Outcastdeity

Starting, as always, with the book-club pick for this month: Red Rising.

The story follows Darrow, who lives as part of a hierarchical society on Mars based on colour, of which he, a 'red', is the lowest of the low. When Darrow's wife is executed for a small act of rebellion, and Darrow learns that he is effectively a slave, he ends up working alongside a rebel force to infiltrate an elite 'gold' academy and attempt to rise to the top: where he can apparently then incite rebellion and change. Most of the book is given over to the war-games this academy conducts to harden their future leaders, and the book ends with Darrow gaining a favourable apprenticeship, clearly setting up the future of the series.

The book was recommended to the club as 'The Hunger Games for adults', and whilst it does have a lot of parallels that could be drawn to The Hunger Games, the only things that make it more 'adult' is a gratuitous amount of rape, cannibalism and pissing on other people. It's difficult to tell whether the stakes didn't feel high because none of the characters were likeable, and thus you didn't care if they made it or not, or because they simply weren't that high. When Darrow talks of his army, it is important to remember that he actually means, like, 30 teenagers. On top of this, there was very little friction. All bad things that happened to Darrow were instantly rectified, because he is God's most specialist little soldier. In the moments when it felt as if there could be a plot twist - lo and behold there wasn't. Because who would betray the most amazing, wonderful, perfect man ever??? Certainly not Mustang.

Boring. The word for the plot is boring.

Other gripes I had with this book include that it immediately fell into the 'dead wife' trope as motivation for the main character, but then didn't even deliver on that trope! Io died for nothing. Darrow didn't want to rebel before she died, and afterwards he was still apathetic about the idea. Her death served literally no purpose. If Pierce was looking for a proactive main character he should have chosen Io. Except he wouldn't, because it's incredibly obvious that he hates women. Every female character was reduced to being an obedient piece of eye-candy specifically there to please Darrow. Furthermore, every insult in the book was either sexist or homophobic. It felt reductionist and unimaginative. If this is a book set hundreds of years in the future why are we still idolising the nuclear family, and hating on gay people? Honestly Pierce, do better. I'm not saying the author is sexist or homophobic just because he wrote that - I'm saying be more imaginative if you're going to write sci-fi.

Unfortunately, the entire vibe of the book did tell me that the author was likely the kind of person who was a little bit too into the Roman Empire, and wouldn't be ready to hear that Roman Warfare was not the pinnacle of evolution he thinks it is.

Recommend? Absolutely not.

Moving on to what I spent most of my month reading, and re-reading, then: The Three Theban Plays, originally written by Sophocles in the 5th century BCE. The three translations I have collected by Grene and Lattimore.

Bare with me through a 'quick' round up. The three plays follow the story of Oedipus, and his cursed line of children. The story is told out of order, with Antigone being produced first, then Oedipus the King, then, posthumously to Socrates' death, Oedipus at Colonus was produced. But I'll give a round up in storyline chronological order.

Oedipus the King: Oedipus was prophesized at birth to one day murder his father and marry his mother. As such his parents sent him off to die, but a shepherd took pity on him, and gave him to the king and queen of Corinth, who raised him as their own. Later, he returns to his birth-place of Thebes, unknowing of his own birth-circumstances. He unwittingly murders his father on the road, not knowing he is his father, or the king of Thebes, saves Thebes from the terror of a Sphinx, and is given Jocasta, the queen (and unknown to him, his mother) as his wife. The story begins with Thebes under a great plague and a seer explains that it will continue until the murderer of the late king is found and exiled. It comes to light that Oedipus is the murderer, and that Oedipus is the same infant Jocasta sent to the mountains to die. In her shame she commits suicide, and Oedipus blinds himself and asks for exile.

Oedipus at Colonus: Much later, we see Oedipus again, blind and older, on the road near Athens with his daughter Antigone to guide him. He asks for refuge from Athens and it is clear he blames Thebes for his ill-fate. He maintains he was innocent of his sins because he murdered his father and married his mother unwittingly. Athens offers him refuge. His sons are now fighting each other for the throne of Thebes and Oedipus is mad at them for not caring for him over ambition. He curses them to meet their end at each other's sword. There has also been a new prophecy that whoever buries the body of Oedipus in their city will find blessings and Creon - his uncle/brother-in-law, now king of Thebes - has come to retrieve him so that he might do this. Oedipus refuses and calls on Athens to bury him instead: cursing Thebes and blessing Athens.

