#and I don't think the fear of not being reasonably informed by doctors is irrational yk?

[dapg-otmebytheballs]

I get that this is something that happens v rarely etc and phil didn't want anyone to get scared off of colonoscopies and such because of this incident, but what's actually refusing to leave my head and scaring me is how often doctors will (and have done with me too) simply not go over certain possibilities of a procedure in full because it's rare/they don't want to scare you or whatever and so you end up not knowing to look out for anything going wrong with meds and treatments and procedures like this, like yea for sure create a positive outlook around scary sounding medical stuff but also I never like how doctors can and do just decide to simply not mention some possibilities yk? Because 'this happens rarely' still means it will happen to someone or the other and if they aren't prepared/aren't watching out for shit going wrong/not able to connect the dots it can get really bad, informed consent should be properly informed consent. Just had to get that off my chest lol

[bewareofchris]

I don't actually trust you to write a strictly happy story or commentary or any kind of writing. However I enjoy your stories and writings too much to leave unattended and I do want more information. So, on to the obvious year, 2017.

1. rude (but true.  I mean, I wouldn’t trust me either).

PG-13?/R | Altmal | sexual situations off and on, mostly fluffy baby-related things

2017 is the year Kadar gets married (in June) and the year that Maria would be pregnant with Jaida.  It’s a good year.

(April)

“All I’m saying,” Maria slurred in the space between her mouth and the glass of liquor she was holding, “is that I’m about to commit myself to nine months of hard physical labor with a list of agreed upon restrictions, I should get some compensation.”  (At least, Malik thought that was what she was saying.)  It was hard to know with the English accent and the drunkenness if that was exactly correct.)

“Like what?” Altair asked.  He’d tried arguing her into taking money and she’d countered him every single time, saying that he’d done her a favor and she wanted to repay them.  (When pressed, she would admit that she liked the idea of a child but she didn’t want to be bothered with the care and feeding of one.)  “More booze?”

“Sex,” Maria countered.

Malik laughed (bright and loud, and a little tipsy) at that.  “You’e a lesbian.”

“So?” was indignant.  “Look,” and she slid out of her chair to come sit next to him.  Her drink spilled on his shirt as she wrapped her arm around his shoulders.  Her voice was close and warm.  “We can share, you can go first.”  Her fingers were working their way through the spaces between his shirt buttons.  Her nails scratched across his skin in a way that wasn’t anything but promising.  

Altair leaned forward to glare at them, working up to being offended about Maria groping his husband (most likely), but Malik said, “you should give us head,” because those ideas Maria was whispering into his ear were practically perfect.  

There was his husband, all but stripping off his clothes in joy, staring down the offer like working out how much it would cost him.  Thinking it through didn’t stop him from easing off the couch, or pulling his shirt off or dragging Malik forward so he could get easier access to his dick.  But once he was there, warm and real and comfortable between Malik’s thighs he said, “this counts as something off your list.”

“Fine,” Malik said.

Maria was delighted with soft little kisses against Malik’s cheek.  “Can I kiss you?” she asked, and then louder, “can I kiss you husband?”

“You can try.  He gets mouthy when he gets head,” Altair said.

(May)

It wasn’t that Altair had forgotten.  Because he didn’t forget things that Malik remembered (although it was hard to know what Malik would choose to remember and at which time).  In fact, he had been standing in the kitchen spinning his wedding ring on his finger while he considered doing some sort of landscaping with the muddy hellhole of the backyard when he very suddenly was reminded that he needed to remember:

“So,” Malik asked across the kitchen island.  He had appeared with bedhead and a surly frown, as if summoned from the discontent Altair felt about the dirt that refused to grow grass staring him down through the back windows.  Dirt was not a proper substance on which his child could play.  It would have to be replaced.

“So?” Altair repeated.  (He began the mental review of important dates and arguments they may have had recently to see what he’d misplaced.)

“So, its our anniversary,” Malik prompted.  “The anniversary of the day we were married.  The first anniversary.”

“Are we celebrating that?” came springing right out of his mouth before he could think.  “I thought you said we couldn’t celebrate more than one anniversary a year and I already made you go with me to London for our we finally met again anniversary.”

