#i can see why nobody told me about him in this series 👀

[goldcranes]

👀 it’s been a month so i don’t know if you’re still doing these. just ignore if you aren’t

NAMES OF ANGELS ON THE BACKS OF YOUR EYELIDS grisha series, darklina, cheerleading au this is perfect timing because i just started working on this yesterday (it's not technically an unfinished 2021 fic sorry i've run out of those!). it's going to be a one- or two-shot set at a champion junior college, hopefully posted later this week or next week depending on how i get on with this and the next lawless chapter. alina is the super-talented rookie. aleksander is the oft-medalled coach. obviously dead dove: do not read for the power imbalance and coach/athlete relationship.

send me a 👀 for a snippet from a wip fic

The sky yawns so vast here. Alina always feels so small beneath it, tiny and squashed down like a bug beneath a child's finger. She misses the peaks and valleys of Washington with an ache that's so sharp it's almost physical – misses the cold too, the way you have to unwrap any time you go inside, peeling off layers and folding them over the backs of chairs. Your body unfurling like a flower.

Still, Texas has its own kind of beauty. All flat and yellow and endless, the heat sinking way down deep inside until you feel sure you'll never be cold again.

She watches the landscape flash by from the passenger seat of Mal's truck. The road stretches out in front of them forever. She has an iced coffee cradled cold between her bare thighs, counting out the routine in her head as Mal's friend Dubrov warbles out of tune with the Strokes in the back seat.

“It's this right,” she says when it becomes clear Mal's going to overshoot it. He laughs, spins the wheel, almost sends the truck into the dirt.

“Sorry. Always forget.”

Mikhail's head appears between their seats. “So we gonna come watch you practice, or what?”

Alina takes a sip of her coffee. Tries not to be too obviously annoyed by the question. “I told you, nobody's allowed to watch. They're strict on it.”

“Yeah, but aren't you, like, kid wonder? Bet they'd let you have guests.”

Alina's shoulders square sharply. “I'm just a rookie, Mikhail. Maybe when I'm a senior.”

“Speaking of seniors,” Dubrov pushes Mikhail's face out of the way, leans in to replace it, “can you invite her out next time we all go? Naza-whatsherface?”

Alina bites hard on her straw. “Nazyalensky. And no, I can't.”

“Why?” Dubrov sounds injured, like a little kid. Alina is abruptly exhausted by them, all three of them, all their testosterone and hunger and carelessness. They way they shove themselves into the world whether the world wants them there or not. It was supposed to be just her and Mal this afternoon. It's the only reason she took two buses across to Fayette and walked a mile to their college.

“She hates me,” she says shortly, rolling her coffee cup between her palms. “So it's never happening and you can stop asking.”

“Jesus.” Dubrov sits back, the seat of Mal's battered old truck creaking beneath him. “Sorry I asked.”

You should be, Alina thinks to herself. Tries not to be too grateful when she sees the panther sign loom up in front of them and Mal indicates to turn in.

“Here's good.” Her knee starts to bounce, eager to be out. “I'm going straight to the gym.”

She slip-slides down to the floor, ice sloshing in her cup. Tugs her cap down further as she leaves the shadows of the truck, the sun still blinding. Today might be the hottest day she's had since she arrived last fall, and that's saying something.

“Alina, wait up.” Mal's got out his own side; he jogs round to catch her by the wrist. “I'm really sorry about them. I'll tell them no next time.”

He gives her a smile – that smile, the one that always makes her stomach tie in a knot – and she softens, then hates herself immediately for doing so.

“It's okay.” She looks down, embarrassed by the ease with which she shucks her principles. “They're your friends.”

“Yeah, but you're my best friend.”

And it's this, always, that reels her back in. Mal putting both hands on her shoulders and hauling her in for a hug, despite the heat, his body football-hardened against hers, loose-limbed and bulky. She feels more pathetic than she has in a while when she fastens her arms around his middle and hugs him back. Clinging on, always, for that little bit extra. A moment more of attention, a scrap of affection. Anything she can get.

“You're still coming to the game Saturday?” He pulls away first, the way he always does. His focus wavering between her and the boys in the back of the truck.

“I don't know. Practice is pretty non-stop at the moment.”

“Come on, Leens. You promised.”

She bites her tongue. Doesn't remind him that he promised this would be time just for them. Dredges up a quick, pinched smile instead and shrugs her shoulders.

“I'll do my best.”

“All I can ask,” he says, laughing but not, his eyes narrowed against the sun. When they catch like that, the gold in them shines.

Alina doesn't watch them drive away. Just slips out of the parking lot, furtive, like she's been doing something she shouldn't.