Antigone: After a terrible battle at Thebes where Oedipus' sons do meet their deaths by each other's swords, Creon states nobody should bury Polyneices, as he was the attacking brother and does not deserve a proper burial. Antigone, Polyneices sister, abhors this and does it anyway. She is then caught and sentenced by Creon to death. His son, who loves Antigone, counsels mercy, but the best Creon offers is that she might live forever in a cave, exiled from life but not dead. Or she might chose to commit suicide there, but his blood would not be on Creon's hands. He is counselled by many not to do this, but does it anyway. Creon's son then commits suicide out of grief for Antigone, and Antigone too commits suicide. A tragedy all round.

So that's the story. Sorry for the long round up. Greek tragedies are not uncomplicated things. Overall I'd say I actually really enjoyed what I read, although knowing the story going in meant I wasn't moved by the sadness of the plot. On the contrary, I found Oedipus and Creon's interactions in Oedipus the King, especially, to be extremely funny. Obviously I read these for study, not pleasure, but I thought Antigone was a strong character who set her mind to something and actively moved forward her plot, which is a lot more than can be said for many modern-day characters. Oedipus' rage at his tragedy also felt very real, given he was the victim of circumstance.

Of course, there was no escaping that the entire thing was Athenian propaganda, but then that was the topic of my project, so that worked out for me.

Recommend? Yeah, actually. It's definitely not for everyone, but you can reasonably read all three in a couple of days and you'll feel more educated for it.

I asked my husband what book I should read for my rec time this month and he said I should read The Long Game, which, after finishing Heated Rivalry, I wasn't actually sure if I wanted to. Not that I didn't enjoy Heated Rivalry, I just wasn't sure if I wanted more. Well, I'm really glad I picked up this book and read it. I don't know what it is about these books but they're stupidly compelling.

It's a direct sequel to Heated Rivalry, following Shane and Ilya three years in to their long-term plan to keep their relationship secret and then come out post retirement. Their charity is doing well, their careers continue, but not everything is perfect. Ilya is dealing with a serious mental health crisis, there's a lot of pressure from the league to keep their private lives private, and Ilya's move to Ottawa means Shane doesn't feel like he's as challenged by his man as he once was. It's all causing strife in the relationship.

Just like Heated Rivalry, you can easily read this book in a day or two, and just like Heated Rivalry, you'll love every second of it. This felt like a book for anyone who had read Heated Rivalry, and, just like Shane, had fallen head over heels for Ilya. Whilst he certainly goes through some shit during this story, it was really nice to see his character development from closed off to talking about his feelings and allowing himself to be supported.

I know a lot of people took issue with this book in that Shane wasn't a great boyfriend - but I'll stand by the fact that actually, he was an amazing boyfriend. He was unaware of Ilya's bad mental health for a lot of the book, sure, and at times he came across as very dismissive, but Ilya was actively telling him things were fine, and even then it was Shane who suggested Ilya get some help. Then, when Ilya was finally ready to talk about it and Shane realised he'd messed up, he immediately turned things around and was supportive as heck. He was literally trying his best and that's the definition of a good boyfriend. My only gripe was the timing of a certain candle-lit scene, and how it felt reactionary: but I won't go into too many details and spoil it.

All of the issues I had with Heated Rivalry - not enough Hockey, not enough talk about homophobia and bigotry in the NHL - were rectified in this book, so I am really glad I read it. I'm very much looking forward to the next one, and I think I've realised I'm just going to have to get the rest of the Game Changer series, as I keep falling in love with all the characters.

Roy had assumed his enthusiasm for The Post-Promised-Day Distraction Project, a community-based programme that Grumman had cooked up, would land him a role in the organisation of things, so he had suggested a summer fair in Central City Park. It was, of course, above his pay-grade to be manning a ticket booth or scooping ice-cream for already sugar-high brats, but he would have done it in the name of rehabilitating the military’s shockingly poor image after what had happened two years prior. Preferably, he would have positioned himself touring teenagers around the decommissioned tanks and helicopters. The ones that were wheeled out for summer fairs and then retired again.

