#fyeahgrishaverseocs

[ginevrastilinski-ocs]

OC Pride Challenge 2026 - Day Twelve: Green

Ruslana Lantsov & Alina Starkov

Taglist : @randomestfandoms-ocs @eddysocs @that-demigirl @impales @ocfairygodmother @rose-of-oz If you want to be added send me an ask! 💚

[rose-of-oz]

OC PRIDE CHALLENGE 2026: Day Eleven — Yellow

Anya Morov (Lesbian, Asexual, She/Her) x Alina Starkov ᯽ Grishaverse

“We are both women full of light, Alina. The brands of light may be of different sorts, but they are two of a kind, and they blend together - just as our souls are, and do.”

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @auxiliarydetective, @foxesandmagic, @endless-oc-creations, @ginnystilinski-reblogs, @luucypevensie, @littlebvtterfly, @oneirataxia-girl, @arrthurpendragon, @gabbysdawsons, @dancingsunflowers-ocs, @eddysocs, @oraclewatchtower, @manyfandomocs, @partiallypearl, @welcometotheocverse, @juliaswickcrs, @kendelias, @myloveforhergoeson, @hoteldenouement-ocs, @margaretsbrunch, @negative-speedforce-ocs, @cupidlemon, @ocappreciationtag.

[dancingsunflowers-ocs]

OC HALLOWEEN CHALLENGE 2025: DAY TEN: Mostly Ghostly

Is your oc haunting or haunted?

Avalen Romanov carries a ghost that no fire can burn away, the memory of the day Matthias’ village was reduced to ash. Still a child, barely old enough to understand the power within her, she was forced to witness what it meant to be an Inferni: the screams, the smoke, and the sight of a boy’s world ending as his family perished before his eyes. Though she told herself it was her duty, the image of Matthias among the flames haunted her dreams long after. Seeking escape and a sense of purpose, Avalen pledged herself to the Darkling, believing in his promise of freedom and a safer future for Grisha. When she is paired with Nina Zenik to smuggle others to safety, Avalen clings to the hope of redemption. But fate turns cruel when they are captured by drüskelle, and among them, she recognizes the same boy, now grown, whose grief and fury had long stalked her nightmares. For Avalen, the past is no longer just a memory. It stands before her in flesh and blood, forcing her to face the cost of survival and the flames that first forged her.

✨ Tagging: @rose-of-oz @manyfandomocs ✨

[manyfandomocs]

PRIDE 2026 ; day twenty - Non Canon Ships

Radul Jastrow x Malyen Oretsev ; Grishaverse

Tag list: @rose-of-oz

[happyhauntt]

give your tears to the tide — nikolai lantsov.

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: now that he knows, nikolai lantsov is the only soul in the world aware of the truth at the heart of her. for better or worse.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: sexual assault tw! (off-screen, not descriptive), serious angst, character death (minor character), manslaughter, mentions of the army (in a canon context). this one's a lil dark. hurt/comfort. trauma. nikolai learns that anya is grisha except it's in the worst way possible and he behaves like a fucking king. threats of violence. i realise this plot would've been a lot more believable if anya were a heartrender or squaller but i fully believe in my heart that she's a tidemaker so suspend your belief for five minutes pls and thank you.

─── word count: 2.8k.

─── taglist: @naushtheaspiringauthor / @a-taken-url / if you'd like to be added to the taglist let me know!

      There's a body in the corner and the stable floor is soaked through with water. It seeps through the fabric of her army-issue trousers, clinging and cold, but Anya can hardly feel it. The ground is hard beneath her, but still she sits, with her knees pulled up to her chest, and she watches. She waits. She prays to Saints she doesn't really believe in that the body in the corner will twitch, or breathe, or something.

     But it doesn't, and it won't, and there's no Saint in the world that can save her now.

     That's how Nikolai finds her. Not long after curfew, when she didn't check in with their commanding officer before dinner, he'd known something was off. In all the months he has served with her in their unit, he cannot recall a time when she was late for anything. Nikolai didn't think she was even capable of such a thing, really, so he'd asked Dominik to cover for them and slipped off to look for her as everyone got ready for bed.

