so I’m def going to check your stuff out and you seem really cool and educated and stuff if that makes sense? Anyway keep up the great work!!

Hi Anon! Welcome to Tumblr^_^ And sure, I've got some advice :3

Writing tips -> What I firstly suggest is that you get the fundamentals down of your character, as in, how your OC looks like, how they act like. Get the looks and personality down first, this allows you to flesh out your OC more rather than fully get thrown onto a blank canvas- you can create mood boards, make edits of your OCs vibes, use picrew to get a form of visualization of your OC, and many more ^w^ What I personally did was, since I already had Fia(created all the way back in 2020), I just started adapting her into Cold War. The environment that you'll put your OC in is going to be significant to how you create your OC, since its an external factor. Example: Since Fia is the CIA Director, I'm taking into consideration that it was the 1980s, the CIA was still primarily dominated by men, only men had positions of power, therefore I made Fia ruthless- for a closer analysis, Fia literally bullied men out of the CIA to consolidate her power, so that there wouldn't be any competition :3

But what matters most is that you like your OC! If you put in the time and effort into creating your OC, you'll flesh them out on your own without thinking about it- you should enjoy the process and not force yourself. Thank you for the ask and the compliment! It means that my yapping makes sense😭💟

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Title: August is here. Trigger Warning(s): Violent imagery, violence

She hears it before she sees it. Low whispers slithering through the cracks in the walls, curling in the corners of the room like cigarette smoke. Soft at first. Muttering. Then, hissing. It always happens- when August comes. The air thickens. The sun bleeds into autumn. And she feels it all over again. The way he left. The way he never looked back. The way the world continued to spin while she stood frozen in place, crawling out of hell to prove her worth. To be seen.Fia Elena Graves is not well. She knows it. It knows. It unhinges its jaws. She knows. It watches her. It’s sharpening its claws. She knows. It whispers about her. It’s licking its fangs. She knows. She is dying. She’ll be slaughtered. Not from disease. Not from bullets. Not from her son's cries. But from it. The way it gnaws at her bones, digs under her fingernails, carves its initials into her skin, repeatedly piercing its fingernails into her flesh, clawing its way out of her throat. The way it loops, over and over, and over again— showing her the same scenes again and again, and again. Adler walking away. Phillip looking at her with eyes too much like his father’s. Livingston watching her like a vulture watches a wounded animal. Cristina’s sneer, that rotten thing, mocking her—wanting to be her—stealing from her. The Pantheon, their faceless hands clawing at her throat. It never stops. Even now, as she sits in her office, staring at the blank, expressionless wall. God where are you now? That voice. Low. Raspy. Familiar. 'Fia.' Her head snaps up. No one is there. She laughs. It’s hollow. Wrong. It's wrong. A sound she doesn’t recognize. Who are you? She stands. Her legs feel weak. Her body feels like it doesn’t belong to her anymore. It's rejecting her. 'Who are you?' Something else is wearing her skin, moving her hands, blinking her eyes. Something’s alive beneath her skin. it's breathing in her lungs. Her breath comes in short gasps. There’s something inside her chest, clawing at her ribs, trying to get out. The walls are breathing. The room is too small. She sees him. Adler. Standing in the doorway. Just like before. Just like that night. She reaches for him— but her hands go through air. He isn’t real. He never was. Like she is. Like she has been for years. Fia clutches her temples, nails digging into her scalp, trying to pull herself back—trying to remember where she is, who she is, what she is. But it’s too late. The voices are laughing. The shadows are moving. The door is open. August is here.

-> I'm actually quite proud of this fic, and I'm lowkey gonna say that this is the opening to Fia- as in this fic is an introduction to her character :3

Reblogs are super appreciated on this one!

