#also hi the catholic things comes directly from a similar situation one of my moms friends was in so like.. not trying to religion bash or

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Warnings: allusions to abuse. Not against steve or Eddie but against both of their mothers. Other than that this is sweet i promise. Also just realized it's mothers day so... this is possibly awkward, possibly fitting. Take care my lovelies.

Steve had always loved the rain. Not storms, necessarily. But the rain. The pitter patter of drops on the roof. And the street. And the leaves in the trees. The surface of his pool on unnaturally warm spring day. The way the drops felt cold and tingly on warm skin. Steve loved it all.

Loved sitting with his feet in the pool, dangling over the edge, into the water, as he let the rain soak him through. Let his shirt stick to his skin as rain drops dripped from his hair into his eyes.

His mother had started his love for it. Always jumping in puddles with him on their way to the car in the grocery store parking lot. Both of them laughing as they held hands and ran and jumped, splashing their clothes and soaking their shoes and not caring at all for the mess they were making of themselves.

Steve missed those days. Missed his mother being happy. Her warm smile keeping the chill of the rain away. Steve supposed sitting in the rain, and watching it fall across the top of the water, was his way of bringing those feelings back.

But deep down. He'd always wished for someone to share this with. He'd tried with Nancy. And she was no priss, really she wasn't, obviously. But when he'd asked her to walk in the rain with him once, she'd given him this look. Like she'd thought he was crazy. Or ridiculous. Or just being weird, dumb, Steve.

He hadn't asked again.

But he'd wanted too. So many times. Of so many people. He was sure Robin would love it too. But he hadn't been brave enough to ask yet.

And then there was Eddie. They'd been dancing around something for what was probably close to a year now. There was an ache in Steve's chest everytime it rained. Longing to walk out into the rain, hold his hand out to Eddie, and ask him to take it.

But he was scared. And he was trying to come to terms with that fear. And that ache. When he heard the door open behind him. He heard a few stumbled footsteps and jingling chains, and hung his head a bit, smiling into his lap.

Eddie.

It was movie night. Steve had forgotten, lost in the rain.

He should get up. Go inside. Dry off so they can start whatever movie  Eddie had brought to lecture him on tonight. Steve would roll his eyes, but he loved listening to Eddie talk about things he loved. Loved all the little details he added, fun facts he knew that Steve never would have found out on his own.

He plants his hands to stand just as Eddie plops himself down next to Steve. Shoes removed somewhere behind them, jeans folded up a bit around his shins. Eddie lowers his feet into the water easily, taking care, ridiculously, not to splash, and turns to look at Steve with that fucking smile.

"Great weather right?" He asks, genuine delight dripping from his lips, and shinning in his eyes. Steve feels like he's flying a bit to close to the sun, the way Eddie shines. He just nods, bites his lip and looks into his lap again. Eddie knocks his shoulder into Steve's.

"Why ya sittin in the rain Steve?" He asks, still sounding happy, no judgment, and to Steve's suprise, no worry.

"I just like the rain." He says, easy. No lies. Not with Eddie. He's been making an effort to only tell Eddie the truth... about most things. He feels more than sees Eddie nod beside him.

"Me too. Love it. Nothin quite like sittin in the rain." He says, easy. Bumps into Steve again, he's swaying a bit now, side to side. Gentle as you please. It's a thing he does. Steve finds it hypnotizing in the best way.

"Yeah." Steve says dumbly, internally kicks himself. Eddie huffs a laugh next him as their shoulders collide again.

"Ya know," he leans closer, stops his swaying for a moment. His eyes focused on Steve, bangs dripping water down his face. Steve blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what Eddie is about to say, and not on the jealousy he feels for the raindrops slowly moving over Eddie's skin.

"I used to climb onto the roof of the trailer when it rained. Just lay there. Eyes on the sky." He glanced up, squinting into the rain and then looking back to Steve with a small smile, his 'just for Steve' smile.

"Drove Wayne crazy. He worries." Eddie tilted his head, the 'Bless him.' heavily implied in his tone. Steve snorts.

"I wonder why." He says, voice dry. Eddie's eyes move his face quickly, before he laughs and sways away again.

"That's fair. I did almost get struck by lightning once." Eddie muses, then rounds on Steve suddenly, eyes wide, finger pointing accusingly.

"Don't, tell him that." He's using his serious face, it makes Steve smile.

"I wouldn't dare." He holds his hand over his heart.

"Scouts honor." He says, holding his other hand up. Eddie leans back a bit, looks Steve up and down, wipes water out of his eyes before looking away again.

"You would have been a scout." Eddie shakes his head, rolls his eyes, but he smiling that smile again.

"Four years. Yeah. It wasn't horrible." Steve concedes, shrugging, and he sighs softly at the feeling of his wet shirt tugging on his shoulders.

They're silent for a long moment. Both of them just sitting, watching the rain. Eddie rocking back and forth absent-mindedly next to him now, his feet gently kicking back and forth in the water.

"My mom used to jump in puddles with me. In the store parking lot. And once out there," Steve points out over the pool, into the back yard, Eddie leans closer, his eyes following where Steve's pointing.

"We ended up covered in mud. Both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe. Dad wasn't home so the mess didn't matter. We were just having fun. I miss her being fun." Steve hadn't meant to say that part, not really. But it had slipped, his cheeks heating a bit. But Eddie didn't even stumble over the confession.

"Why isn't she fun anymore? Cuz'a him?" Eddie asks, like it's easy, this thing Steve hates to talk about, and think about. He swallows, hard, and nods. Sees Eddie nod back, a sad smile on his lips now, until they quirk to the side, his scarred cheek pulling up a bit as he makes his thinking face.

"She could leave him? Take you too." Eddie says, and it's a question. He's prodding, a bit, always curious. Steve takes a deep breathe, straightening his back as he breathes deep.

"Sorry. None of my business." Eddie shakes his head once, his hair so thoroughly soaked now that it barely moves on his shoulders.

"No it's okay. I just," he pauses, takes another deep breath, thinking.

"I think she's stuck. Like... she can't leave." Steve shakes his head too, wipes at his face, moving the water out of his eyes, off his nose where it's tickling.

"Catholic?" Eddie asks, easy. And Steve stares at him.

No one had asked that before. Or mentioned it. People always being nosy and presumptuous, saying if she really cared about herself, or for Steve, that she would just go. But it wasn't that simple. And Steve had never been able to explain it very well.

But Eddie had explained it fine. With one word. A knowing look in his eyes. Steve suddenly remembers all the things he's heard about Eddie's dad, how he's never heard much about his mom, and his stomach sinks, his throat catching on the fire gathering there.

Steve nods. Eddie nods back. Smiles that small smile into his lap again.

"People don't understand some things. Ya know?" Eddie asks, bumping into Steve again. He sways away once more and Steve follows, presses his shoulder to Eddie's firmly. Eddie stills, let's him lean there.

"And ya know what?" He looks at Steve, eyes peeking out under his dripping bangs.

"What?" Steve asks, his palms and fingers itching, wanting to reach out and touch Eddie. To wipe the water from his eyes. To tuck his hair behind his ear. To hold his hand. Maybe kiss him a little.

"It's none of their fucking business. You know your mom. You know what she was like. How she cared for you. You'll always have those memories. Ya know? I mean, if you don't have anything else." He shrugs, leans his weight into Steve's shoulder, comforting. Steve closes his eyes, tries to think of something to say to the gift Eddie's just given him.