Malik was glaring at him.  “You’re cute.”

“I would prefer the term gorgeous, I’d settle for handsome.  I don’t have the right face for cute.  Kadar’s cute.”

“What is it?  What did you get me?”  Malik didn’t sound like the sort of person that should receive a present or even the sort that would enjoy one.  He sounded much more like Lucy who was still working through the notion she was wealthy beyond reason.  Malik started drumming his fingers on the counter top to really punctuate his point.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Altair said.  “You told me that I couldn’t buy or make you anything.  You said if I tried to celebrate more than one anniversary a year that you would divorce me and take half my net wealth.”  (Those were, in fact, Malik’s exact words.)  “I like the we met for the first time anniversary.”

So when his husband smiled at him, it was a surprise.  Malik reached behind his back to pluck an envelope out of the waist band of his sleep pants.  “I got you something,” he said.  He set the envelope down on the counter but didn’t push it forward where Altair could get it.  “The first wedding anniversary is paper and I wanted this to be meaningful.”

“You did?” Altair said.

“Yes, so, here.”  Malik slid the envelope forward and then just stood there watching him (very carefully) as Altair opened it.  The paper inside looked like any other folded over sheet of printer paper.  It was otherwise entirely unremarkable.  When he flattened it out, it took him a few tries to fully understand what he was looking at.  

“Maria’s pregnant?” 

Malik was smiling at him from the other side of the island, as if he hadn’t masterminded the deception that the doctors Altair had been paying (for too much) for hadn’t just been ignoring his inquiries.  As if the bastard hadn’t literally, two days ago, been telling him that it might not work the first time.  Fertility was a touchy thing and neither him nor Maria had ever tried to have a child before.  And the bastard had known.  “Congratulations,” Malik said. “You’re going to be a Dad.”

There were simply no words.  He went around the island and pulled Malik into a hug and kissed him and held onto him while he reread the whole paper again (most of it was medical jargon that he didn’t understand) and Malik leaned against his body.  “We’re going to be parents,” Altair repeated.

“Yeah,” Malik said.  He kissed Altair again, “we are.”

(June)

Malik was just as happy to erase the entire clusterfuck that was the month of June from his memory as to try to recall any series of events from that month in order.  It was easiest to refer to it as ‘Kadar’s wedding’ and not thing about how they had been stuck in Delaware (the first state to ratify the Constitution) with half of Italy for almost an entire fucking week.

The only good thing to come of it was his stupid brother’s decision to gift every close male relative with single pack Viagra.  Not just for the obvious reason, but also because Kadar had somehow managed to fill an entire bowling bag with the stupid little packs and snuck it into Altair’s luggage.  So Malik had the absolute delight of watching his husband freak out about trying to hide his unwanted stash of dick drugs for three straight days.

The rest of the wedding was shit, Altair panicking and protesting how he hadn’t bought the Viagra had been the only memorable event.  (Never mind Malik had been laughing too hard to participate in the conversation.)

(July)

Altair was good for frightening statistics.  He’d memorized all kinds of numbers about how pregnancies could go bad and when and how they shouldn’t make plans or make purchases before a certain point because it was bad luck.  He wasn’t superstitious by nature.

Malik was good at pushing his fingers through Altair’s hand when he wandered off in his head, “if I tell you that it’ll be okay, will you believe me?”

“Will you make it sound believable?” Altair asked.

There was a pause, Malik moved so he was standing right in front of him.  They were out-in-public (shopping with Peyton, meandering past the baby section).  “I do not believe any rational argument could counter an irrational fear.  What if I promised that we can have completely filthy sex when we get home?”

Altair shrugged, “I like filthy sex.”  

“I know,” Malik agreed.

But the baby section was just staring at him.

Malik looked over his shoulder at it.  “What if I promise you that I’ll let you drag me to every single unreasonably priced baby store in the country to buy far more supplies than can ever be used for our first child?”

Altair stopped staring at cute outfits and bibs and looked at Malik’s perfectly patient face.  He was smiling at a technicality long before Malik realized what he’d said, “first?” he repeated.

“If you survive this ordeal, we’ll talk about having another.”