     He checks the gardens first. More often than not, he'll find Anya laying on a bedroll beside her tent, watching the sun set over the horizon. She'd count the stars as they came into view and once, when she'd been feeling particularly tolerant, she'd even invited him to sit with her so they could point out constellations. It is a rare day when he doesn't set her teeth on edge, so he'd joined her eagerly and listened, enraptured, as she told him all about the stars and their stories.

     Those same stars glitter overhead now, winking mockingly at him, but there is no one to be found in the gardens. The estate their unit is staying at on their way north belongs to some baron whose name Nikolai doesn’t care to remember, and it isn't too large, but even so, he checks the gardens again.

     Just in case.

     Nikolai sighs to himself, unable to think of where she might be, before he notices a light in the distance. Everyone else has gone to bed, and the officers are drinking and playing cards in the drawing room, so why would there be anyone in the stables this late? Why would Anya be there?

     He doesn't dwell on the thought for longer than a moment. If it is her, then his worries will ease, and that's enough to send him striding down the dirt track that leads to the stables.

     As he nears, the ground beneath his feet grows soggy with muck. An odd trickling sound catches his attention, and when he squints into the dark, he notices a small stream of water escaping through a crack in the doorway.

     Nikolai pushes the unlocked door open, wincing as the hinges shriek. One of the horses chuffs at the sudden sound, but otherwise the room remains silent as a grave. The sudden draft makes the lantern flicker where it hangs from its hook, and as his eyes adjust to the dim light, he realises that he is not alone in the stable.

     "Anya?" Even though his voice is little more than a murmur, it still feels too loud. The sound of it rattles off the walls, and he can't help but flinch, but the girl curled up on the floor doesn't move. Doesn't raise her head, or even really seem to breathe.

     He creeps closer. Dread settles over him like a burial shroud. Old bits of hay crunch beneath his feet and the lantern spits, but the pit in his stomach only grows as he takes in Anya's appearance.

     Her hair straggles around her face in limp, damp strands. When Nikolai last saw her, it had been neatly braided and pinned, but now honey-coloured strands hang loose and messy. Her skin is damp, too, and pale. So pale, white as a corpse, and a flash of panic rolls through him.

     "Anya, come on." He kneels on the ground beside her. Cold, dirty water seeps into the knees of his trousers. He reaches out with gentle hands, but doesn't touch her. They merely hover above her shoulders, as if to offer comfort he isn't sure she'll accept. Not from him. "What are you doing out here? You're soaked, and it's freezing. Let's get you inside before you get ill."

     Anya doesn't look at him. Her stare is fixed, unwavering, on a dark corner of the stables. There's something hollow and hopeless about them that makes him feel sick.

     A long moment passes, and then— "I didn't mean to."

     He doesn't think he's ever heard her sound like this before. Doesn't think he's heard anyone sound like this before. "What? Anya, what are you talking about?"

     "I didn't mean to." Her voice is brittle. The words are shards of broken glass on her tongue. Every one of them slices her open. Makes her bleed. "I... It was an accident. I didn't... I swear, I didn't even..."

     She wavers at the end, trailing off into a heavy silence. When she looks at him then, eyes so wide and frightened, Nikolai swears his heart grinds to a halt. That look cuts him deeper than any blade ever could.

     "Anya." Concern wavers in the depths of his eyes, and finally he reaches out to touch her. Gentle hands clasp her shoulders. She's so cold. He wonders how long she's been sitting out here. "What happened? Where did all this water come from?"

     Anya swallows roughly. Her lower lip quivers. Every part of him wants to hold her close, as if that will chase away all her demons, but he knows she won’t allow it. "Me. Or... him, maybe. I don't know. I didn't mean to do it, I just—"

     A choked sob cuts her off, and Anya buries her face in her hands. There's no doubt that she probably wishes anyone else had found her out here, rather than the boy who teases and goads her relentlessly. She doesn't even like him, really.

     Yet he's the one who noticed she was missing.

