You can(t) dance if you want to - Live Forever, or Die Trying Chapter II

In the previous post, I summed up the first chapter as follows: Altair comes back from a war, meets his child bride now a teenager, and in the end thigh fucks him. Cue 14,000 words of exposition and psychopathic Altair, and you get a wonderful introduction to this gangrenous monster of a story which should've died on impact. As with all terrible stories, there has to be one person who slogs through it all so others don't have to read it. With nothing (literally, now) better to do, this is some way to occupy my time.

The author thought it’d be cute to have a poll where readers would guess which character would correspond to each of her fictional gods. I missed the initial guessing game, but even if it was still going on you’d be hard pressed to find me giving a shit. Sorry, but no amount of cutesy games is going to distract me from the task at hand. These posts take me longer than usual, as I will post direct quotations, rather than give a classic 1,500 word review. Think of it as a more interactive experience, though it’d be much quicker if I did it the usual away. Eh, it is what it is.

Something is vexing his sleep—memories of past or spirits of the present. Malik has contradictory feelings about this discovery. He feels sorry for Altaïr only as far as his mnemonic empathy extends, because he remembers the months following the Massacre and nights devoid of proper rest and fitful sleep in Leonardo’s bed. But Altaïr has also woken him, has made him a stranger to his home, has made his bed cold and uninviting, and he feels sorrow at having to live in such conditions and delights in Altaïr’s torment. He explores all avenues of reason and finds not one sprout of excuse to wake him.

I am very hard pressed to find this romantic. If you are left a stranger in your own home with your so-called husband seeing you as a tool for sex and nothing more, it’s time for you to leave. I will be repeating myself here, but I just can’t shake these feelings. I don’t like to use the term ‘problematic’ often, but this is a case where it absolutely applies.

In this chapter, we get a hint of the mythology of the place: the Mother Goddess and the creator of all gods kept birthing them until one was too strong for her to bear, so she split them into two halves (akin to Romulus and Remus being nursed by a female wolf). Children are taught these myths until they know them in their hearts. There are also references to Hawaiian gods, with ‘Hiba’ turning sands golden from the gold on his body (like King Midas), and Nokem the warrior god being asleep while he does this. I have to wonder why a god which represents the warrior spirit is also associated with long naps, but I don’t think the author thought that far ahead. There is a god of mountains and one of wind, and said gods teams up to get rid of the god of the forest. There, I have to ask: why is the god of the mountains allied with the god of the wind? Mountains never move, and offer protection from the wind. You’d think the forest god and the mountain god would be allies, as both are natural monuments.

The God Hiba is swallowed by the mountain god for disobeying border control laws and his brother is tasked for killing the god which killed his brother. Despite the god eating his brother for hopping the collective border, Nokem (honestly sounds like a clothing line) feels no rage at his brother being dead despite being the warrior god. Makes total sense.

His husband intended to cheat himself into his dream of domesticity. Leonardo had warned him that Altaïr would want to feel the proximity of another body, to hold Malik close perhaps, listen to his pulse and breathing—through deceit if not through consent. The nest of warmth that Altaïr’s created is of no avail against the branching chill that’s creeping up Malik’s ribs from both sides of his frozen spine.

Reminder the advice Leonardo gave to Malik was dangerous. You cannot tame a sociopath with home-cooked meals, no more than given a methhead bath salts is going to make him appreciate jacuzzis. If your sexual relationship or marriage is based on ‘deceit, and not consent’, you never really consented to it. And Malik in this case never did, as he was a child bride.

Malik won’t answer his advances. However subtle. However untainted by sexual cravings. It is the first and only defeat Altaïr has suffered in the seven years of battle. Seven years of war, only to return to war at home. His husband will continue disobedience and show his resentment by a much more domestic warfare, unfamiliar to Altaïr.

If you think prayer is going to save you, it won’t. I still don’t know what war Altair returned from, because the author doesn’t understand military history or tactics at all: if you’re away at war, who did you fight it for and why? Expansion of territory? Resources? Internal and external threats? It’s not yet been said.

Altair brought this war upon himself. He does not respect Malik’s boundaries and sees him as a sex slave. The added insult is that this is meant to be a smut-filled ‘epic’. There’s going to be a lot of shit mucked from this stall.

He is a new stranger to his old community, and observing before participating might smooth his entrance, re-learning old lessons might remind him of how to fit back into something he had grown out of but missed dearly. He sets the cup of wine aside and puts a dot of butter on a piece of bread roll, and needs nothing besides.