“You said first,” Altair repeated.  “Deal,” before Malik could take it back.  

(August)

Maria looked distinctly uncomfortable.  Pregnancy had not given her (what Malik would consider) a glow but exaggerate the paleness of her skin.  She had a bag full of snacks (fully approved to be healthy for the baby) at her side that she was picking at now and again while they waited, but mostly she shifted in her seat and grumbled under breath.  

“Is there anything I can do?” Malik asked.

“At this juncture, I do not believe there is,” Maria snapped back.  She didn’t look even slightly repentant about it either.  In fact, when Altair was not there, she was more or less a fire-breathing demon.  

Malik didn’t fight her.  His Mother would have shown up just to slap him if he’d tried.  Instead he said, “it’s only a few month months.”

“Yeah, I’ll shove a watermelon up your ass and tell you it’s only a few more months.”  She shifted again and found that it did nothing to make her more comfortable.  “Is Altair going to show up?  I don’t like these clothes.”  She plucked at the dress she was wearing.  

“Yes,” Malik said.  

Maria let her head fall back and mumbled something under her breath.  When she turned to look at him, she said, “this is just more uncomfortable than I thought it would be.  I’m not unhappy to have your baby.  I just,” and there was the important bit, “I feel like it means to much to the idiot.  You understand, I say I hate you, I mean I’m uncomfortable and you understand.”

Malik nodded.  “I do.”

“Altair would think it meant I don’t want to have the baby.”

That was true.  “It’s okay.  You can vent all your anger at me.”

Maria smiled and (thank God) that was the moment Altair chose to walk in.  He sat in the chair between them, falling into a conversation about any updates he might have missed and somewhere in the middle of Maria saying everything was good (again) and being called back to to the ultrasound (at last), Altair remembered Malik existed long enough to kiss him.  

(September)

They were having a daughter.

“What are we going to name her?” felt like it had been punched straight out of his chest.  They were sitting at the breakfast table, Malik sipping coffee and looking over the morning paper as if life could continue to be so mundane in the wake of such news.  It felt like they’d been whispering ‘the baby’ for months, ever since Maria was confirmed to be pregnant and all that time it had been an abstract notion.  A baby.  A formless sort of thing, devoid of personality or future, just a notion.  It shouldn’t have mattered, and who cared about the sex of the baby, but it seemed to drown him regardless.  

They were having a daughter.

“I’d prefer not to name her after a fruit or vegetable,” Malik said.  He even looked up from his paper long enough to join the conversation in progress.  (Not that there was much of one.)

“So, Cucumber Jane is a no go?”

Malik narrowed his eyes at him, like he did when he didn’t want to smile, and then said, “why not name her Michelle?”

That was a callback, one might say, to a previous argument.  About the girl in Paris that had done her very best to flirt with Altair in open view of the whole world (and her parents who disapproved of the whole thing almost as much as Malik).  It had been a friendly argument over an absurd but delicate matter of extracting himself from the lovesick gaze of a teenager mooning over him.  (And that, Malik said, is why you shouldn’t go to the pool shirtless.)  “I’d prefer we not name our daughter after our affairs.”

“I suppose Leona is out then,” Malik said so very calmly one might have mistaken him for being serious.  But his lips were coiled up in a sly grin.  

“Lenora isn’t a bad name,” Altair said.  “Although if you name our daughter after the guy Ezio is still fucking, it’ll make Christmas more complicated.”

Malik snorted at that.  “Heaven forbid.  Alright,” was serious, “I’m sure you have a list.”

“I’m sure you have one,” Altair countered.

“Of course I have a list.”  And it just so happened, he had that list on his phone.  As it happened, so did Altair.  

(October)

Malik was not annoyed by how easily Altair was distracted by baby things.  It was charming.  When he seemed annoyed by it, it was only because they were trying to shop for Peyton’s Halloween costume while the girl in question was two and a half breaths away from a full meltdown.  Her Mother, Lucy, and her Uncle, Altair, were over in the baby section of the costume aisle, awwing over babies in sheep costumes.

“LIttle Baby Jaida can be a sheep and you can be Little Bo Peep!” Lucy was saying.

Altair was delighted, full of light and laughter and love, “I’d have to get a longer skirt though.”