Because he's right. She's Steve's mother. She loved him. Always. And whatever else she was, or how she acted, was none of anyone's business. Steve had his mother. His memories of her. Her warm smile, and bubbly laugh. She was his. No matter how his father changed her, or kept her away. She was Steve's. Always Steve's. Maybe only ever his. God knows she wasn't his father's, probably never had been.

He realizes he's been sitting, not saying anything, Eddie still firmly pressed against him. Silent. Letting Steve process, or grieve, or whatever he assumed Steve might doing. He was just letting him do it, and supporting him, in more ways than one.

"Did your mom like the rain?" He asks, finally breaking the silence. And it's the right question. Because it makes Eddie laugh. A good. Genuine. Proper laugh. His head tilted back, face to the sky, basking in the rain falling on them. He sighs, looks back to Steve.

"She fuckin loved the rain. I guess that's were I got it. Wayne use to mutter 'just like your mother' everytime he had to dry me off when I was little and out puddle hopping like a violent frog." He makes a little sound in his throat, sounds exactly like the bullfrogs Steve used to hear at the lake and a laugh bursts out of him. Eddie's answering, crooked smile, is dazzling. Steve longs to reach out and touch those dimples.

"Wanna see what she used to do to me?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet now, he sounds a bit shy, so Steve leans closer, nods, his eyes glued to Eddie's face.

He doesn't have time to wonder if the shyness was real, or a ruse to get him close, but it didn't matter. Because once he was close, a mischievous glint tinted Eddie's eyes and Steve knew he'd made a mistake.

"She did this." He said around a smirk and shook his head violently side to side. His hair throwing water like a shaking dog. A few wet strands smack Steve in the face and he startles back, or tries too. But he forgets they're on the edge of the pool and his hand misses the ledge as he sways back and then promptly falls into the water.

When he surfaces again Eddie is cackling, holding his hands over his stomach as he looks at Steve. His eyes bright. The water is warm, the rain cold on Steve's shoulders as he stands, forces himself to glare at Eddie, even as a smile tugs at his lip. He stalks toward Eddie, slowed by the drag of the water. Eddie smile drops.

"No no no no no! Steven don't you dare!" He shrieks, but Steve notes, he makes no effort to get away, aside from leaning back a little. Steve grabs Eddie's waist swiftly and tosses him into the water.

He comes up sputtering. Hair flat around his head. He looks like a drowned rat. Or one of the fluffy cats that gets wet and looks miseral and skinny and grumpy. Eddie lifts his hands and then drops them again.

"I said no. I did say no, yeah?" He says, then asks, squinting at Steve through the water from the pool and the water from the rain.

"No yeah, you did. I just didn't listen." Steve shrugs, laughs, falls back into the water and then goes under, opens his eyes and looks at Eddie standing there. He watches him wiggle his toes against the bottom of the pool, it makes him look nervous. So Steve swims forward, gets as close as he can to Eddie, until Eddie backs away a bit, and then he resurfaces. Eddie's hands are held up in front of him.

"Don't splash me." He warns, hands lowering into the water.

"I splash back. That's the only warning you get!" He warns, hands flicking water at Steve, who just smiles.

"We're already wet Eds." He rolls his eyes, snorts when Eddie lowers his hands.

"Oh. Right. Duh." Eddie scoffs, mostly at himself. Steve stands, shakes his head the way Eddie had, throwing water into the boys face. When he opens his eyes and Eddie is flinching, sputtering out water dramatically, dragging a hand down his face.

"Very funny. You're a natural." Eddie says, voice dry. He's got that cute grumpy cat look going again and Steve can't help it. Can't stop himself.

He steps forward. Into Eddie's space. And presses his lips gently against Eddie's. He doesn't kiss back. Just makes a small startled noise in his throat. But he doesn't pull away. Steve does. Thinks maybe he read this all wrong. He opens his eyes and sees how red Eddie is, and knows he didn't misread anything.

"You okay?" He breathes.

"Mhm. What-" Eddie's voice breaks, he clears his throat, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"W-what was that for?" He asks, his eyes locked on the water between them. Steve shrugs.

"Because I wanted to. That alright?" Steve asks, ducking his head to try and get Eddie to look at him. Eddie blinks, hard, and brings his eyes up, meeting Steve's. He nods. Doesn't say anything.

Steve moves, wraps his arm around Eddie's waist and pulls him close. Eddie makes a little high pitched noise in his throat when their chests meet and it drives Steve a little wild. But it also makes him realize what's happening. With Eddie. He's never done this.

"I can show you how. We can go slow." Steve breathes between them, his free hand lifting, dragging his fingertips over Eddie's cheek, touching the scar there gently, trying to convey everything he's been feeling for months into the touch.

Eddie whines, leans into the touch, pressing his cheek into Steve's palm. Snuggling closer like the cat he is. Steve smiles, cradles Eddie's face with his hands. Eddie's hands move to his hips, Steve can feel him trembling.

"I've got you." Steve breathes. Eddie nods, his mouth falling open just so before he surges forward and kisses Steve again. Their second kiss. Eddie's second kiss ever. Steve is so sure.

It starts frantic, Eddie's lips crashing against his. But he immediately loses his confidence and just, stands there, lips pressed to Steve's. Steve almost laughs into, but catches himself, doesn't wanna scare Eddie or hurt him, not now that he's just got him.

So Steve breathes through his nose and moves. Moves his hands to Eddie's hips and holds him steady. Moves his lips gently against Eddie's, slowly, until Eddie gets the memo and follows his lead.

It's clumsy, and awkward, and Eddie's palms are hot on Steve's shoulders where he's holding on for dear life. And it's completely and utterly intoxicating. Steve pulls back first, just a bit, to breathe. Eddie sways, his lips chasing Steve's. Steve catches him around the waist, keeps him still. Smiles at him when he blinks heavily, his eyes opening slowly, to look at Steve.

"Did-" he stops, his cheeks going an impossibly deeper shade of red, nearly matching the scar on his cheek. Steve soothes his thumb over said scar. Widens his eyes, letting Eddie know he's listening.

"Did I do that okay?" He asks, his face scrunching up. Steve nods, pulls Eddie's head down a bit, presses a kiss to his forhead.

"You did it perfect." Steve says, nods. Kisses him again. Soft and sweet.

"Movie?" Steve asks, head resting against Eddie's. Eddie nods, his breathing slowing a bit as Steve holds him, his thumb rubbing small circles into Eddie's hip.

"Yes. Yeah. Movie sounds great." Eddie agrees, nodding. Steve smiles, takes Eddie's hand and leads him up the steps out of the pool, their fingers tangled together as the rain poured around them.

Steve gets them dry clothes, and a pile of blankets. And later, when they're tangled together underneath them, legs and hands entwined, Steve's hand in Eddie's still damp hair.

He glances away from the movie, and out the window, smiling as he watches the rain fall, his chest warm with the feeling of finally having someone to love the rain with. He drifts off, the sound of Eddie's deep, sleeping breaths against his chest, lulling him into a peaceful sleep. And he dreams, of raindrops catching in Eddie's lashes as they dance in the rain, spinning through puddles with mud on their feet and warmth in their hearts.

[serum23nm]

Dream 9/21/2021

...I lived somewhere where they spoke Spanish. Not sure where or when. I looked similar to how I am now, same height, same long hair (but fully black, never dyed). I lived with my aunties and my mom and sisters. They all looked different from my actual family. They were a pale tan. My mother in the dream was much older, with white/grey hair. She was shorter, plumper. My sisters were all about the same height as me, two of them. Long hair, brown, with brown eyes. Did not live with any men. We were in a simple house and the surface of the walls were bumpy. It was basically one big room separated by a wall with a large door shaped opening, rounded at the top. Clothing was plain, but also colorful some days (months/years passed by in the dream).