Pretty sure calling your child bride a whore in front of your neighbours is a great way to break the ice, my dude.

Mykonos has a tendency to write oodles and noodles of detail that become tedious and boring. It takes her two paragraphs to write children frolicking in public showers. She even notes that Altair sees Malik as ‘near their age’ and wonders if he’s reckless from youth, too. Another day in the life of a pederast.

Perhaps it is he who needs to tone his grotesque imagery down and adjust to the carefree mood of the society around instead of expecting adjustment to his own whims. Perhaps rests in his mouth until the bite of bread turns into wet mush and he swallows it together with the word.

A wonderful example of lampshading! Too bad Altair will renege on his thoughts, because he’s never once consistent.

The joined spin of the cithara and Malik’s soft lullaby begins to draw others near and next there is the girl from the shower throwing a folded cloth across the bench to sit at Malik’s right with her nude body dripping with water, and a moment after, her companion joins seating himself beside, equally nude, equally wet, and Altaïr has no time to be troubled by their merged soaking of the table because this display of youth absorbed in a baby is informing him about his cultural faux pas.

I don’t understand the obsession with nude, bathing children, but maybe the author took inspiration from Jimmy Saville. Altair shouldn’t be the one complaining about cultural faux pas, because, after all, he married a child. And you bet your ass he would’ve been thrilled to have sex with Malik as a child.

A child is not raised by parents. A child is raised by the community.

Must be why single mothers (especially in the black community) raise such astute sons with lots of criminality and violence, eh?

When Mary Read makes her appearance, she asks Malik if Altair has forced himself on him. Malik, with a straight face, says no, even though the latter fought and tried to escape the former. There is no use lying here.

Everything in warfare is a form of conquest. From a sleeping place in the tent to the larger portion of bread.

Yeah. No shit. You’re impressing me with that IQ, man.

“Malik!” he calls out, “Fetch us some wine.”

The bundle of laughs sits there expecting to be attended and Malik stands there like a fuddled fly between muslin and pane, like he is going to be sick by just looking at them.

“Get off your ass and fetch it yourself,” he snarls back at him, insistent to reduce Altaïr to a figure of fun in front of his revered company, “I’m not your pet, running to heel when leash is tugged.”

Nice. I’d give you a high five, but sadly it’s all going to bite you in the ass – and this isn’t just figuratively, either.

“Your pup bares his teeth, Altaïr,” Ezio baits, and on his face is a smug pleasure at having a sting at Malik’s misfortune, “Barely away from his mother’s tit, and still carries himself like a bratty child.”

“And who are you? Aside from being a dirty warrior?”

“I am Ezio Auditore. Of the last families to survive the Massacre.”

“Pleasure to make fucking acquaintance,” Malik grits out at that up-tilt of Ezio’s chin, steeped deep in pride, and stomps up the stairs to remove himself from this sorry lot.

Yep. You just made me hate Ezio too, mykonos. Like Altair, he feels it’s within his right to dictate to lesser people his whims and desires, with no care about their humanity. It’s the complete opposite of his character, but proper characterization is not the core of this story. Consider this: Ezio and Desmond both knew Altair married Malik at the ripe old age of ten. Did they protest? Did they say it wasn’t the right thing to do? No. They remained silent – and Ezio mocks Malik for daring to talk back.

“I’d caution softer words towards your husband, Malik,” Desmond says, his tone entirely consistent with the gentle smile resting on his lips. There is no joke, no jest, no taunt.

“Who are you to lecture me?” Malik wonders, keeping his voice surprisingly civil and calm, his question immersed in genuine curiosity. Desmond’s presence doesn’t fester like Ezio’s.

Again, Desmond has no idea of what Malik is going through. Every person in this community seems to be of one-mind only: obey your husband, do not displease him, and you are sworn to him until death. You’d think an imam was writing these words, but no, it’s very likely from a non-religious person who doesn’t actually understand religion and institutes the absolute worst of humanity in it. Desmond joins Ezio and Leonardo in the Shit Tier Brigade for offering the worst advice possible and not being privy to what Malik is feeling. It’s horrible and depressing, yet this is offered as valid character development.

Half of this chapter is dedicated to food descriptions, shower descriptions, and dialogue which could be done in 500 words or less. If I can speed read through your work without losing anything of value, that doesn’t bode well for you.