But no. Grumman had taken his enthusiasm not as the ass-kissing of a man hoping to be named as grandpa’s rightful successor, but as a genuine enjoyment of summer merriment, and had given Roy’s entire team the day off as a special favour for someone who clearly ‘understood the importance of community events’.

Which was how Roy found himself trailing behind the team, wearing shorts and a holiday shirt that had brightly coloured flowers on it, trying to ignore the stick of sugary-pinkness Fullmetal was devouring next to him.

He was no longer officially part of the team, of course, having retired a couple of weeks after everything went down two years ago, but he was in town for the fair by Roy’s invitation, because he still counted as part of the team to Roy. In honesty, it had been awhile since they’d seen each other, and Roy had still been expecting a sixteen year old, so he’d been shocked when whole new version of Fullmetal had met them at the station that morning. A rather distractingly attractive version, Roy admitted to himself, stealing another glance at the man who was finishing up his snack.

He hadn’t been paying attention to where the group was heading, because he was too busy perving on his old colleague, but when he realised they were in line for the towering Ferris Wheel his thoughts of Ed’s good looks were washed from his brain. Sweat began beading on the back of his neck, and his breaths came a little shorter. Edward looked at him quizzically, and Roy looked around for an excuse not to get on that Wheel.

“We’ll be an uneven number,” he exclaimed a little too loudly, gesturing wildly at the two-to-a-carriage sign ahead of them.

His most trusted almost looked like they were going to buy that excuse, too, and let Roy do the self-sacrificing boss thing; but then Falman got bumped into by somebody moving backwards, and the drink that was in his hand was suddenly down the front of his shirt. The next thing Roy knew the older man had excused himself to go find paper towels, and he was back in the queue for the Wheel.

Oh god, why was it so hot out? Why couldn’t he breathe?

He eyed the empty, swinging carriage wearily as they got to the front of the line. Roy’s heart was beating weirdly in his chest, and he couldn’t understand it’s erratic rhythm. Edward went ahead of him, but Roy couldn’t get his feet to move.

“Actually, I’m good,” he heard himself saying from far away.

He wanted to turn tail and run but it was as if his feet had cemented to the concrete. Then Edward had caught his fingers in a strong grip and was tugging him towards the menacing carriage.

“I’m not queuing up again, or riding with a stranger!” the man protested: lightly, with a laugh, like none of this was a big deal. God, it shouldn’t have been a big deal. What the hell was wrong with Roy?

Edward tugged, and Roy stumbled forwards, into the carriage. He sat, shell-shocked, as the attendant pulled the bar down over his and Ed’s laps, and then there was a horrible lurch as the mass of metal turned, and his toes, that had been brushing the ground, were lifted into the air. The Wheel was taking them upwards and, without any conscious thought, Roy’s hand grappled for Edwards, crushing it in an iron grip.

For a long moment as they travelled upwards Roy forgot to breathe, and Edward said nothing about their linked fingers. Then they reached the peak, and once more the metal screeched unnervingly as they came to a complete stop. Roy was loathe to say that caused him to whimper, but whatever had come out of his mouth definitely wasn’t manly. Beside him, he was vaguely aware of Edward talking, but he didn’t catch any words until the other man tugged on his hand and bought it up to his face, where, astoundingly, he kissed the back of Roy’s knuckles.

“Um, what?” Roy asked eloquently. The thoughts of plummeting to his death, that he hadn’t really registered properly anyway, quieted in the wake of such unprecedented tenderness from his ex-colleague. Edward grinned at him with Roy’s hand still at his lips.

“I said ‘I know a great way to distract you, if you want’,” he repeated.

Then he leant forwards, pushing the fingers of his free hand into the slightly sweaty hair at the back of Roy’s head, and pulling Roy towards him. The motion caused the carriage to rock, and Roy’s stomach to lurch, but then none of that seemed at all important, because Edward Elric’s tongue was in his mouth.

Oh. Oh, that was good. Edward, Roy realised, was good at kissing. So good that, for a moment, the pressure of soft lips against his, and the man’s fingers caressing his cheekbones, were all he could focus on. Ed kissed like a fast car: all masculinity soaked adrenaline. The filthy slide of his tongue against Roy’s had him heady, and then he was whimpering again, because Ed angled himself slightly differently and tilted Roy’s head back a little, and Ed’s hand was on his thigh and -

The thing about automail is that it's heavy. It's so much heavier than a normal limb, and that weight takes its toll. A toll so large that many decide the artificial limbs aren't worth it at all. Truly, it’s only those with the most to gain from the surgery, the rehabilitation, the ongoing maintenance, and the lifetime of chronic pain flare ups that actually decide to take on the burden.

