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Can we talk about how both David and Grigori are on the right side of the frame, Yuna is to the left of Shane- but to the left of Ilya is just a sharp drop.
having a job is very weird bcos by and large your coworkers will be a variety of ages and you will not all be at the same stage of life. your coworker will be like, well I’m off home to spend time with my husband & child, what are you going to do with your evening? and you’re like, well, I plan on playing Rollercoaster Tycoon for as much as it as possible
anyway shane has an office at the irina foundation HQ in ottawa bc he can never get any work done at home and its important to him that hes Somewhat Involved even if he doesnt get to spend much time there. ilya comes by to pick him up so they can go to dinner post-outing and gets five seconds into a joke about sexy mr hollander and his big fancy desk before he notices there’s a framed picture of him just. sitting there. on the big fancy desk. shane framed a picture of him and keeps it on his desk, in public. it’s not even that good of a picture, it’s just ilya sitting on the couch in sweats and smiling at the camera. probably one of the many pictures that shane has sent to his parents over the years, proof of life after an injury or something equally inane.
but it’s there, in a nice frame. and ilya stops mid-joke and points at it and says “this is me?” as if it could be anyone else. shane’s shrugging his jacket on and doesn’t even know what he’s talking about, not really, until he looks over to where ilya is pointing. and he looks between ilya and the desk a few times, confused, because… yes? obviously?
“you have a picture of me on your desk?” ilya asks, and he’s trying so hard to play it off like it’s nothing, something to tease him about, but. but.
shane shrugs. “well, yeah. i like that picture of you.”
“is a bad picture, hollander.”
“fuck you. it’s my desk. i can put what i want on it.”
and maybe ilya would say something like oh i’ll put you on the desk in a minute if he wasn’t suddenly feeling very raw. a few years ago he would’ve said it anyway, but he’s so stuck on the fact that shane has a picture of him on his desk. after a decade of deleting pictures and messages, being so careful not to be photographed anywhere near each other, not even being able to have pictures in their own homes— now shane has a soft, domestic, printed fucking photograph of him framed on his desk in his office. in the headquarters for the charity they share. named after his mother. named for his mother, a name that shane chose, for everything she went through.
“baby, oh my god,” shane is panicking, dashing over the few steps to ilya and wiping the tears from his cheeks with the sleeves of his jacket, “ilya, if you don’t like the picture i can change it.”
“no, no,” ilya tries to wave him off, feeling silly, feeling vulnerable, but shane doesn’t let him go. eyes so wide, so earnest and worried. “no, i like it. i like you. i like you a lot. fuck.”
and shane laughs, but it isn’t mocking or mean or anything ilya would expect from anyone else who might catch him crying. it never is, not with his shane. he just smooths his thumb over ilya’s cheekbone and presses closer to him and says, “i like you too. it’s a good job we’re married, ‘cause otherwise it’d be, like, embarrassing how much i like you.”
We're at the "JK Rowling is personally funding litigation to try and destroy AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL" stage of rabid UK terf brain.
Screenshot via Alejandra Caraballo @esqueer.net on bluesky
Tldr Amnesty International, global human rights organisation, published a report called 'A growing threat: the anti-rights movement in the UK'. In it is detailed, amongst others, a whole bunch of transphobic groups and organisations, including Beira's Place, JK Rowling's trans exclusionary sexual violence support service. JK Rowling threw a shit fit and got Amnesty to take the report down by threatening libel. This was obviously not enough, because you can't appease a fascist, so now she's going to bankroll a bunch of lawsuits anyway through the JK Rowling Women's Fund.*
You can read an archived version of the report here, please save it and share it.
*Not so friendly reminder there is no way to engage in the wizard books without enabling this shit.