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The rain came down in sheets, soaking the earth beneath their feet, drenching the graveyard in something heavier than water. It seeped into the cracks of the headstones, into the folds of his coat, into the spaces between his fingers where her hand should have been. Russell Adler stood motionless, cigarette limp between his lips, embers glowing against the cold. His breath shook. It shouldn’t have been this. It should have been her. Fia Elena Graves had always been something untouchable, something larger than life—like a storm, like a prayer, like a promise that could never break. But even gods could fall. And she had fallen. There was no one left beside him. No Phillip. No Vivienne. No old ghosts lingering in the shadows. Just the sound of the rain beating down and the weight of the world pressing against his chest. He hadn’t spoken to her in years. Not since they had torn themselves apart—divorce papers, a final cigarette, a bed that was too empty too soon. And still. Still. When he closes his eyes, he swears he can still hear her—laughing, whispering, begging. "Am I too ugly for you to stay?" "Tell me, Adler. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me this isn't the end of us." "Please, just stay." He had never answered her. Not really. Because the truth was, he had never been able to say no to her. Not when she was sixteen and full of fire, challenging him like she could bend him with just a glance. Not when she was nineteen, cradling their newborn son, looking at him like he was her whole world. Not when she was twenty-six, standing in their empty house, cigarette in hand, watching as he walked out of the door. Not even now. Russell Adler swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he reached into his pocket. Inside was a crushed pack of her cigarettes. He had quit years ago. He hadn’t smoked in decades. But as he pulled one out and placed it between his lips, he thought maybe—just this once—he could break his rules. For her. For Fia. For the only woman who had ever truly known him. The flame flickered, catching on the tip of the cigarette, burning like the memories he would never be able to bury. Smoke curled between his lips as he whispered, just loud enough for the dead to hear— "I'm your man."

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Prompt: Fia and Russell, where Russell and Fia were happy. Requested by @arcanister

Texas, 1960

The sun was blazing down on the sprawling ranch as a dry breeze rolled across the endless expanse of Texan land. Adler adjusted the brim of his hat, his sharp blue eyes scanning the horizon with quiet appreciation. He wasn’t used to this kind of openness—he had spent most of his life bouncing between deployments or growing up in San Diego, California. The wide Texas sky was a far cry from any jungle or crowded street he’d known.

“Russell, hurry up!” his father barked, waving him toward the ranch house.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Adler muttered, trailing behind as he tugged his sleeves up. Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt, but he couldn’t deny there was something refreshing about the untamed energy of this place.

At the ranch’s grand entrance, a tall man with a commanding presence waited—Mr. Graves, a friend of Adler’s father from the war. His firm handshake spoke volumes about the kind of man he was: solid, proud, and no-nonsense. The two older men fell into conversation almost immediately, leaving Russell to nod along politely.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Russell caught a flash of movement near the corral. A young woman was perched on the fence, her long, sunlit blonde hair tumbling past her shoulders like a golden river. She wasn’t wearing the delicate lace or frills he might have expected from a Southern belle—her jeans were dusty, her boots scuffed, and her shirt slightly wrinkled. Yet she carried herself with the kind of grace and confidence that turned his stomach inside out.

“Excuse me,” Adler said absentmindedly, stepping away from the conversation without a second thought.

The closer he got, the more the details came into focus: her fair complexion glowed under the sun, her blue eyes sparkling like deep ocean waves as she focused on the bull in the pen. The creature was massive and temperamental, its nostrils flaring as it kicked at the dirt. Most people would’ve stayed far away, but not her. She leaned forward on the fence, talking to the animal in a soft, soothing tone.

“Careful. That thing could gore you,” Adler said, his voice casual but tinged with genuine concern.

She turned her head sharply, startled by his sudden presence. Her blue eyes locked onto him, and for a moment, Adler felt like he’d been caught under a spotlight.

“I don’t plan on giving him the chance,” she quipped, her Texan accent honeyed and smooth. There was a lightheartedness to her tone, but her sharp gaze appraised him like she wasn’t one to be easily impressed.

Adler smirked. “You’re braver than me. I’d steer clear of that guy.”

She smiled then, and it was like the sun had dimmed in comparison. “I don’t think we’ve met. You’re one of the Boshaws?”

He shook his head, stepping closer. “Russell Adler. My father’s here visiting Mr. Graves.”

Her expression softened, recognition dawning on her. “You’re Adler’s boy? Daddy mentioned you’d be coming.” She extended her hand, her grip surprisingly firm. “I’m Fia. Fia Graves.”

“Nice to meet you, Fia.” Her name felt familiar, like something he should’ve known all his life.

Her eyes flicked toward the bull again. “Don’t mind ol’ Titan there. He’s all bark, no bite.”