Because for a tool meant to help, it is a burden.

Roy isn't so naive as to say that he knew that better than anyone – but he has had a front row seat to the silent suffering that automail brings with it. At first through his association with various soldiers who'd lost their limbs on the battlefield and turned to a steel salvation, and then through his much more indefinable relationship with Edward Elric. No longer Fullmetal, and no longer something Roy could call just a subordinate, or even, just a friend.

Which is why he keeps wheat packs in his kitchen cupboards, or in his desk drawers, ready to be heated at a moment's notice, should a storm threaten on the horizon. It’s why he removes his scratchy uniform jacket when meeting Ed at the pub, should the boy need a shoulder to lean against as they sit side by side in a booth. It’s why he always drives to pick Ed up when they attend lectures together, should the fatigue leave him unable to walk home without pain.

And it’s why he isn't in the least bit surprised when he finally puts down his pen on a stretched Friday afternoon and leaves his desk, only to find Edward sitting quietly in a borrowed chair in the outer office, pressing the palms of his hands against the join of skin to metal on his left thigh.

He stops in the doorway and drinks him in for a moment, in the quiet of the office, whilst nobody else is around. He always looks handsome, but with a setting sun as his backdrop his good looks elevate to something religious: even marred by the sweat on his brow, and the bow-string tension in his shoulders, that gives away how much pain he's in. Then Roy crosses the office, stops in front of the other man, and bends to his knees. Edward looks at him from behind long, sandy eyelashes, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. This isn't the first time Roy's done this, and it won't be the last.

He doesn't need to ask what the plan of action is to alleviate the pain. Ed wouldn't have come to the office if he was just after drugs, or heat packs. He had all those things at home and was more than capable of looking after himself. If he'd braved the journey into HQ it was to get something that he couldn't achieve himself. Something Roy has been doing for him for years, and something Roy secretly held as a dear reminder of his own usefulness. He holds out his hand for the kit, and after the usual moment of hesitation in which Ed debates his life choices, Roy’s ex-subordinate hands over a small case. Inside is a measured dose of morphine, in an auto-injector.

It used to be worse. It used to be that Roy had to measure out the drug himself, prep the syringe, and try and keep Edward calm whilst the needle glinted menacingly. Now they had auto-injectors, and the needle part is neatly covered so that Ed never has to see it. But that does little to stop his irrational fear.

Once upon a time Roy had even found that funny. That Ed could survive automail surgery, and military service, and being impaled by rebar, but freaks out at the sight of a tiny pinprick of a needle. Now, he simply takes the pen and does his job. A quick wipe of an alcohol soaked cloth over the other man’s exposed thigh, Ed turns his head to the side with his brow and nose screwed up in adorable worry, and Roy holds the pen to scarred skin, and depresses the button to inject. Ed whimpers from his seat slightly above Roy, and Roy makes a vague shushing noise that he doesn’t have to hope is soothing, because they’ve done this dance enough times that he knows that it is.

A moment later Ed gains his breath back, the pain ebbing quickly thanks to this last resort treatment, and he looks down at Roy, who has yet to get himself up from his knelt position. The younger man truly looks ethereal from this angle, and Roy is loathe to give up that view so quickly. It only gets better when Edward’s lips twitch into a smile that wouldn’t have been possible before the shot of morphine.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, and Roy nods his acceptance of the words, even though thanks are not needed.

“Any time,” he mumbles. Anything, he adds in his head.

He’d long ago accepted he would do quite literally anything for this shining boy. But he’ll admit that this quiet task he loves the best. The fact that Ed trusts him to do it. That he is one of very few people Ed does trust to do it. That in the aftermath of the pain Ed’s brow begins to ease out, and his colour begins to return to his cheeks, and Roy knows that he was the one to help. It is healing for Ed, but Ed doesn’t know how healing it is for Roy too. That he gets to see these vulnerable moments, and relieve some of that pain.

He hates that Ed has to live with the burden of automail. But he loves that it is a burden he gets to ease.

“Drink?” he asks, and Ed nods so enthusiastically Roy’s heart swells in his chest.