Mimio



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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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    28 Jun 2026

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    After they came out, Shane was ready for people to be weird.

    It was weird with other guys in the league, weird with reporters, weird with angry fans who thought his relationship had tanked their fantasy teams and their sports betting parlays, weird with sponsors and their very enthusiastic pride campaign pitches, weird on all the social media that he avoided like the plague.

    What he hadn't expected was for things to be so fucking weird with other gay people.

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    28 Jun 2026

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    The Boston Raiders are making decent time heading up into Michigan when one of the horses almost breaks an ankle on what’s left of the road.

    A highly lethal—and highly contagious—virus has swept across the planet, taking down the power grid, toppling society, and leaving behind only a tiny fraction of the population. For a while, it seems like everything is over. This is not the case.

    Or: The world ends. Shane Hollander starts playing for Boston. Yes, in that order.

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    28 Jun 2026

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    “Were you thinking of also bringing clothes?” Shane asked, glancing into Ilya’s suitcase.

    “Do you think we will need them?”

    “I’m just saying you might want the option of going outside,” Shane said, dropping a kiss on Ilya’s shoulder and wandering into the closet.

    Ilya was obviously going to pack clothing, he just had priorities. Like making sure their whole sex toy collection would fit into his suitcase, not to mention two of the biggest bottles of lube he’d been able to find.

    “Take the batteries out of anything that vibrates,” Shane called. Ilya rolled his eyes. What was he, an amateur? “Do you think I should bring two pairs of walking shoes or is one enough?”

    “How many walking tours are we going on?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “How do you not know? What have you been doing for the past month?”

    “Research! But I didn’t book anything yet in case we decide we want to just sit by the pool for ten days instead.”

     

    Or: Shane and Ilya Go Honeymooning. Set after The Long Game.

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    28 Jun 2026

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    “You know,” Olruggio says, roughly. He doesn’t move to take Qifrey’s hand again. “You know. You can’t not know, Qifrey.”

    Qifrey just looks at him. “I do.”

    The rain continues falling.

    (And so Olruggio forgets. And he inevitably figures it out again, because of course he does; and he inevitably chooses to forget again, and again, and again, because his heart is always the same. The story is always the same. Like a tale from under a silverwood tree, like a myth from the days of old, not so much tied by the constraints of the narrative so much as being narrative itself. Antigone must bury her brother. Iphigenia must be put to death. At a thousand turns, in a thousand ways, Orpheus must turn, and he must look, again, and again.

    And Olruggio forgets.)

    There is an old story about a witch and a silverwood tree.

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    27 Jun 2026