Al-Mualim, it turns, let the massacre of the noble caste and went to war for their warrior god, Gdila (sounds like IDGAF, and admittedly, it’d be better). Why did he sanction war? I still don’t know. Maybe I’ll find out.

Their entry into the property is uneventful, except for the brief spat between Altaïr and a guard whose search for weapons (a security measure that unjustly only Malik had to suffer thanks to his civilian status) had morphed into something a little less than feeling Malik up during the pat-down. With the shortness of Malik’s tunic considered, a simple look on the guard’s end would have been enough to set Altaïr off. Malik is offended enough at this discriminatory pat-down and the blatant groping, yet amused enough to ignore it for the irrational anger it causes in Altaïr.

Nothing like getting sexually assaulted before a party. Everyone is a pederast in this story, yeesh.

Al Mualim’s eye fastens to Malik, a child whose family he’d ordered dead, a child whose home he’d ordered burned to ground, a child whose marriage to a man ten years older he’d sanctioned.

Now, Al Mualim sanctioning child marriage wouldn’t be nearly so awful as Altair willingly agreeing to it. Altair saw a kid as his ‘husband’, because adoption and step-siblings do not exist in this world. As much as this story tries to pain Al Mualim as the Big Bad along with Abbas, it’s usually the token villains which end up being more sympathetic than the heroes.

Malik decides the best thing to do to the man who committed mass murder is to insult him in front of a room full of people. Altair decides to crush his hands first before leaving him to Desmond, hoping Al Mualim doesn’t castrate him on the spot. At a dinner table, Malik tells Desmond he is the son of ‘Nokem and Gdila’, because not only do we have gay marriage officially sanctioned in this universe, male gods can magically become intersex and bear children. As far as myth goes, this isn’t too far out there considering the shape-shifting abilities of Zeus and Loki, but if a Mother Goddess is responsible for bringing all other gods and goddesses into being, why are two functional male gods breeding? Add a touch of Mpreg to this disaster fic and it becomes even more convoluted. 

Malik cannot remember his kind ever placing themselves above others. It is the commoners who lower themselves before nobles on their own accord. That is how deeply-wedged their reverence for Nokem and his children is in their hearts. So deeply ingrained in their conscience that they regard themselves as the lower echelon of society and consider themselves unable to mingle with Nokem’s pure-bred children. A notion which is the very affront to Malik’s own marriage.

So, we’re introduced to the concept of interbreeding and how bad it is for nobles to breed with those lesser than them. Despite the nobility never actually seeing themselves above commoners, there was still enough of an issue for them to be mass murdered, ritual style, on the top of a volcano by the warrior class. I do not think mykonos knows how caste system works; nobility will always see themselves above commoners because of purity of birth, and commoners will forever resent them for it; by extension, the warrior class will resent the nobility for continuously taking advantage of them.

I have to wonder about the ‘affront’ to marriage here: clearly, forced marriages are common, and this one is as much an insult to Malik’s person as it is to his lineage. Since he is not a woman, he won’t be bearing a child – unless Mpreg is introduced – and his bloodline cannot be poisoned, so to speak. Being married to someone of the warrior class as a child and said marriage being sanctioned should be an affront to his person, but it isn’t. These lapses in internal logic continue throughout the work, and they grow more and more ridiculous as the author begins to forget what she wrote.

When the ‘unfortunate’ meeting between Altair and Al Mualim takes place, Altair says the following:

“I lacked time to properly tame him, Master. I move towards improving my lot."

 And then:

 “Apologies, Master,” Altaïr starts, unsure, but with genuine concern, “I was not familiar with the notion of law in our community.”

If you are living in an isolated island – and I think this entire community lives on one – you should have some semblance of law and order. If you have a caste system, you already have fundamental inequalities among the classes which arise from natural differences. To mitigate them and quell disorder, you need obedience and some sort of state system of representatives. If there is no law and this is one huge hippie commune, I find it hard pressed to believe that any warrior caste could emerge from it, this ‘warrior god’ Gdila IDGAF notwithstanding.

Also, if you’re that ignorant on your own community as to how the law works (or lack thereof), chances are you were living with your head in the sand.

It gets better when Al Mualiam says this:

“It never had need of it before now,” he agrees, but that is as far as his caution extends, “I am disbanding the warrior ranks. Fresh mercenaries are to take place of their former posts. To protect the sanctity of our laws, of those to come, and those that had been violated before, as they are being violated now.”