The dream was pretty much like a life. I was going through the days doing chores, helping my mom and aunties, keeping my siblings safe. Life was disrupted by a foreigner, a male doctor who spoke both Spanish and English. He was tall, paler than my family. He had lighter hair, almost blond, but still brown. He was taller than me by a foot, which was striking since my sisters and I were taller than most men in our community. I don't remember his name, but it was strange to "my" ears, something I couldn't pronounce well. He spoke Spanish to me but the "me" in the dream didn't understand English. I could though, so I knew what he was saying when he didn't want me to hear. That's how I knew I couldn't trust him, that he was a bad person. The "I" in reality informed the "me" in my dream on the decision to reject him.

I don't really want to get into details, but one day, tired of my constant rejections, he came into my family's small clinic. The clinic was very tiny, one room. It was where women who are pregnant come to give birth. There's one small cot and a table where my aunties and mom will help the women through the dire moment. I was the only one in there, cleaning things up. It was very sunny outside, the light streaming through one small window at the side of the building. I felt the moment he stepped inside like cold water down my back.

Anyways, after that day, I lived in fear. My sisters would help me hide from him by warning me when he was seen in the town. I would go to our home and stay with my aunties and my mom. They knew what had happened, but there was nothing we could do. I didn't question that in the dream, but now that I'm awake, I wish I had done something. The "me" in the dream was just trying to avoid remembering what had happened. The knowledge was enough to make me curl up and shake on the floor, but that was useless to everyone. In order to stay sane and still be a help to my family, I just avoided the situation all together.

However, two months later, I realized that I was pregnant. I worked in a clinic for pregnant women, I knew the signs. I also "felt" something, not sure what it was anymore, but the only word that comes to mind is pressure. Pressure in my abdomen. This made my soul even more conflicted. I wanted to get rid of it, but I also wanted to keep it. I think I was of the mind that killing it would be killing a piece of myself, but also I didn't want any memory of that doctor. My mind couldn't reconcile the two needs. So I became ill.

My entire family agreed to keep my condition a secret too, reasoning along the same lines as why they kept my rape secret. It would only bring trouble to us and bring the doctor to our door. We didn't know what to do, in truth, but some of my aunties hoped it would die. My mom wanted it to live. I couldn't decide.

My illness became severe and I wasn't able to move from my bed/pallet, an eventuality that I dreaded. I hated being still or confined to the house. Finally, on a day that's beauty mocked my bed-bound soul, I got up. As soon as I stood, something burst inside me. Blood ran down my legs. I screamed for my sister. She saw me, helped me back on the bed, then ran out of the room. Some of this part of the dream is a blur.

I can't remember how or when, but suddenly there were other women in the room. Strangers. They were nobody I knew, no one from my town. I looked at the opening into the other room and saw my family confined to the other side of our home, kneeling on the floor and praying. In front of them, pacing back and forth, was the doctor. I swear, it felt like my heart stopped in the dream. Like it thumped loudly once, then stopped for too long. He looked over and saw me staring. I breathed in a rush and then screamed at the strange women to not let him touch, not let him near me. One of them came over and patted my head soothingly. She spoke words I couldn't understand. I tried to get up but I couldn't feel my legs. I couldn't feel my hands. Only my head moved back and forth. I could feel my chest area, my stomach even, but not my limbs or pelvic region. Panic can't describe what I felt. He came into the room, yelling at the nurse. "I" couldn't understand, but I could. He was asking the nurse to relieve my stress or something like that. He wanted her to calm me somehow. I have no idea what he wanted, but I was determined to escape. I thrashed around but then the lady who had been calming me grabbed my right hand. She leaned over it and stabbed a needle at the corner of the first line close to my fingertip.

This is another part of the dream that's super real. Everything about this sequence of events stood out vividly. She stuck the needle into a small, rubber point against my finger, only the very tip of it. Though I couldn't move my limbs, I felt the prick of it. The needle was long, about the length of my middle finger. A thin plastic tube was attached to the end. I guess the needle was hollow, because blood started to come into the tube. It slowly went down the curling length of the plastic and my eyes were riveted to it. I didn't notice anything else that was happening at that moment. When the blood reached the end of the tube, a drop of it started to form. Before it could fall, a small brown bowl was placed beneath it. The doctor held it. When I met his eyes over the bowl, my panic returned. I thought he was stealing my blood for some kind of curse on me. I turned my head to stare at the women near my legs, preparing to catch my baby. Apparently, the needle trick worked so well I didn't even notice what was happening. I desperately looked past the doctor to my family but they were all still praying loudly in the other room. I tried to move my hand away but the doctor was gripping my wrist and I still couldn't really feel it. He was talking at me. However, my level of panic had reached a point past comprehension. All I could hear was a ringing in my ears.

What finally broke past that high pitch was the cry of a baby.

Time sped back up.

The doctor's face broke into a joyful smile. My limbs filled with fire and I slapped the bowl of blood away. It hit the doctor and distracted him. I sat up as if I hadn't been paralyzed at all and grabbed my baby from the nurse who held him. He was still attached to me.

The dream jumps into hyperdrive.

I am no longer in my house, but I'm holding onto my son and walking quickly down a shaded walkway. It's high noon, the sun is directly above the ceiling. My baby is sleeping, unaware of his surroundings.

Then I'm in a market, my son on my back in a sling contraption. He’s about a year old now. His coloring is after me, dark brown eyes and black hair, for which I am eternally grateful. He’s lighter skinned, but so am I. His name I can’t recall. He is a quiet child and he listens to me. When I tell him to hush, he does. When I need to carry him for long periods of time, he doesn’t fuss. I love him with my entire being and I know I would die for him. But I intend to live long enough to raise him and teach him to defend himself.

Another few years are gone. We are in a church, Catholic I believe. He is a small man, still only 4 or 5, but so wise. He talks intelligently, asks probing questions. I think we have sheltered in this church for the past few years. I am still taught as a bow, no matter what. I am still on the lookout for the doctor. I avoid large towns. I have gone far away from my home, my family, just to keep him safe. When the doctor smiled at my child’s birth, I knew he would have taken him and I never would have seen my baby again. I still lived in fear of that happening...

The dream ends there. Honestly, there were a lot of missing parts, but I can’t remember it all. I have chosen not to remember the rape , but I might end up just typing it all out. It depends. I think it’s crazy how much I dreamed in a single night. It was like living a memory at some points, but other times were too rushed. I wonder if I should turn this into a novel? Or maybe a novella. What do you think?

[kieranducky]

Alright fellers, here’s the run-down of my punk au (aka this fic)

RDHD, pronounced Road Head: John (vocals), Arthur (guitar), Javier (guitar, bass, and probably keyboard/piano too), Sean (drums) + Kieran is their roadie/driver/mom friend

John and Arthur are childhood friends, who met each other through foster care. John’s father was pretty neglectful, and Arthur was raised by his mother who died when he was young. They knew Sadie because she was around their age and lived in the same neighborhood, and she was one of the starting members of their band but left because of... Plot reasons.

Javier and Arthur are both openly out (Arthur is out as bisexual and Javier identifies as like, generally queer/fluid). Arthur is a very private person when it comes to his personal life and his relationships, and Javier is just a little bit salty because he’s open to talking about his background and identity but no one ever asks him about that stuff.