Adler raised an eyebrow. “Looks like he’s got plenty of bite to me.”

Fia laughed, and the sound was melodic, completely disarming. “You just gotta know how to handle him. Watch.”

Before Adler could protest, Fia climbed off the fence and slipped into the pen. His heart jumped into his throat as she approached the massive beast with a confidence that bordered on reckless. Titan stomped his hooves, glaring at her like he was ready to charge, but she held her ground, speaking softly and moving with purpose.

Adler watched, utterly mesmerized, as the bull calmed under her touch. The tension in its massive body seemed to melt away as if she’d cast some kind of spell.

“See?” she called out, flashing him a triumphant grin.

“You’re either crazy or a miracle worker,” Adler muttered, leaning against the fence. “Maybe both.”

Fia walked back over, brushing the dust off her jeans. “Maybe. But that’s just life out here. You learn how to handle what comes your way.”

He couldn’t help but smile at that. There was something magnetic about her—a mix of charm, strength, and vulnerability that he’d never seen in anyone before.

“Well, you’ve definitely got me beat,” Adler admitted, tipping his hat slightly.

“Stick around long enough, city boy, and you might learn a thing or two.”

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, half-joking, though he found himself hoping for a yes.

Fia tilted her head, her grin widening. “Could be. You’ll just have to stick around to find out.”

Adler stayed rooted in place as she walked off, her golden hair catching the sunlight and her laughter still ringing in his ears. For the first time in a long while, Adler felt like the world had stopped spinning just long enough for him to catch his breath.

He didn’t know what it was about her, but he knew one thing for certain—Fia Graves was going to be trouble. The kind of trouble he didn’t mind getting tangled up in.

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Thank you so much Rosie! It’s gorgeous! It fits Fia wonderfully! <3

OC Aesthetics: Director Fia Graves

Wolves symbolizes Leadership, Survival, Adaptability, Danger, Deceit and Betrayal

Poison Hemlocks symbolizes Danger, Mortality and Execution

A request given by @lorvdz for their oc Fia Elena Graves

Tags: @imagoddamnonionmason @alypink @djloveyou3000 @callmelitlesunshine @mutant-okuri-inu @fleshqounds @pyxis-stellae @liberty-mutual-138 @adlersoldspice @eccentrcks @maymaylyn @makeila04 @lorvdz @verycolorgoatee @septic-salad @dearlydevoured @perry-the-platypus-f1cs

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Prompt: during the events of cold war but free time before going off to a mission, unaware of brainwashing on both sides. Mallory belongs to @sunarteater

The safehouse was quiet, save for the occasional static from a radio left half-tuned in the corner. Outside, the wind howled against the crumbling walls, a constant reminder that the mission was just hours away. Alexei leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching as Mallory rifled through an old ration pack. He had been watching her for the past five minutes, amused by her determination to find something edible in the government-issued excuse for food. "You are wasting time," he muttered, cigarette bobbing between his lips. Mallory scoffed, not looking up. "I am making time. Big difference." Alexei raised a brow, but before he could question it, she finally let out a triumphant hum and turned around, holding up a small, vacuum-sealed package. "Boom. Chocolate bar." She waggled it in front of him like a prize. Alexei squinted at it. "That expired three years ago." Mallory shrugged. "Chocolate doesn’t expire, it just—ages." "Like a corpse." "Like fine wine, actually," she corrected, already tearing the package open. She snapped a piece off and held it out to him. Alexei hesitated. He wasn’t much of a sweets person—years of rations and bitterness had made sure of that—but something about the way she offered it, so casual, so normal in the midst of everything, made him take it anyway. He popped it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. It wasn’t bad. A little stale, but it melted on his tongue, rich and familiar. Mallory grinned. "See? Not bad." He rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, finishing the piece with a slow exhale. "Nyet. You are far too excited about this." "Hey, let me have this. We’ve got, what, six hours before we throw ourselves into hell again? If I want to enjoy the little things, I will." Alexei didn’t respond right away. He just watched her, the way she leaned against the counter, arms folded, bright-eyed despite everything. She was too good for this war. Too good for the lies they had both been fed. He didn’t know why, but something about the moment felt heavy. Wrong. Like he should say something. Do something. But he didn’t.