Peyton was filled head to toe with hateful spite, glaring at them while she held onto Malik’s hand.  She turned her face to look at him (accusingly), “who is baby Jaida?”

“Oh!” Lucy said, “look at this one, it’s an owl.  Look at how cute this.  If she comes out with Malik’s skin it would be adorable on her.”  And she let her hand move away from the costume to add, quieter, “and if she comes out with Maria’s she can be this,” and she held up a baby vampire costume complete with exaggerated black widows peak.

Altair cracked up.  Peyton started making the noise that preceded a fit.  Malik cleared his throat to call back Lucy because he loved his niece well enough, but it was his last Halloween before he was obligated to dress small children in colorful costumes and he was going to spend it not consoling a screaming child.  He traded Peyton for his husband.

Altair slid an arm around him when he was close enough and said, “the sheep is cute.”

“It is,” Malik agreed.  Because it was.  All the baby costumes were cute.  (And would be made cuter by the addition of their child.)  “But you cannot wear the sex costume outside.”

Altair smiled with pink all in his cheeks and pulled Malik in so he could kiss him.  “What if I wear it tonight?” was whispered very quietly against his cheek.  Malik pinched him (but he didn’t say no) and Altair laughed again.

(November)

Maria had shown up at the start of November looking like she had finally reached the point at which she could no longer pretend not to be uncomfortable (for his sake, he understood).  She dropped her bags at the front door and slapped her purse on the table and said, “make me a fucking apple pie or I’ll have to cannibalize someone.”

Altair had not had the things to make a pie in his house because he did not usually make them except at Thanksgiving but he went on a brief trip to the store and returned with what he felt was plenty of supplies.

That was before Maria asked for another two days later, and then another two days after that.  By Thanksgiving he had gotten so practiced at making the pies that Desmond (who liked his pie before he was an expert) remarked, “this is amazing.  Did you do something different?”

Maria was dangerous enough even without a knife in her hand but as she happened to have one in her hand when Desmond asked, Altair just smiled, “nope.  Same pie as always.”

(December)

Maria cornered him (literally, in a corner) to say, “we need to throw your stupid husband a baby shower.  I know he has everything he thinks he needs but my understand of baby showers is that it’s not about gifts.  Find a way to make him go to the mansion, I’ll take care of the arrangements.”

Malik had only said, “you need his permission to hold any sort of gathering at the house, it’s impossible to get anyone to go there if he hasn’t agreed to it.  Not the family, but caterers and event planners also won’t go near it.”

Maria smiled at him, “you’re his husband.”

“I don’t own his Grandmother’s house,” Malik countered.  (Because he didn’t and it was simply one thing he had no interest in ever challenging.  Altair owned the house, Malik visited it once in a while.)  “I could maybe get him to agree to a Christmas party there?  An early one in case you have the baby early?”

“Good,” Maria said.  “So do that.”

–

Altair had been dragged to the mansion under false pretenses.  He had been dressed in a holiday sweater, shoved in a car and driven to the mansion under the guise of early Christmas. 

But the ballroom in the back was filled with tables covered in pretty pink table clothes.  Maria met him at the door with a baby bottle on a string that she offered to him and said, “if you say the word baby, you have to give up the necklace to whoever catches you.  Whoever gets the most at the end of the party gets to keep this baby.”  And her smile was pure evil.  (That couldn’t possibly be the real reward.)  Then Malik threw a T-shirt at him that once unfolded said ‘new Mom’.  

“It’s your baby shower,” Maria said.  “Eat cake, open presents, watch the morons try to chug alcohol out of baby bottles.  I found a lot of games, I couldn’t decide which I liked.”

Altair hugged her and Maria hugged him back.  “Thank you,” he said.  She shoved him back when she was tired of being held onto (because she got hot, she said, all the time).  “Who’d you invite?”

“Everyone,” Maria said.  

(January)

Malik had thought, despite what he was told, that there was simply no way to love anyone on sight.  It was as impossible a notion as any, but there he was, leaning up against his husband’s body, the pair of them looking down at their brand-new-daughter.  She was discontent at her living conditions, surly as her Mother had been all through labor, pink and healthy and beautiful.  