Everyone has some connection with Dutch, who owns a dive bar where the band started off performing and first picked up traction. He helped all of them out of a difficult situation in some way, so they all feel indebted to him. But he’s also like, a sleazy ex-agent/manager who’s always trying to get them to do lines with him.

And Dutch being an ex-manager: I think he got kicked out of a talent agency for being a sleazeball, and that agency is run by Colm O’Driscoll ;)

Hosea is there too, and he lives with Dutch. He genuinely looks after everyone and tries to steer them in the right direction. Whenever they’re in town he gives them tupperwares full of leftovers and baggies full of toiletries and condoms. He knows Dutch is bad news for them, but they’ve known each other for decades and he’s too deep in love to actually ditch him or directly keep people away from him. They are not in an official, established relationship, but they live together? And might as well be? 

Sean’s dad is in the music industry... Somehow, haha. He’s either another manager or some kind of musician, but he’s an absolutely chaotic, anarchist old Irish man. I think he knew Dutch through the music industry and sent Sean to stay with him so he could go to school, but Dutch directed him towards the band instead. 

Javier is more or less estranged from his family because of his sexuality, and had a really shitty time in between leaving home and being taken in by Dutch. He is definitely the most loyal to Dutch and feels like Dutch saved his life. 

Kieran is a high school dropout who was kicked out by his parents because he couldn’t get a job. Dutch got him a job, and he’s pretty alright at it  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He’s always really cared about animals and wanted to be a veterinarian, but I think he was going through some really bad mental health stuff in his late teens, which was why he wasn’t able to finish school. He definitely takes care of the guys the same way he’d take care of animals, lmao. 

Abigail, Tilly, Mary Beth, Molly, and Karen are all in a band called Girl Dad. They’re all in the same university (Charles and Lenny go there too!) and are in the same sorority or something, with Susan as their house mom (disclaimer: I know nothing about sororities). I accidentally kind of paired them all up with the guys but I... Promise it improves it. I enjoy the drama of relationship webs a lot, especially in this context which is just. Thoroughly chaotic. 

I mean shit like:

- Mary Beth being so, so in love with so many of her friends, but none of them are available to her.

- The fucking romantic tension between Javier and John; John never having paid any thought to the fact that he likes guys before that (despite on more than one occasion being caught sucking dick when he was drunk or high as hell), and Javier not wanting to force him to confront his sexuality before he’s ready.

- A very similar situation between Sean and Kieran; Sean acknowledges that he likes dudes, but has never been open about it with other people, because it “isn’t a big deal” (aka he doesn’t want his quite progressive, but still very Catholic dad finding out about it), and Kieran who is much more experienced and confident in his sexuality but doesn’t stress over relationships nearly as much as Sean does.

- John and Abigail. Yeaaah

- Javier having a thing going with Tilly but a) bi panic and b) very different goals in life that will inevitably not work out

- Arthur and Charles, but it’s the least dramatic thing on this list by a long shot

- Dutch dating Molly but absolutely taking advantage of her to get closer to her band, and her being too young and naive to care

That’s all I can really think of off the top of my head at this point.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

[septembersung]

Hi! I've been following your blog for some time, and was wondering what advice you would give to someone who is most likely going to be a SAHM (partially by choice). What are the best parts? Challenges? Does it get lonely?

I tried to make this short and pithy, but as they say, I lacked the time. So, to make a short story long…

I’ve been a SAHM for just three years now, so I’m not exactly a veteran yet, haha. I feel like most of my advice/whatever is aimed at my own idiosyncratic self’s past mistakes and idiocies, so you may find that none of this is relevant to you. 

The biggest things I’ve had to deal with are self-discipline/motivation and a complete lack of ability to bridge the gap between The Plan and The Reality. There’s a military saying: “No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.” It is amazing how hard that is for me to understand and apply in my daily life. 

The best parts are absolutely: 

1) Being with my kids. No matter how crazy I get, no matter how bad the day goes, I am immersed in my children’s doings and thoughts, and they in mine. They have been entrusted to me to raise well and lead to heaven. It is a privilege and a blessing, an honor and a duty. Intellectually, I understand that many moms/families need or have to work and therefore send their to kids to daycare. Intellectually, I understand that many moms/families cannot homeschool and so send their kids to outside school. (Most of my real life mom friends do work and plan to not homeschool, and looking at their lives, I get it.) Intellectually, I understand that my own SAHM situation is financially precarious and we are still untested in the waters of true homeschooling and I may yet end up doing both those things. But for our family, in my heart, I cannot get my inner self around the conviction that if I were to go back to work and send my kids to daycare, I would be abandoning them to someone else to raise. It tears me up just imagining it. What I’m trying to say is, SAHMing is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and my default state is to take the easy path, but even so, just getting to share the daily living with my kids - to be in their lives - that’s the crowning joy. Even though sometimes I think I’m going to lose my mind. So joy in the really Catholic sense.

2) Being a SAHM means that the work of my life, my “career,” my daily doings and most of the things my thoughts revolve around, are directly related to, involved in, or just are, the stuff of The Good Life, or the Catholic life. In a very real sense, I have the privilege of leading an undivided life: my work is my life and my family. My time and efforts don’t belong to someone else’s whim. So I ought to be really good at this by now? And yet…

Relatedly, it also means that I have - in theory, in seasons - the flexibility to pursue my interests in a way I just wouldn’t with an outside job. (Conversely, this also means there is no calling in sick. Ever.) There’s no way I’d be writing books and reading so much if I had a “real” job. I’m awful at jobs - always have been. I’ve never been able to hold one down for more than a few months. In its way, I suppose being a SAHM is my version of a bohemian artist lifestyle.

My challenges are the “drudgery” and everything that goes with it, like self-discipline and self-motivation and self-denial (read a book or clean the bathroom? Hmmmm.) I hate housework, and that is at least 90% of my job. (Bear in mind though that my oldest is only 3, and in ~6 weeks I’ll have three 3 and under. They keep telling me it gets better; you hit a magic age for the oldest one or two, and a magic number of kids, about 4, and - they say - it actually starts getting easier.) You think you know what it takes to keep a house clean, or how to arrange a cleaning schedule, until you live in your space all the time, and you have a large number of people in a small space, and you’re too morning sick or too pregnant to keep up with your schedule, or your schedule is suddenly made up of nothing but exceptions to the schedule, or you get the perfect cleaning schedule down and realize you’ve left no time for yourself to eat, or take a nap, or actually play with your kids… I’ve tried a lot of different systems. Some of them I haven’t given a fair shot, for one reason or another. But I’m starting, at long last, to get a feel for what needs to be done in general, and what we need done, and how often. But then, I didn’t grow up in a large family (only child here) or in fact doing many chores at all (I was excused most of them due to music practice and similar. Good intentions, bad plan.) My parents are also supernaturally tidy neat freaks and possessions-minimalists, while my own family is, let’s just say, not. So I started at a practical disadvantage. 