     "Anya. Nastya, look at me." The childhood nickname falls from his tongue before he can stop it, and he squeezes her shoulders once, a little too harshly, to pull her focus back. "Tell me what happened."

     "I came down to check on the horses. Maksim asked to swap duties with me so he could run into town and post a letter to his mother." Anya's hands begin to shake violently. She curls them into fists and presses them hard against her thighs to make them stop. "I was just finishing up when— Fuck, I don't even know him. He was only just assigned to our regiment. Lenkov, I think? Saints, I killed him and I don't even remember his name." She manages a short, sharp laugh. She almost sounds hysterical.

     "Anya." A sudden chill sweeps over Nikolai, as if someone dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

     Anya shakes her head. "I didn't even notice he was in here. And then he— he grabbed me, and he put his hand around my throat and shoved me up against the wall and told me to shut up even though I wasn't even screaming, I couldn't scream, I couldn't— And he started pulling at my shirt, and I didn't even think, I just did it. I remembered seeing them do it, the hand gestures, I didn't even know what they meant, I just wanted him to get off me."

     A thousand thoughts sweep through him all at once, but the only thing Nikolai cares about is the tremor in Anya’s voice, the shaking of her hands as she gestures to the corner. He sees the body slumped over in a puddle. Bits of straw stick to the fabric of his uniform. The familiar emblem of Ravka winks back at Nikolai, as if the double eagle is sneering at him, but there is nothing here to be ashamed of.

     "Can you stand?" he asks.

     She looks up at him sharply. "What? Nikolai, I just told you—"

     "Can you stand, Anya?" Her name sits like a lead weight on his tongue. He says it firmly, harsher than he wants to be, but there's a manic look in her eye he's never seen before. Not on her. He needs to keep her attention, her focus, away from the body in the corner. Away from the blood on her hands.

     She nods, once. "I think so."

     "Alright." Nikolai pushes himself up from the ground, and tries not to shiver at the way his damp trousers stick to his skin. The beginnings of a plan begin to formulate in his mind, and when Anya looks him in the eye, the certainty she finds there begins to set her at ease. "You're going to go back to the manor. Sneak in through the side entrance. Make sure nobody sees you. Go to the library. It should be empty. I'll meet you there in an hour."

     "Nikolai."

     "Go, Anya." They're not friends. She's made that abundantly clear so many times these last few months, but the way she's looking at him now, with her heart split wide open, makes him want to hold her tight and never let go. "I'll deal with this."

     And somehow, because she trusts him — Saints, she cannot believe she actually trusts him — she forces her stiff limbs to carry her out of the door and away from the chaos she caused.

     When she dares to cast a glance back of her shoulder, she finds the dim light extinguished, flooding the stables with shadows.

     An oil lamp flickers on the table, dim enough that it won't cast any light beneath the door, and Anya has to squint in order to decipher the look on Nikolai's face when he sneaks into the library nearly an hour later.

     A deep frown has etched itself into his features, and Anya’s chest seizes at the sight of it. She cannot recall a day in her life where Nikolai wasn’t smiling. There are lines carved on each side of his mouth, even at the age of sixteen, that bear the echo of his good humour.

     She cannot stomach that she is the reason for that frown.

     He doesn't say anything as he presses a glass bottle into her hands, before settling himself into the low armchair opposite. When she removes the stopper, it smells suspiciously like brandy.

     "What have you done with him?"

      There are still flecks of dirt stuck beneath Nikolai's fingernails, even though he scrubbed his hands nearly raw in the kitchens just now. Streaks of mud stain the hems of his trousers. A faint scent of soil lingers in the air.

     "Do you really want to know?" Nikolai hadn't felt all that terrible as he'd rolled Lenkov's body into a shallow grave at the edge of the property. Perhaps he should have. But every time the guilt tried to creep in, the memory of Anya curled up on the stable floor would flash through his mind, and every shovelful of dirt became a little easier to bear.

     Come morning, their superior officer will find a scribbled letter in Lenkov's bunk and assume he is a deserter. The reputation that will earn him is not nearly as bad as he deserves, but it will do. It’s not like he’ll live to harm anyone else.