“I love her,” Altair whispered.  Like a revelation, like he hadn’t thought it was possible.  There were tears in his eyes as he smiled and Malik ran his finger down her perfect little cheek.  “This is our daughter,” Altair whispered.  “We have a daughter, we’re fathers.”

[ineedrelationshipadvice]

you don't "wander around the transgender scene" because you don't give a shit about providing /actual/ resources for trans people when the time comes for you to do so. additionally trans people are under no obligation to provide information about being trans to people they just met off the bat-it can be dangerous for us to do so. don't equate our safety concerns to cis people's irrational fear of being catfished by a trans person (which stems directly from transphobia btw)

There’s a lot of anger in this statement, so let’s unpack it as a way to analyze the situation a little further, as well as how people need to give advice to others regarding this sort of thing.

Firstly, I did not say “the transgender scene,” I said “the transgender tumblr scene,” as they were directly asking for blogs on tumblr that were focused on transgender people hooking up with a partner. I don’t know of these blogs, because I don’t need nor use them in my own life. This also applies to cis tumblr dating blogs, as I don’t use these or know of them in my own life.

Secondly, you imply I didn’t give actual resources to this person asking... despite me having provided the multiples resources that I am most familiar with and that are regarded as the best resources by the trans community, for the trans community. 

Thirdly, you’re right, trans people are under no obligation to provide information to anyone they meet. But is a simple request for information A THREAT TO ONE’S SAFETY? No. If I said, “Hey, do you know any good doctors in my area, do you have any recommendations?” you wouldn’t reply “HOW FUCKING DARE YOU EVEN ASK ME ABOUT MY DOCTOR IT’S NOT MY OBLIGATION.” A rational human being would say, “Oh sorry, I just don’t really know” and move on with their life. 

Finally, you somehow assume I am equating trans safety concerns with “cis people’s irrational fear of being catfished.” Firstly, I wouldn’t say catfishing is ever a good thing, and if you’re in support of catfishing, I’m deeply concerned. Secondly, I never brought up safety concerns for trans people, nor did the original questioner. So this whole line of reasoning is just your emotions bleeding into your rant. 

But a question still hangs in the air. Why not offer more detailed advice to this person, who clearly came to me with trust and was seeking aid, for their question?

To this point, I would say that the best experts in a field are those who admit their weaknesses. Again, I prefaced the entire response there by saying, “Hey, I’m not trans.” I’m not an authority in transgenderism; as a cis person, I do not share the experience or knowledge of the transgender community. Saying this outright shows to any trans person who reads that I am cis, and although I may give advice, it may not be 100% helpful to their needs, and that they should seek out the others in your community, as their advice is by definition better than mine, since someone in the transgender community will more deeply understand their needs. I know I’m not trans; I am an ally at best, and although I would deeply like to help and learn more about the trans experience to help other folks in the community, I know this is a weakness on my part, and that there is only so much distance I can cross as someone who will NEVER be trans. It would be like asking me to understand the Native American experience, when I can never myself be Native American; I can only speak from afar, as an ally.

So the question becomes then, how does attacking the person who is trying to give the most valuable advice possible given the circumstance making them better at giving that advice to other people in the community? It doesn’t. I could have easily said nothing to this trans person, but then they would have been even more lost than before. It was my obligation to give them the best advice possible, while also acknowledging my weaknesses as the person in the responsibility hot-seat.

This is a major problem I’ve seen in the trans community lately. I get it, there are lots of concerns. When the president is literally making shit-filled statements about banning hundreds of people from the military for being trans, that’s fucked up. But spewing bile toward fellow allies who are doing nothing but going out of their way to help others in your community is doing nobody any favours. It alienates your allies, making the community weaker and less diverse as a whole; it’s regressive in nature, and not what the LGBTQ+ movement is about. The larger community as a whole is meant to be welcoming and understanding of others needs, no matter how disparate. 

Again, as I said in the first statement: if you have better advice to offer, I’m all ears, because this subject is not my expertise. But if you believe I should not have given this advice to someone who asked for it, and had nowhere else to go for their question, I think you’ll find yourself alone on that ship.