It does get lonely. But, I am also incredibly, horrendously bad at making friends and entering into a community, much less keeping up with any kind of a social schedule. So I have my own natural disadvantages along with the way modern society is set up to isolate the SAHM. (Historically speaking, women quite often lived and worked in community, with their husbands working near or at home. We’re just heading out of a marvelous Christmas break where we really got to be a family, on the heels of the hardest fall semester ever where my teacher husband was routinely working 60+ hour weeks. So my perspective is a bit skewed.) Things got better last year in terms of seeing a few friends regularly. But again with the schedule problem, and consistency. Plus I live in a very small town, go to church out of town with a community of other church commuters, and getting to The Big City is a huge budget drain. I did find a little community here that I get to see periodically; and I do have plans and options for the coming year and two years, as we really head into homeschooling. So as my kids become school-aged, it should actually get better. Probably even overwhelming, given how much I value my down time. Online helps to the loneliness thing include some major Catholic mom-blogs, tumblr, even; and there’s always books to read. 

BOOKS. Do yourself a favor, and get yourself a copy of A Mother’s Rule of Life. You won’t regret it.

There’s good information and a different scheduling approach, with very useful immediate tips, in Large Family Logistics, but the spirituality is hardcore Protestant. Not that that can’t be worth reading, but for the whole package, start with A Mother’s Rule of Life.

Practical help online: Like Mother Like Daughter. “Auntie Leila” is a delight to read. And there’s free printables (which I’ve never actually used, but, maybe someday.)

Standard disclaimer that I don’t necessarily agree with or endorse 100% of anything you’ll find in these books or blogs, just that I like them in general and they’ve been helpful to me in one way or another. 

One of the most helpful things you can do, heading into this, is to know your own weaknesses and have some idea of how to combat them. They will be pressed, exposed, magnified, in ways you can’t imagine. Another most helpful thing: be able to convince yourself, on a deep down level, that everything is temporary. Because it is. So temporary. So passing. It’s hard to believe, when things really suck, and it’s hard to remember, when you have three fantastic weeks of family-oriented vacation, that schedules and needs and to-do lists and everything just… keeps revolving. What I’m discovering - and I’ve done more of this discovering in the past, say, twelve months, than I did in the rest of my life combined - is that I’m the most successful at Doing It Right when I have some kind of solid skeleton of dos and expectations that is flexible enough to blow with the wind without falling over, but that can be dressed up or down according to the needs of the moment. 

Aha - short and pithy - it came to me at last. The top three SAHM virtues, from my experience: Patience. Prudence. Perseverance. 

I just kind of fell into SAHMing. Heck, I just kind of “fell” into my reversion and having kids - divine providence had to practically push me into Husband’s arms. I’m kind of dense that way. So this has been a complete world-upside-down series of years for me. But I would not trade it for anything. I would choose it all again. It’s hard, and it’s dirty, and everything about modern life makes it as uncomfortable as possible (except for dishwashers, God bless their inventor,) but I want to encourage more women to consider it and give it a real gung-ho chance. It’s one of the most overlooked opportunities-of-a-lifetime ever.

[silentwalrus1]

girlbookwrm here too impatient to log in properly. i, for one, would love to hear commentary on the entirety of ITHLYN and S&S for a start but like, ain't nobody got time for that. So could you do ITHLYN Chapter 8 -- the memories of Winnie that start with "There's the face. High forehead, wild hair, brown eyes..." and go through "...a biblical sort of look on his face." Honestly, "biblical sort of look?" Winnie's EVERYTHING? i love this whole section to death. Thanks!!

So this whole thing was part of me reverse-engineering the character of bucky barnes to my satisfaction. What circumstances shaped him to be how he is? What made bucky like that? He’s a person who cares deeply in a respectful and emotionally intelligent way, and his best friend is steve rogers. How the hell did that happen? His family, obviously.

This got long so more below the cut:

I decided both steve and bucky’s parents would be positioned on the fringes of their communities, partly through their own choices and actions. Sarah rogers is a catholic widow with Opinions About Religion. George barnes is an amiable but not very bright second-gen irish mechanic who works on cars for the mob, aka his family. Winifred barnes - born Freyde Frenkel, changed her name when her family immigrated when she was fourteen - is a first generation polish jew and married for love outside of her community. in ITHLYN both steve and bucky come from pretty rebellious families; sarah and winifred are actually fairly similar people - both very angry, very aggressive personalities - and probably had an awkward kind of friendship. they would have been much closer only a) time/schedule and b) communication and background was kind of in the way; as it was they just knew they approved of each other + each other’s children and had each other over for dinner when they could. 

ITHLYN Bucky meets steve when he’s being bullied, as his family at that point is living in an area that combines and concentrates several unfortunate factors that focus on the fact that bucky is socially isolated & targeted for not belonging to any local community. Bucky, at this time, is like two feet tall with a mile-high forehead and looks like his hair is an enormous two-dollar toupee, which doesn’t help his popularity any. He’s a gently brought up child with no idea how to handle harassment - as most kids don’t - and so he’s not having the best time of it. And then along comes steve, fellow fucked-up looking shortass, and shows bucky the most directly effective way he’s ever seen to end abuse: by hitting it with a brick.

Naturally, bucky goes: yes. This one.  

And he goes home and tells his mom, and winifired is like god fucking damn it i can’t just wallop a bunch of eight year olds into the hospital no matter how evil they are, so i’ll just go and make their mothers’ lives hell until they rein in their disgusting little brats themselves. And in the meantime my son will learn awkward punching from my husband and back-alley brawling from this little - what’s his name. steve? fine. come inside, steve, you’re going to eat your weight in steak dinner. You kids need any more bricks?

So steve n bucky become frands.

Then the barnes family moves closer to the other barneses, where bucky has cousins his age and as such automatic backup, and also starts going to steve’s school, and hits his growth spurt which makes him big and handsome and fixes a lot of his popularity problems. In the meantime he learns from steve’s short-term problem-solving methods and his mother’s long-term ones, and by the time we see him in catfa he’s learned to operate more or less perfectly in a way that shields him from physical and social violence. But his best friend is still steve, so hell yeah he’s gonna wade into fights if he has to.

I’m writing more about winifred’s situation in the sequel, so if you want to wait and read it there, stop reading here.

In ITHLYN, Winifred is dealing with the classic american immigrant problem: you came here for a better life. So far it looks like most of the better life will have to be reserved for your children. how do you optimize your child’s chances of success? How do you up their odds? What do you give them? What do you keep away? How do you raise them to be proud of who and what they are while also teaching them that “be yourself” can be and often is lethal advice?

Based on my own experiences and the canon fact that bucky got named “james buchanan”, i extrapolated from there: winifred decided her son would be an american. He’d have an american name, an american life, and he wouldn’t go through what she and her relatives did and he wouldn’t have any of the disadvantages she had. He would fit in everywhere and no door would be closed to him because of anything like his name or his looks or his family. Only life doesn’t work like that, and that scene in ITHLYN where winifred realizes that her son is being harassed at least partly because of his heritage, she also realizes that the careful strategy of sanitization she’s been doing does not work. If you try your best to fit in and get hit anyway, why bother? Why waste the energy? She wants her son to stand tall and be proud of himself just as much as she wants him to survive, and this is not the way to build pride. She takes immediate steps to resolve the situation, and later names her younger children notably jewish names - that incident of realization with bucky is what prompts winifred to reconcile with her community & eventually her faith and personal identity.

(can you tell i fell deep down this rabbithole.)

[aletterat24]

A few statements of many

Was I loved?

Months ago, I read a book titled, "Girls Like Us," and it regarded the topic of sex trafficking. I had somewhat heard about the topic before, but didn't quite know much about it. I learned more, but what stood out to me the most from the very beginning of the book was constant theme of lack of familial love in the girls' lives. In order for such conditions to come about, often there was a lack of true love in the lives of the girls. Believe it or not, it was the first time that I had been more directly struck with the reality of the fact that many people come from loveless families. It presented a very stark reality, one that I rarely ever thought about.