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one if my favorite gifs right now the blankest eyes ive ever seen the lights are on but no ones home. and the other thing like grooming its snout but i don't think its even aware of what its doing. i dont think either of them know anything or know that theyre alive
no in all sincerity live and let live people are into what they’re into etc but i’m just saying my feelings too and if you don’t have the kink of being dehumanized and treated as a sex object it kind of does get old to log in and have The Character being treated that way day in and day out by half the fandom
I think Shane was a character who, soon as I read him, made all the sense to me. I felt immediately a kinship and an ownership over Shane. I was like, “I need to be the only person to tell this story. I get it. I want to be the person to be Shane and I want to spend time with him.” [x]
(sources below)
PANEL 1
Out
PANEL 2 (fear/desire)
The Permanent Rain Press
PANEL 3 (vegas bathroom)
Numero Netherlands
PANEL 4 (tears)
Harper's Bazaar
PANEL 5 (ilya inverse)
Teen Vogue
Image: [x]
PANEL 6 (additions) (4 gifs)
Numero Netherlands
Entertainment Weekly
"Ultimately what kills me about Heated Rivalry is not just its dazzling, galvanic love story, nor its commitment to both narrative and erotic caretaking, but how it makes me feel about the not [yet] here of Melville’s imaginaries. I recently talked about the show and the novel with Rachel O’Connell, a literature scholar and new friend. She cracked open what I’ve been scrabbling at in my HR/MD monomania: the literary genre of contemporary MM romance provides one structural realization of an imagined world that Melville was trying to write into being in Moby-Dick. The messy, unfinished architecture of the novel cannot, as Ishmael confesses, 'be here, and at once, perfected.'
And not just in the novel: After all, Melville had asked Nathaniel Hawthorne to his cottage. In 1851, while composing Moby-Dick, he wrote Hawthorne a series of letters as heated by mid-19th-century standards as any scene in Heated Rivalry. In inviting his own possible situationship to come to his home—in his first known letter to Hawthorne—Melville, like a doped-up, concussed Shane, affects a lightness that doesn’t disguise its own feverishness: 'I am not to be charmed out of my promised pleasure […]. Your bed is already made, & the wood marked for your fire. […] I keep the word ‘Welcome’ all the time in my mouth, so as to be ready on the instant when you cross the threshold.' This 'welcome,' pleasurably effervescent on the tongue but freighted with the unsaid, is Melville’s version of the Canada Dry ginger ale and Coca-Cola that Ilya and Shane stock for each other."
-- Hester Blum in Public Books
The literary genre of contemporary MM romance realizes an imagined world that Melville was trying to write into being.
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first post for context / see the tag 'open relationship au' for more snippets or the masterlist so kindly put together by @tafkarfanfic. some of you may remember that i said i didn't plan on including rose in this au. well, plans change :)
July 2015
Shane is really trying to do this second chance thing right.
Brian has been over to his place nearly every day, whenever Shane doesn't have other obligations. They've been doing all the usual dating activities they can at home - cooking and eating dinner together, watching movies, having sex - and Brian has been so sweet, so attentive throughout and it's all just. Fine.
It's fine.
It's just that every time Brian is over, Shane is kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the sweetness to sour, for the small, sniping comments to come back. And he feels guilty, expecting the worst when Brian is clearly trying so hard to do better, but it eats at him all the same.
There's also his last message from Ilya.
Are you okay?, sent two days after Vegas.
Unanswered, but read about a hundred times. Shane opens the thread compulsively multiple times a day, considers writing a response, and then closes it.
He's got nothing to say that Ilya would want to hear. And he should be focusing on Brian anyway, on their second chance. Shane needs to give it a proper try and for that to happen, he can't keep thinking about Ilya. He should probably block his number. He would, if it didn't feel physically impossible.
But it's fine. Shane is miserable, but it's fine. It's only been nine days; maybe things will be different next week. His feelings magically changed. He just needs to give it time.
On the evening of the tenth day, JJ calls.
"You haven't been reading the group chat, Hollander!"
"Not really," Shane admits. He hasn't been in much of a celebratory mood since Vegas, and the group chat is exclusively invitations to parties and clubs right now.
"But you are in Montreal, non?"
"Yeah?"
"Then get your ass down to Soleil right now! Fucking everyone is here, and I don't just mean the team. Models, singers, fucking movie stars, and everybody wants a piece of us!"
Brian is coming over in an hour.
"Okay," Shane says. "Sure, I'm there."
But he'll understand, right? It's a team function, Shane's expected to be there. It would be weird if he didn't go.
Soleil is a massive, three-story club, its tall windows tinted and the entrance corded off with velvet ropes. A well-dressed bouncer pulls one aside as soon as he sees Shane, ushering him inside with a nod and a "Good evening, Captain."
The theatricality of it all is kind of ridiculous, but Shane can see why it would appeal to the guys.
Shane passes by the dance floor quickly, noticing a few of his teammates in the crowd. There are a lot of very pretty people around, some of whom Shane recognizes and a few he can even place.
JJ is standing by the bar and he pulls Shane into a crushing hug when he sees him.
"Fucking finally," he says, ruffling Shane's hair. Shane laughs and shoves him off. "Vegas must have worn you out, huh?"