     Nikolai nods at the bottle in her hands. "Drink, Anya."

     It's odd, really. Watching her follow instructions. His instructions, at least. Nikolai is used to her battling him. More often than not, his remarks are usually met with a snarky retort or an outright insult.

     As her lips close around the bottle and she swallows a sip of the brandy he stole, he decides he doesn't like her silent. He doesn't like it at all.

     When she's done, she holds the bottle out towards him like a peace offering. He takes his own long swallow of brandy and relishes the burn as it slides down his throat.

     "Why did you help me?" Anya’s voice wavers as she speaks, though she tries her best to steady it. In this light, Nikolai cannot quite see her expression, but he knows, somehow, that she's frowning. A little dip appearing between her brows. He's so familiar with it, has dreamed of smoothing it over with his thumb until she smiles at him. In his dreams, it’s the sort of smile that could cure any ill in the world.

     He chuckles and downs another sip. "Would you prefer I stand silently by as they arrest you? Sit in the crowd at your tribunal? Would you rather I watch as they lead you to the gallows and hang you for murder?"

     Her breathing turns ragged. "It wasn't murder—"

     "The First Army hates Grisha, Anya." There's no venom in his tone, but she flinches all the same. His eyes soften as he passes the bottle back to her. "You think they'd care if it was an accident? Or self-defence? All they would see is you, a Grisha who hid her powers and infiltrated the ranks of the First Army, killing one of their own. There would be no saving you from that."

     The statement hangs in the air between them like a noose. The gas lamp spits and crackles.

     "My parents hid it. Not me." She takes a large swig of the brandy and clutches the bottle close to her chest, as if it's a shield. "I was... Saints, maybe eleven, when I started to show. My mother cut my hand when the Grisha testers came so they couldn’t test me.”

     Anya’s hand flexes slightly, as if she is even aware she’s doing it. There’s still a thin white scar hidden in the crease of her palm.

     “After that,” she says, “my parents stopped bringing me to court. Told everyone that my health was fragile and that I wasn't well enough to travel."

     Nikolai nods, humming beneath his breath. He remembers that. One summer Anya was there, screaming through the gardens of the Grand Palace with him and Dominik and some of the other children, and then she was gone. She'd only appear once or twice a year afterwards, at the Winter Fête or his brother’s birthday ball, and her mother would always keep her close by.

     "I am my father's heir." Anya swallows roughly. Affection threads through her voice like strands of gold.

     Nikolai had met the Duke of Balakirev a few times as a child, and unlike many other nobles rattling around court in Os Alta, he hadn’t found the man to be ridiculous or, worse, intimidating. He recalls an older man, somewhere in his fifties with ruddy cheeks and silver streaking through his hair, but he had kind eyes. That, Nikolai remembers well.

     He sees the same soft blue in Anya’s eyes. 

     Anya’s heart warms at the memory of him. She last saw him just before she enlisted, months ago, and he’d watched her leave with shining eyes and a worried little pout. He’d tried to smile.

     He hadn’t wanted her to know he was afraid.

     "I’m his only child.” Anya’s lips form a tight line. “And the Grisha testers would have shipped me off to the Little Palace. I'd be lucky to ever see my parents again, Nikolai. Once you are labelled Grisha, it is a brand you bear for life. It becomes the only thing you are, and I... I love my parents for protecting me. I don't practise or train, I don't... I didn't know what I was doing in the stables. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted him to stop."

     Her voice is quiet, so quiet he can hardly hear her now.

     Nikolai wishes Lenkov were still alive, if only so he could rip the man to pieces with his bare hands. A shallow grave isn’t good enough. He should’ve left the body in the woods and let the wolves have him instead.

     "I've killed before. We're soldiers. But I never... I didn't mean to..." Anya's voice cracks, and a sob bubbles up in her throat. She presses her palm hard against her mouth, hard enough that her teeth almost pierce the skin, as if that will keep her tears at bay.