I believe I've grown up being naive. I also have a natural tendency to see others through forgiving eyes that are inclined to assume positively of others' characters. That is often what good people do, people who know that they, themselves, are pure on the inside. We judge others like we judge ourselves. After all, aren't others like us?

I believe that it is human nature for humans to view others like they view themselves, until eventually stirred in some way to not do so. Consequently, good people may be more apt to assume well of others, with not so good or no good people assuming likewise, being therefore more guarded and less easily trustful than their better-hearted counterparts. The trait of assuming well of others is one that has been a large part of my personality since childhood. I sometimes assumed others were nicer than they were until shown otherwise, and much went unnoticed by me. Despite my being sensitive, I also let a lot of things that were mean-mannered roll of my back.

So again, was I loved?

I asked this question because currently, I don't have anyone in my life. I've always been introverted, but very kind to others. I believe that my introverted nature is something that should have been known about and understood by family. I once told my mother that I didn't feel like anyone from our family really reached out to me, and she said that it's my fault. I don't speak to them, so why would they speak to me? If I had a family member as myself and who was receptive to communication, then it would be no issue to reach out here and there, her shyness aside. It's not a difficult thing to do. I can imagine myself as the older aunt or cousin, and I would love to pour into my family. I've always had a big heart. I love showing love to others and always have desired to contribute to the lives of others.

Sometimes, my family members have told me that they have loved me, and I'm very appreciative to those who have done so enough times (and with enough sincerity) for me to know that they do mean it, at least at the end of the day. I recognize these things and take these things to heart. Certain cousins come to mind, of which I also recognize their own personalities and how they show love. We don't have to speak often or really at all. For them, I would say that things are okay. Things are as okay as they were able to be in these circumstances. However, with others, I don't believe that some things are okay. I question their love and have reason to do so.

When I read the book mentioned earlier, I remember thinking this thought: that my family overall have underestimated the lack of love in the world and the lack of familial love in the world. They underestimate the fact that many people truly go unloved in their families. I think an underestimation has occurred. Otherwise, I believe that some things would have been very different and would be very different today in some of what has happened to me and also in their responses.

Assuming underestimation vs. simple lack of care is just that: an assumption. There I go again in assuming better of situations that may truly be as bad as they seem to be in regards to others' lack of care and actual lack of love. It's a sad thing to contemplate. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. I'd rather know for certain the answer. Am I loved? Am I not loved? It's better to know the answer to that particular question. It makes life and life's decisions easier. It prevents some things caused by the lack of knowledge and confusion thereof.

I really cannot pretend, at this point in time, to not know the answer. I do. If others knew the true reality of lack of familiar love or at least true familial love, then they would too know the answer. With some of what I've gone through in mind, that makes me really uncomfortable. Lack of love in my life has been too on display, manipulated and used. It's too personal of a thing to have been on display, but moreover, shown by strangers as being on display, as being known by them, as being a thing taken advantage of.

You don't show, "I know that you're not loved" to someone's face through evil actions taking advantage of the lack of love. That's something that you don't act like you know. You have enough decency to not throw it in someone's face through the things you do, by how you take advantage of them and the lack of love. Where I live, my environment and city (long story short) some people are really indecent. In the world, there are many indecent people.

In the end, some of the statements of many regarding what I've gone through have been, "I know you're not loved. I know you weren't cherished. I know you weren't considered beautiful or valuable. I know this. I know that - and I'm taking advantage of it. We're taking advantage of it." I've gone through some things that suggest lack of love and that speak these statements aloud silently.

Aside from everything I've gone through and all of the other ways I feel, this alone could really break my spirit. I've gone through some things too wrong to have gone through at all. I go through some things that should not be happening. These are the statements of many.

Have you ever had random people look you in your face, speaking volumes of words unsaid regarding things they should not know at all, let alone show you to your face? I have. It's happened too often and without any care at all, also often shown with attitudes that suggest that others can seem angry with me for simply existing, with attitudes that leave me questioning "Is there a problem?" It's as though I could not have been black, female, alive, here and in this body. Here and in this place. In this body. Now. At all.

Somewhere better for me

In 1 week exactly, I celebrate a birthday-and a pretty big one, I may add. It's supposed to be like...a really big deal. Who am I going to celebrate with?

Throughout grade school, I attended catholic schools, transferring to a catholic high school/junior high in 7th grade. I literally would make no friends. With a high gpa and knowing that I had a lot to offer in many ways, did it bother me? It honestly didn't. I grew to also become comfortable, for the most part, so when certain people (who actually called themselves having my best interest in mind) tried to show me that the school overall was quite racist, I didn't really take a lot of heed. I didn't see a lot of that, but it is to be assumed that a lot of racism surrounded me. It's not that I didn't care about racism, I was just naive and also had not dealt with many things directly. I was accustomed to the school environment and similar environments. As long as I did what I was there to do and had it all to show at the end of the day on my transcript, people didn't phase me. However, I do also believe that it was known well enough, at least amongst my own class, that I was quiet and introverted, perhaps sensitive and fragile also. So, I didn't deal with a lot directly or to my face. I was also a kind person. I don't think that could be denied, so there wasn't much reason to be particularly mean to my face. Now granted, some people were; but for whatever reasons, I was able to ignore.

Eventually early in my junior year, I'd transfer. I didn't make friends at the new school, a large public school. However, I've always remained a nice person. I also dealt with culture shock. Bullying (and some of that happened) was so much more open and in your face here, particularly amongst some of the black populations. It was my first time dealing with that and it kind of traumatized me. I didn't really know how to handle it. Ultimately, I didn't fret much over not having friends in high school because I knew that there was life thereafter. There was more life to live. My aunt and mom once said that in order to have friends, I had to show myself as friendly, saying so as though my lack of friends had to do with me. I don't believe that anyone had a reason to not think I was friendly. I think that a lot of people already had their own friends. I think I didn't quite fit anywhere and didn't know where to begin. I think many didn't care about my friendship (which is huge factor). I think a lot of others weren't necessarily nice at either school, at least not to me. It simply is the reality of the situation.

College would not go as planned at all or anywhere near how it could have gone for me, and I'd go through some really serious things. There also was not much opportunity for friendship.

In the end, I would be left isolated and alone.

I remember at my high school graduation, a kid who I had never spoken to before but who had apparently been mean regarding me with his friends, after realizing that I wasn't what he assumed, said "This is Texas," looking at me in a way that showed that a former, negative opinion or assumption regarding me was changing based on now having actually spoken to me and hinting truly at the fact that the indirect (in his case) bullying that had taken place was a result of racism, despite the fact that I believe that a lot of it occurred amongst black people, a lot of whom he was friends with -- the populars. He was a popular. I saw myself as just the quiet girl who didn't know anyone. Some things did not fit at all regarding me and my experience. It made me regret having done a short stint on the dance team my senior year with choreo that was often not for me (and I got injured before actually doing the dance that I liked). Even though I had taken classes for three years in school and wasn't a total novice or anything, I had nerves, was unaccustomed to/not comfortable with certain styles, and it just overall wasn't the place to do it. I say this because it also got me more attention than desired, but I never would have assumed that would happen being only 1 girl of about 50. It didn't make sense.  Regardless, even though some the guy's friends who were mean were black (and much was realized this day and other days), he still made the "This is Texas" comment, only after hearing my voice, hearing me talk and so forth. What did he (or rather, they) assume about me and why? Regardless, his hinting and telling demeanor showed something that I don't think his black friends understood as well as I did--or maybe they just did not care.