Shane shrugs and doesn't answer.
"Everyone has been waiting for you, mon capitaine. You know who came up to me ten minutes ago just to ask if you'd be here?" JJ leans in, hand on Shane's shoulder. "Rose fucking Landry!"
Rose Landry is an actual A-list movie star. Shane's seen three of her films on flights this year. It's rumored that she may be cast in the next X-Squad movie.
And she asked to see him?
"I will take you to her," JJ says, grinning. "You hit it off with her, I hit it off with her friend Vanessa Long, we all leave this club happy."
It's not the first time JJ's tried to wingman for him - Shane doesn't give him a lot of opportunities but he grabs the ones he gets - but for once Shane doesn't mind. Not if it means he gets to meet Rose Landry.
"Hell yeah, lead the way."
When JJ said Rose Landry wanted to meet him, Shane sort of figured it was to congratulate him on the cup and maybe ask for a nice photo op for social media.
But no, she asks Shane to sit in her booth and talk, and she seems genuinely thrilled when he agrees. Her friend Vanessa and JJ join in the conversation for all of five minutes before JJ whisks her off to the dance floor, and then it's just Rose and Shane.
Shane's expecting it to be awkward but somehow, it's not. They talk for over an hour and when Rose gets sick of people coming up to them in the crowded club, they move to one of the private lounges upstairs and keep talking there.
Rose is easy to get along with, personable and warm in a way that can't be faked. She tells him about her childhood and her family, and asks all the right questions in return. It's the most carefree, fun conversation Shane has had in a while.
It kind of makes him wish he was into women, which is a thought Shane doesn't entertain too often. It feels like a betrayal of what he has with Brian.
But it does make him wonder - does Rose think he's flirting with her?
He gets his answer about two minutes later when she reaches across the table, taking his hand in hers and giving him a shy smile that would surely melt any straight guy's heart.
Shane pulls back gently. "Um. I'm sorry, I'm not -"
"Oh." Rose straightens. "No problem, obviously. Do you have a girlfriend?"
"Uh."
"Or a boyfriend," Rose adds. "I won't judge."
It's an obvious joke - haha, the gay star athlete, imagine that - but Shane can't react quickly enough to laugh it off. He freezes instead, stomach twisting tightly.
"Oh," Rose says again, voice soft and eyes wide. "That's - that's really not a problem."
Shit. This is so bad.
"Please don't tell anyone," Shane begs quietly.
"I won't," Rose promises. "I know what that kind of secret getting out could do to a person, believe me."
She's a stranger. Shane has no reason to trust her, so he doesn't know why her reassurances work so well to calm his racing heart.
"I really didn't - I'm so sorry, that was insensitive of me to joke about. I didn't mean to corner you."
"You didn't, you just surprised me." Shane manages a stiff smile, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. "People don't normally consider I might be, um."
For fuck's sake, he can't even say it out loud.
Rose nods in understanding. "I get it. I kind of got the impression your friend was trying to set us up. I'm guessing he doesn't know?"
"Almost no one does," Shane admits. "Just two, uh, two people. But I've slept with them both, so. Not sure that completely counts."
"Sounds lonely."
"I guess." Shane shrugs. "I'm used to it."
Rose hums. "So, do you have a boyfriend?"
She's only the second person to ever ask him that. She sounds pleasantly curious, and Shane really wishes he could enjoy it. Sharing this piece of himself with someone who doesn't seem to want anything other than to know him a little bit better.
But the question lands uncomfortably instead. Yes, Shane thinks and, I'm only here, talking to you, because I didn't want to see him tonight.
"Oh," Rose says after the silence stretches on for too long. She leans in, looking interested. "Is it complicated?"
Shane grimaces. "Um. No, not really. Or kind of?"
"Well, it doesn't sound simple."
"I have a boyfriend," Shane says. Whispers, almost, even though they're alone in the room and the door is closed. "It's just... things have been weird lately."
"You could tell me about it, if you want?" Rose suggests. "I've been told I'm a pretty good listener and it doesn't sound like you've got many people to talk to."
Something in Shane aches at that. He does want to tell her - tell someone - about Brian and Ilya and the whole mess Shane has made of everything. How many times in the past year (past decade, really) has he wished for someone to talk to?
"You really can't tell anyone."
Rose mimes zipping her lips shut. "Your secrets are safe with me."
It's actually crazy that Shane is even considering this but it's so tempting, to let someone in.
