CommanderData



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  1. Public Bookmark *

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    Craning his neck behind them, Daniel laughs his loud, creaky hyena laugh. “Don’t look now, but he’s still watching.”

    “Who?”

    “Chuck.”

    “Chuck. There’s no way he lets you call him that,” Max says, voice rife with disbelief. He also can’t help it—he turns around, jostling Daniel’s arm over his shoulder to look back toward the media pen. Charles is in fact still watching them disappear down the paddock. His head is tilted to one side, a look of consideration on his pretty face. He doesn’t look actively upset, but he doesn’t look particularly happy either. Fuck.

    “He doesn’t let me do anything. I just sort of do it and he laughs and blushes and looks at me with his big cow eyes.”

    “Big cow eyes,” Max repeats, disbelieving yet again.

    “Not actually, but sort of,” Daniel says, grin making his eyes crinkle. What the fuck.

    “He’s blushing at you?” Max sounds petulant. Jealous, even. He needs to get a grip.

    *

    All the rookies love Max. Except for one.

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    10 Jun 2026

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    01 Jun 2026

  3. Public Bookmark *

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    Who needs a nice guy in Montreal, anyway?

    (or: 5 people who were pleasantly surprised by ilya rozanov)

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    29 May 2026

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Shane releases what feels like his first exhale in forever—Ilya Rozanov, taken out by the common flu. Not ignoring him. Not ending anything. Still, the knot in his chest doesn’t ease completely with the vision of Ilya unwell and alone in Shane’s head.

    JANE

    Are you at your house?

    LILY

    Where else, Jane?

    JANE

    Don’t fall asleep. I’ll be there soon. 

    LILY

    No, am sick. I told you. 

    JANE

    I heard you. I’ll be there soon.

    Or, Ilya’s sick and Shane wants, and wants, and wants. 

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    24 Feb 2026

  5. Public Bookmark *

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    “What are these?” Yuna hears Ilya ask. He’s standing with his back to her in front of the armoire next to the couch, looking up at the shelves. She’d been on her way back into the living room with after-dinner coffee when she’d paused at the threshold.

    Shane steps toward the armoire, coming up behind Ilya and curling both arms around his waist. “Um, trophies from when I was a kid. Like, minor hockey leagues and tournaments and stuff.”

    Ilya moves his head from left to right slowly, scanning the array of trophies and medals on the shelf. “Is big business? Making meaningless awards for tiny hockey players?”

    “They aren’t meaningless,” Shane protests, but he sounds a little sheepish.

    “Yes, I’m sure the…” Ilya leans in close to read the plaque on one trophy, “‘Sportsmanship Award’ for the U7 Snowflake Classic was very prestigious.”

    Shane rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing. “They don’t have awards like this in Russia?”

    Or: Yuna bonds with Ilya, one plastic trophy at a time.

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    24 Feb 2026