     Nikolai leans forward. Rests a gentle hand on her knee. She looks at him, eyes glistening with tears. His heart shatters in his chest, and the shards of it dig into his lungs with every breath he takes.

     "I won't tell anyone," he says, solemn as the grave. "About what happened, or about you. I swear."

     "Thank you."

     When daylight comes and Dominik finds them huddled together in a quiet corner of the house, Anya’s head resting against Nikolai’s chest as if the steady rhythm of his heartbeat had soothed her to sleep, he knows something immeasurable has changed between them. 

     He nudges Nikolai’s foot and quickly ducks out of the room as his friend begins to stir, and he doesn’t know what secret the pair of them share now, but Dominik swears he will take it to the grave, too.

[moireia]

another fic i may never write  ↳ raisa karenin, heretics 🌑

Raisa Karenin could never really settle. She was never given the chance.

How could she when every year meant a new village to hide in? Every year meant a new name to learn. At all cost, she had to keep the secret close—one she was never to show and never to tell at the risk of her own life. The secret that her mother could read lies in heartbeats, that her father could mend wounds with a touch, that Raisa could make shadows dance. 

It was hard to make friends when anyone, even another child, could be a threat. When her family arrived at Ryveost, Raisa decided to make friends out of the flowers in the garden and the characters in her mother’s stories. Raisa created the Witch of Duva and Koja the Too-Clever Fox as shadow puppets to play with.

All these stories and all these lies were Raisa’s protection. They were the warnings that kept her safe. They were the lessons she faithfully followed even after her father was lost to the sea. Even after her mother died.

Then, after Ryevost, there was Keramzin.

Even in the loss of all that she knew, there was something to be gained. Keramzin gave her Alina and Mal—her first true friends, the three of them drawn together almost inexplicably. Perhaps it was pity for the new orphan, quiet and a little strange. Perhaps it was sympathy, knowing too well the cruelty of the others who saw you as different. Nevertheless, Alina and Mal were kind when Raisa needed it most.

At sixteen they were drafted into the First Army. It took them on different paths but they found ways to stay in touch. While Mal tracked in the woods and Alina held onto a pen, Raisa took up a rifle and became a sniper. An efficient soldier who took dangerous missions and rose quickly in rank—anything she could do to avoid the Fold. Her father had many theories about what would happen if Raisa entered the Unsea. Would it respond to her? Would the volcra hunt her, seeking shadow summoner blood even from a different line than their despised creator? Would she pass untouched? Madraya argued the risk was too great to ever try.

But then Mal is ordered to cross the Fold. Alina sets a fire and damns herself to stay with him. What choice does Raisa have but to follow? Her mother’s voice echoes in her mind as Raisa steals a cartography uniform and sneaks aboard the Skiff.

For the first time, Raisa ignores the warnings. She cannot leave her dearest friends to the darkness of the Unsea. She would follow them anywhere—even if it means risking discovery.

[hiddenqveendom]

* — SAYANA GAN-BAYAR + NIKOLAI LANTSOV

❝ i love you as certain dark things are to be loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.❞ ― pablo neruda, 100 love sonnets

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gif credit ; [ x , x , x , moi ]

[fyeahgrishaverse-ocs]

Hi! Welcome to fyeahgrishaverse-ocs, here in the world of the small science and crime we aim to showcase your original charcters and their stories that relate to Leigh Bardugo's Grishaverse. You may know that there is another, inactive grishaverse oc blog, and we thank those admins for their hard work! We will reblog any ocs that link to the Shadow & Bone TV series, books, and also Six of Crows & Rule of Wolves.

We are tracking the tag #fyeahgrishaversocs, so feel free to use that, and we aim to reblog every post we can. You can tag anything relating to an OC, writing, edits, information posts, asks, etc. For the next week or so, we’ll be scouring the tags to reblog older oc posts.

If you create a poll relating to your OCs, feel free to tag us (@fyeahgrishaverse-ocs) and we will vote and reblog the poll asap!

We’re really excited to see your ocs! And hopefully, we can inspire some more creations within the fandom. We appreciate reblogs to get the word out!