He decides to disband the warrior class and replace it with rootless mercenaries to protect the peace. Maybe mykonos doesn’t know how loyalty works within the army ranks, but mercenaries are hired because they are loyal to money, not nation. They are going to bolt the minute you don’t put their pay on the table. They are not afraid of getting their hands dirty, and as mercenaries they’re exempt from most war crimes that would be held against a standing army. You cannot really speak of the ‘sanctity’ of your laws when you never have respect for them in the first place.

The waris  over. On a practical and logistic level, disbanding the army, or at least a part of it, at this point is a pragmatic policy, pure and simple. Using leftovers to fill the ranks of these so-called ‘fresh mercenaries’ to look after the laws (if such things exist in their community) is somehow not a betrayal of principle, but incorporation of a smaller number of former warriors into a similar group under a new name. The war is over, and the city needs new guards. This is why Altaïr’s been summoned.

I still do not know what war has been fought, and with whom or why it was waged. You’d think this would’ve been paramount in the first chapter, but mykonos fancies herself with useless exposition, myth-making and descriptions of Kitchen Nightmares. Just because a war is over doesn’t mean you disband your army; normally, a victorious army that has defeated yours tells you to disband (see how the US applied such a policy in post-war Japan). You always have to have reserves when the going gets tough. Disbanding them completely leaves you vulnerable to nations and communities that don’t abide by such ridiculous rules.

There is a special part where Malik attempts an assassination on Al Mualim and it is one of the few actual parts associated with Assassin’s Creed. Altair intervenes and the two have a spat, with Altair saying revenge clouds Malik’s judgment and obedience clouds Altair’s. Both are right, and both are horribly wrong. Altair is obedient to a man who launched a hitherto unexplained massacre of nobles, leaving Malik alone with his brother and forced into marriage. Malik has a right to be vindictive towards the man who ruined his life and his people, but the excuses given as to why he needs to tame himself are shoddy. Malik is truly the victim here, and every character tells Malik he is the one who needs to obey others to right himself.

Nokem himself has found sanctuary in his husband’s feral expression and given voice through Malik’s mouth. He is stunningly attractive in his anger. Brimming with ferocity and wildness. It’s not that Malik is trying to entice him, it’s what he is doing that’s seducing Altaïr. He stares into Malik’s merciless, angry face, hoping for the shiver of naked excitement he’s felt during his little speech to pass, but it’s not gone.

*Sir, this is a public forum. Please take your boner elsewhere.

The blade slips from loose hold and falls with a clutter and his hands clamp like vice at Malik’s sides and dig between his ribs as he thrusts him into the wall, and his belly tightens with desire even before he bends to take hold of his lips. Malik’s moan of surprise traps itself between their entwined mouths. He struggles to make sense of this rash viciousness of the warrior’s action, the sudden embrace, and hilarity of it, the momentary shock of Altaïr’s lips against his and Altaïr kissing him.

I want people to re-read this scene: not a second ago, Malik was ready to kill the leader of their city-state out of revenge. Altair stops him and engages in a kissing match. Admittedly, I don’t mind these kinds of scenes at all, provided they have an adequate buildup. This is just idiotic. You’re having a kissing match in front of dozens, if not hundreds of people, who conveniently didn’t hear the weapon you intended to kill their leader fall to the ground?

It’s like having a make-out session in a Wendy’s: people are trying to eat, here.

Altaïr’s kiss doesn’t go past lips but still manages to give Malik an entire narrative story of Altaïr’s rising hope. Of how deeply-desired this action was, how eagerly he’d waited to connect himself to Malik thus, how he’s advanced into the kiss torn between two equally daunting choices—between unbridled aggression and greater caution, to avoid discouraging Malik from the prospect of future kisses.

Sorry, but no amount of redemption is going to change how Altair tried to rape Malik and continues to belittle him as a person. People might’ve forgotten Rollo raped a woman in ‘Vikings’, but his redemption arc was far better than this shit-heap of one. Can someone really do this in a fit of rage? Really?

Malik knows why he’s doing this but he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Uh, what?

He feels the sensation in form of hot tickling fingers crawling through his lower gut up his ribs and catches himself in a momentary swoon of arousal. He wants to pull away to breathe through this reaction but Altaïr is melding their lips into a new lock and pushing until the back of Malik’s head bumps into the cold stone, tilting his own head to gain deeper access.

Sir, this is an amphitheatre, people are trying to listen to a guy speak here.

His body, apparently, enjoys being trapped between a wall and the firm, muscular body of his husband.