"I, uh, I started seeing this guy when I was sixteen."
He keeps going, laying it all out. Every messy detail, even the things that have him burning with shame speaking them out loud. It's like once he's started he can't stop, like he's purging himself of every secret shoved down deep in his chest the past eight years, and it's ugly and painful but it also feels like a fucking mountain lifting off his shoulders.
Rose stays quiet while he speaks, nodding along. When Shane tells her about his first time with Ilya (without saying his name, because that secret isn't his to share) she gasps and he has to look away, already feeling scraped raw without having to see her reactions.
Deafening silence settles between them once Shane is finished speaking. He finally dares to look back up and Rose is staring contemplatively into her drink.
She lifts it, taking a delicate sip, and then says, "Okay. I'm gonna tell you something you might not like, but I think you need to hear it."
Oh, God. She's gonna tell him to block Ilya, isn't she?
"Brian is an asshole."
Shane blinks. "Oh. Um, isn't that a little harsh?"
"It's not," Rose says adamantly. "It's actually nowhere near harsh enough but I don't think you're ready for the full rant yet."
"You haven't even met him," Shane protests. He ignores how automatic and rote the defense sounds even to his own ears. "Maybe what I told you didn't make him sound great, but there's more to him."
"Did you lie about any of it?"
"No," Shane says, because what would be the point?
"Okay." Rose nods. "You're right, I haven't met him. I'm sure he can seem genuinely sweet and loving at times."
"He is."
"But let's lay out the facts." Rose holds up a finger. "Number one, he corners you drunk and alone at a party when you're sixteen and he is a fully grown adult."
"I wasn't that drunk-"
"Number two, even after you tell him your age he still wants to keep seeing you." She tilts her head, giving him a wry smile. "Let me guess, he told you that you were mature for your age?"
Shane's stomach tightens. He feels vaguely sick and Rose moves on without waiting for confirmation.
"Number three, he doesn't respect your chosen field of work and in the five years you've been playing professionally he's only bothered showing up for two games."
"He showed up to my last game," Shane says, because it's true. Maybe Brian hasn't always made an effort but he's doing it now. That has to count for something, right?
"After he realized you might be interested in another guy," Rose points out. "Which brings me to number four, he pressures you into opening the relationship and you agree to it because you're afraid he might dump you otherwise."
She grimaces and adds, "And I'm sorry but in my experience, 'I want to open the relationship' usually means they've found someone else they want to fuck or they're already doing it."
Shane's heart sinks. He feels numb all over, like he's standing outside of his body.
Already doing it. The thought never crossed his mind. Maybe it should have.
"Number five," Rose continues. Merciless or merciful, Shane hasn't decided, because he doesn't like hearing this but he's starting to think he really, really needs to, "He gives you the silent treatment after every fight, knowing you've got no one else to turn to.
"Number six..." she hesitates. "It, um... it doesn't sound like you were ready when you guys started having sex. And that maybe he pressured you?"
Shane wants to deny that. He can't.
"So, yeah." Rose shrugs apologetically. "Asshole doesn't really begin to cover it."
Hearing her list it all out like that, simple, matter-of-fact, it makes Shane want to throw up. It makes him angry, that same hot, bubbling feeling in his chest he felt in Vegas when Brian showed up unannounced.
That same anger that Brian talked him down from so expertly, so thoroughly that he actually convinced Shane to give him another chance.
Even though Shane doesn't even love him anymore.
Shane buries his face in his hands. "I'm such an idiot."
"No!" Rose says, immediate and sharp. She reaches across the table, placing her hand on Shane's arm. "You're not an idiot, Shane. You put your trust in someone who said they love you, that's not stupid. That's brave."
Shane isn't sure he believes her but he nods, lowering his hands. Rose gives him a brilliant smile, thumb caressing his arm.
"But I think you know what you need to do now."
Shane nods again. His mouth feels dry, heart pounding. "And, um. The other guy?"
"He sounds good for you. But," Rose adds, squeezing his arm for emphasis, "you should probably stay single for a bit. You don't want to waste a guy that nice on a rebound."
Unknowingly or not, she's probably the first person to ever describe Ilya Rozanov as nice. It makes Shane smile, because she's not wrong.
"Besides, you're not dumping Brian for him. You're doing it for yourself."
u all should reblog this and tell me what song you thought was the deepest shit ever at 11 years old lol. i’ll go first it was dear mister president by the dixie chicks and also what if god was one of us by joan osborne
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