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Prompt: Annika and Alexei during their Perseus days… imagine them talking about their tastes in women Annika belongs to @liberty-mutual-138

A dimly lit safehouse in East Berlin. Smoke curled lazily from Alexei’s cigarette, the tip glowing red in the near-darkness. Annika sat across from him at the rickety wooden table, boot propped up on the chair next to her, idly spinning a knife between her fingers. The latest mission had been a disaster—nothing they couldn’t handle, but enough to warrant laying low for the night. Alexei exhaled a slow, hazy breath, watching as Annika wiped dried blood off her sleeve. "Women," he muttered suddenly, unprompted. Annika arched a brow. "What about them?" Alexei smirked, taking another drag. "They are terrifying." Annika scoffed. "Says the man who killed a guy with an ashtray last week." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Nyet, you don’t understand. My Tatiana—she owns me. I cook, I clean, I bring her flowers, and in return? She keeps me alive. She wears the pants, and I… I fold them." Annika snorted, finally setting her knife down. "I can't even picture you in a kitchen. What, you wear an apron too?" "Da. With little kittens on it." He shrugged like it was the most normal thing in the world. "She picked it." Annika shook her head, half-amused, half-horrified. "I’m scared for you, man." "You should be," Alexei said solemnly, flicking ash into a rusted tin can. "She is the true weapon of mass destruction." Annika leaned back, crossing her arms. "Mine’s the opposite. Sophie’s the softest thing on the planet. The kind of woman who sees a wounded dog and nurses it back to health. And somehow, she picked me—a human landmine." Alexei grinned. "Does she bring you food?" Annika’s lips twitched. "Cheese." Alexei blinked. "Cheese?" "Yeah. Any kind. All the time. Just… out of nowhere, I’ll turn around and—boom—cheese in my hand." Alexei let out a wheezing laugh, almost choking on his cigarette. "You are telling me that your woman gives you cheese like some sort of pet?" Annika shrugged. "I like cheese. She likes giving me things that make me happy. And patches me up when I come back half-dead." "A healer and a feeder," Alexei mused. "A dangerous combination. You will never escape." "I don’t plan to." Annika’s voice softened just a fraction. "She’s home." Alexei nodded, rubbing at the scar by his eye. "Da. Tatiana is mine." For a while, the only sound was the distant murmur of the city outside, the faint flicker of a faulty lightbulb. Two killers, hopelessly devoted to the women who kept them in shape- something human. Alexei finally broke the silence, stubbing out his cigarette. "So..Do you think our women would get along?" Annika considered it. "Probably. Tatiana sounds like the type to scare the shit out of Sophie, though." "Good. She needs more fear in her life," Alexei said sagely. Annika snorted. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that." Annika flicked her knife at him. He caught it with a laugh. Yeah, they were basically besties for the resties..

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"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you." — Friedrich Nietzsche

I. The Illusion of Power

Power isn't an achievement; it is a sickness. A parasite that demands more and more until there is nothing left but the husk of what once was a person. Fia Elena Graves did not chase power—power chased her, consumed her, and left her irreparably changed.

She was raised to be a monster in a world of kings, taught by men who had no patience for softness, no room for fragility. She did not inherit power. She clawed for it, stole it, killed for it in ways most would never comprehend.

But the mistake people make is thinking power is something one can control.

It isn't.

II. The Making of a Monster

What happens to a woman who is forced to survive in a world where every act of kindness is a weakness, every hesitation a death sentence?

She adapts.

She becomes worse than the men around her.

She becomes something else entirely.

She Learned to Love the Kill – It started as a necessity. A means to an end. But over time, Fia became something beyond just a tactician. She became a predator. There is something about watching the light leave a person’s eyes, about knowing you controlled their final moment, that can twist even the strongest mind. Did she enjoy it? Maybe not at first. But pleasure and necessity are often blurred in the hands of the powerful.

This had been marinating in my drafts, for Fia. But what I lowkey want people to understand is that, no matter how much I love Fia and cherish her like my bbg and daughter- is that she's actually a genuinely horrible person. She's messed up and raw, that's what I strive for Fia, I want her to be realistic.