Well at least we know who’s the pitcher and the catcher in these stories. And from people who want to break binary and homophobic stereotypes no less.

It feels to Altaïr like Malik is equal in desire at last and he drinks from every kiss that Malik returns, and offers more, until he is giddy with the thrill of Malik’s consent.

Because you never asked for it beforehand, WEW LAD

He is strong. He is coiled with muscle power and bursting with strength. The things Malik could do if he found a way to control this power like a machine and maneuver it towards his own goal. The things he could make Altaïr do for his favor, if he offered Altaïr fine enough reward. Altaïr won’t dare refuse him, should Malik offer what Altaïr craves above all else.

This is a sure 180 from you wanting to kill him in the previous chapter and for stealing your childhood away. Add a little dick and all of your worries magically disappear!

Said no one.

“Please let me. I’ve been waiting for seven years to do this,” he whispers in hushed tones, as if his homicidal intention isn’t any different from a proposal for a beach visit, “I’ll be an obedient husband if you lend aid to my cause. I’ll kneel  to you—”

‘Yeah, I sucked your dick, but it was only for you to do what I wanted! Ignore how I wanted to kill you earlier, that was me having my monthly tantrum.’

“What’s been said cannot be undone. And what’s been done cannot be unmade.” He tightens his hand and digs into the back of Altaïr’s neck, a gesture which is not affectionate at its conception but soon rectified as Malik props himself up on his toes again to trim the gap between them without closing it, “Prove yourself more than a monster and stand as my husband and I’ll yield to you.”

And...why didn’t you have this talk before? I guess it was too difficult to have a conversation at the dinner table where boundaries could be drawn and where you could actually learn about each other. Simple things like that can add depth to characters, but mykonos isn’t for such simplicity. She likes to make things as bloated as possible, so plot lines which could be solved in a chapter or less are extended to five chapters or more.

He would rather spend the night with the community than linger at home with Altaïr as company. He would rather, but he is too tired to be infected by their enthusiasm, too riddled with darkness to be engrossed by the brightness of fire.

Contrast this with Malik saying he’d be willing to submit to Altair provided Altair does what he wants. If you cannot be consistent with your own writing, you have no hope of making it professionally, let alone having more serious minded readers pay you any attention. There is a distinct lack of critical reviews on most AO3 stories for a reason, and one of them is the author’s inflated ego which will pop under a single prick.

“Nokem’s pain and wrath knew no bounds! His roar of grief traveled the world, driving gods to fear, the heavens wept, the ground cracked and spit fire while Nokem swore revenge. His heart constricted with grief but swelled with promise of vengeance...”

Also contrast this with the statement earlier in the chapter that the patron saint of revenge and vengeance couldn’t find it within himself to kill the mountain god all because his brother decided it was the wrong day to pick Beach Day.

Now, it’s time for a chapter summary. Chapter II was basically:

- Altair watching nude children in a public shower and reminiscing over Malik as a child.

- Malik still cooking the wrong food.

- Desmond judging Malik on cooking the wrong food.

- Malik telling Ezio and Desmond to cook their own damn food, and Desmond subsequently telling Malik he needs to be more obedient.

- A party at Al Mualim’s place, where Malik is groped by guards.

- Al Mualim announces the disbanding of the warrior class, for reasons unknown and unexplained aside from ‘we need to keep the peace’.

- Malik snipes at Al Mualim, earning amusement from the latter before attempting to assassinate him.

- Altair intervenes and stops Malik.

- They have a make-out section in the building with people milling around them.

- Malik decides he now likes Altair for his ‘masculine’ traits, and says he will obey him 100% if Altair will help him kill Al Mualim.

- Altair refuses. Malik reneges back on his sweet-talk and still sees Altair as the man who ruined his life.

This chapter, like the first, could’ve been explained in 3,000 words or less. It must’ve been triple the length. It takes forever for mykonos to establish a point, and most of her content are descriptions of places and events which don’t do anything to forward the plot. Sure, I love to read descriptions of the weather, food, clothing and voices. But there’s a point where I have to roll my eyes and tell the author to get on with it, because they keep writing nonsense. This story is filled with so much fat that if you stuck it into an oven, you’d have yourself a mighty grease fire.

Hope you have your fire extinguishers ready.

*This is a reference to 'Read with Cindi', in which she describes ridiculous sex scenes with 'Sir, this is a Wendy's' or 'Ma'am, this is a battlefield'. Good stuff.