People say that colorism amongst blacks, not just racism from whites, is worse in the south. Is it true? I'm afraid of what all surrounds me that I simply had not been aware of. It changes perspective regarding much and would have already done so years ago. --

Sometimes when I talk, strangers ask me, "Are you from California." "You're from the city. New York?"

It used to surprise me when I first began getting asked that. I get California the most. I don't know why. Ultimately, I simply suppose I sound "Northern," not stereotypically "Southern" (and thank goodness, right? I mean...)

Regardless, no, I'm not from such places or the likes of them.  I do wish, though.

I like it when people assume I'm from somewhere else and ask me if I'm from somewhere that I've never been before, somewhere very different and somewhere I'd rather be. Somewhere better for me.

I'm not from Dallas or Houston, and I feel like when people think of Texas, particularly black populations in Texas, they think of those places. There's a big church in Dallas that makes it seem like there's so many black people in Dallas (as there'd have to be in order to fill up the church). However, whenever I've been, it's as though that's really not true, actually. It's the opposite. I got curious and looked up what other people could think and came across a really interesting article that stated that many young, black professionals don't feel at home there or like it presents much opportunity for experiencing things related to black culture or meeting black people, things like that. It was mentioned that some black people go to the grocery store and feel like they never see any other black people there. I believe that is how I would feel, but clearly some things witnessed or experienced depend on the area. Regardless, it stated that many young, black professionals from there often desire to move to places like Atlanta, both for more job opportunities, particularly amongst black people, and for personal enrichment and fulfillment. I really don't like when people assume otherwise regarding places they have never been to; but, I know that with Texas, many people do so ignorantly. It never had to matter, but assumptions such as that did end up mattering in my life. That is because opportunity would be assumed where opportunity was not as present, in several different ways, as assumed.

With that being said, there is more opportunity in Dallas than where I live. I live about an hour and a half away from Dallas (4 hours from Houston). I don't drive on the freeway and also don't have my own car, so I flat out don't go to Dallas, but they do have dance studios, museums and so forth. There's even a black museum and a black dance studio. I'll never go, but Dallas does have more to offer in terms of fulfillment, busying oneself, getting involved in more artistic things and so forth. I'd love to be able to take adult dance classes of different varieties at some of the different studios (There's about 3-4 studios I'd want to take classes from), but it's too far of a drive. I'm simply not from there. That's not where I live, and it's far. All in all, I feel opportunity of different sorts lie elsewhere, far from me, maybe in several different adjacent cities, but not this one. I'd have to venture farther than what's comfortable to venture. So, opportunity also to meet others is limited. However, others aside, opportunity just for personal fulfillment is limited. I want to take acting classes, visit museums, see lots of culture. I can't. It's something that many people from many cities could not understand.

My aloneness a complicated mix of several factors and then some -- all out of my control. I feel as though I owe it to myself to speak.

I thought that some circumstances would be very different at this point in time, but instead...

Simply, instead.

I sighed and didn't know what else to say.

I will simply say that this birthday, I'll shed tears. I'm very saddened. I feel many emotions such as disappointment, hurt. Mostly disappointment. I feel let down, by no one in particular, but just overall.

This is an aspect of my story. There's so many words waiting to be said, having been said. Words that I may never say There's too many words.

There's been so many aspects of my story. The story is too long. Its words are endless now, but when I can, sometimes I attempt to speak in fragments and portions.

I currently don't know what else to say.

[nothingman]

Following an executive order signed late Friday, President Donald Trump on Saturday launched a sweeping attack on the travel rights of individuals from more than a half-dozen Muslim-majority countries, turning away travelers at multiple U.S. airports and leaving others stranded without answers — and without hope — across the world.

Trump’s order triggered waves of outrage and condemnation at home and abroad, prompting thousands of protesters to flood several American airports and ultimately culminating in a stay issued by a federal district judge in New York City on the deportation of people who were being detained by immigration officials. Similar stays were issued by judges in Washington state, Massachusetts, and Virginia.

The administration’s assault on civil liberties explicitly targeted the world’s most vulnerable populations — refugees and asylum seekers fleeing devastating wars — as well as young people with student visas pursuing an education in the United States, green card holders with deep roots in the country, and a number of citizens of countries not included in the ban. It also impacted American children traveling with, or waiting to meet, their non-citizen parents.

With an estimated 500,000 people in the crosshairs, Trump’s order was carried out swiftly and sowed confusion among the nation’s immigration and homeland security agencies — which were excluded from the drafting process and were scrambling to understand how to implement it, according to media reports and two government officials who spoke to The Intercept.

“We are violating international law.”

Days before the executive order was signed, reports began to emerge that valid visa holders were suddenly being prevented from re-entering the country after taking trips abroad. A senior U.S. immigration official, who asked not to be identified for fear of retaliation, confirmed to The Intercept that the rash of unusual student visa revocations began roughly a week before the official order was signed.

Many of the stories the official heard about were anecdotal. Others, however, the official was able to review via internal Department of Homeland Security monitoring systems. While visas are revoked every day with little explanation afforded to those affected, the backgrounds of the individuals in these cases raised no red flags, the official said. On the contrary, the impacted individuals whose files the official reviewed included a young mother of a U.S. citizen child and students at some of the nation’s top universities who had been publicly recognized for their outstanding achievement. These students had already undergone rigorous U.S. government vetting before being admitted to the country, and had only traveled abroad briefly over their winter break.

The Intercept has independently verified two of these stories by speaking to those denied entry, who asked that their names not be used because they are attempting to appeal the decisions.

“The visa terminations struck me as unusual given that in the cases that I observed, nearly all of them had significant presence in the United States before the ban,” the official told The Intercept. “More disturbing, in some cases the individuals were allowed to board flights for the United States not knowing their visas had been terminated. They were only informed when they attempted to use their visas to seek admission and were denied. Even though they were ignorant of the termination, they were still charged with violating U.S. immigration law and given a five-year ban to future admission.”

By the time Trump traveled to the Department of Homeland Security to trumpet the signing of his first anti-immigrant executive order Wednesday, the immigration official had personally reviewed four visa revocation cases that seemed to be out of the ordinary. In addition to young people with passports belonging to countries later targeted in Trump’s executive order, at least two were traveling on Jordanian passports. All were denied entry to the United States. In one case, the visa of an Ivy League medical student was revoked by Customs and Border Protection while he was in the air from a European layover to the U.S.

It’s unclear whether the visa revocations last week were related to the subsequent ban. “But the timing of the revocations indicates that CBP supervisors felt sufficiently empowered to use their discretion to deny admission and cancel the visas in these cases,” the immigration official said.

The students repatriated earlier this week were also charged with violating U.S. immigration law — despite their valid visas — much in the same manner as some of those who were denied entry on Saturday, after the ban kicked in.

In another case the immigration official reviewed, a Syrian woman traveling to the U.S. from a third country on Saturday was denied entry and told she had to return to her port of origin. After consulting immigration attorneys volunteering at the airport, the woman — along with several other students, tourists, and business visitors — formally requested “humanitarian parole,” which allows temporary entry in emergency situations. When they were all denied that, she requested asylum, explaining that she did not have residency in the third country she had flown from and feared returning to Syria.

She was told she was not eligible to request asylum and that she had no choice but to return to her airport of origin, and then was walked to her gate. A lawyer she had briefly been able to communicate with told the immigration official that the woman was later made to sign a paper stating that she understood she had violated immigration law.

“A bedrock of refugee and asylum law is the concept of non-refoulement — not returning an individual to a place where they will be harmed,” the immigration official told The Intercept. Under international law, the United States is required to screen applicants to ensure they will not face persecution if returned to their countries, a process known as “credible fear screening.”

“Asylum law requires CBP officers to affirmatively ask if an applicant fears return when placing them into expedited removal,” the immigration official said. “By pressuring them to simply get on a plane without going into formal removal proceedings, they are violating our obligations under the refugee convention.”

“We are violating international law.”

“We really are still learning the impact of the order.”

Questions, fear, and confusion ran deep on Saturday — not only among those directly impacted by the ban but also by those trying to help them. “We are in the same boat as everyone else trying to determine and understand the meaning of the provisions in the executive order,” said Steve Letourneau, CEO of the Catholic Charities Maine Refugee and Immigration Services, the primary provider of refugee resettlement services in the state. “We really are still learning the impact of the order.”

Refugee and immigrant advocates were not the only ones scrambling to cope with the impact of the order — many immigration officials tasked with enforcing it were also at a loss. On Saturday, reports emerged that the Trump administration denied the Department of Homeland Security and Department of Justice input on the drafting of the order. While the visa revocations described by the immigration official we interviewed suggest that some CBP officials had indications of what was coming, there were also reports that even among career immigration and State Department officials, “nobody has any idea what is going on,” NBC News reported.

A State Department official confirmed this account to The Intercept. “De facto, we were not consulted, not how we’d normally be consulted. We had less than a day to review vague details,” said the official, who asked not to be identified for fear of retaliation. “This normally takes weeks of conversation. This EO took hours, and we never, never saw the final draft.”

“The ban took everyone by surprise,” the official added. “We’ve known things were in the works all week, but have basically been in the dark.”

“We honestly don’t know what is going to happen,” said the immigration official. “The EOs are extremely vague and some of our talk is based upon worst case scenarios. We have heard rumors coming from upper DHS echelons, but nothing concrete.”

The enormity of the executive order — slated to affect hundreds of thousands of people as well as severely impact the United States’ relationships with several countries — seemed to indicate it was written with little appreciation of the workings of the system it sought to undo.

“I think the government hasn’t had a full chance to think about this,” said Judge Ann Donnelly, who issued an emergency stay in response to a lawsuit filed by the ACLU and other organizations and ordered the government to provide a list of names of the people affected. That stay — the first win in what will inevitably be many legal battles to come — only applies to people currently in the United States or in transit to the country.

“She has her visa, she has everything. We even paid for her green card to come here.”

While reports multiplied of airport detentions and forced repatriations, so too did stories of panic and heartbreak among families who found themselves suddenly separated and desperate for information on when they’d be able to see their loved ones again.

Anfal Hussain was among the worried and the waiting pacing the terminals at JFK airport in New York City as the implications of Trump’s order became increasingly clear. “It’s my mom,” Hussain told The Intercept, explaining that her mother had flown from Iraq to join her daughters in the U.S. that morning. “She was in the air when Trump was like, ‘No one is allowed to visit the United States,’” Hussain said. “She has her visa, she has everything. We even paid for her green card to come here. And we’re both citizens, me and my sister.”

Hussain said her sister was able to speak to their mother briefly after she landed Saturday morning. She was crying and scared, Hussain said. “She doesn’t really speak English,” she added, and it was her first time traveling to the U.S. Hussain explained that her mother’s husband had passed away recently and she had no one left in Baghdad, a city increasingly riven by violence nearly a decade and a half after the U.S. invasion.

“She wanted to be with us,” Hussain said. “She wanted to be with her daughters.”

As the wide-ranging scope of the executive order became clear, immigration attorneys and advocates, as well as universities, issued warnings to citizens of the banned countries not to leave the United States. CLEAR, a New York-based group that is offering free legal advice to those impacted by the ban, circulated a fact sheet explaining how people in the country on different immigration statuses would be impacted if they left. It also warned green card holders denied entry not to sign any forms at the border abandoning their permanent residency.

But even as protesters in airports across the country broke into jubilation at the news of the stay, some people at those airports continued to be denied entry and, in some cases, were still threatened with forcible removal.

Our video report from Los Angeles International Airport.

Although DHS issued a statement saying it would comply with the court orders, at Los Angeles International Airport, Sara Yarjani, an Iranian citizen, was told by CBP officials she had to board a flight to Copenhagen, despite the nationwide stay and against the protests of lawyers and two U.S. congresswomen who were present. The representatives, Rep. Judy Chu and Rep. Nanette Barragan, asked over the phone to meet with CBP officials, who refused. When asked who they were reporting to, the officials said “Donald J. Trump,” then hung up on them.

The Intercept was not able to confirm whether Yarjani was on the flight when it took off or whether she remained detained at the airport.

While nationals of seven countries — Iraq, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen — have been targeted for exclusion so far, lawyers say that number could soon increase. Trump’s order calls for a 30-day review period in which the secretary of state and the director of national intelligence will compile “information needed for adjudications and a list of countries that do not provide adequate information.”

“The executive order is drafted in a manner that anticipates the extension of the ban. It’s clear that the White House expects that this is going to affect more people and more countries going forward,” Gadeir Abbas, a Washington, D.C.-based civil rights attorney, told The Intercept. “There is a lot of ambiguity in the language used in the order — and executive power thrives on ambiguity.”

A section of the order also calls for the suspension of visas and “other immigration benefits” to nationals of targeted countries. Abbas said this reference to non-visa immigration benefits indicates a likely intention on the part of the Trump administration to target green card holders already in the United States.

“The changes in this order are not limited to border crossings. The text indicates that restrictions can also apply to immigration benefits such as green card renewal for those who are already inside the country,” Abbas said. “You could be a green card holder for 20 years and be prevented from renewing your documents — this is something that would impact a huge number of people.”

On Saturday, the State Department also confirmed that dual nationals of other countries would be subject to the ban on entry. A number of dual Iranian-Canadian citizens have already been prevented from boarding flights into the United States or were sent back after landing there, The Intercept has learned.

But while there are no official accounts on the number of people impacted who were traveling when the ban took effect, the impact on those temporarily outside the country is likely exponentially larger. The stay does not apply to them, and it’s unclear how many people were stranded outside the country after their visas and green cards were suddenly revoked.

A Texas resident named Stephanie Felten who contacted The Intercept said that her sister-in-law, an Iranian green card holder who has lived in Chicago for over a decade, was stranded in Iran after traveling there last week to visit family. With her in Iran is her 3-year-old daughter, an American citizen, who now has no way to return to the United States with her mother. Iran has promised a reciprocal ban on American citizens traveling there, effectively making it impossible for the child to see her father or the rest of her family.

“Nobody is providing any answers right now,” said Felten. “We’re just trying to confirm what we’re hearing. You can read the executive order and try to make determinations, but then news breaks that even people that are dual citizens are being turned away. Everyone is unsure where to turn.”

“My family have become refugees from my country.”

  Have you been affected by President Trump’s travel ban? Do you know someone who has been turned away while attempting to return to the United States? The Intercept wants to hear your story. Please write to our reporters.

If you are a federal employee working in immigration you can contact us anonymously via SecureDrop. Instructions here: http://ift.tt/2jcySj2

Lynn Dombek, Spencer Woodman, and Leighton Woodhouse contributed reporting to this article.

Top photo: A woman greets her mother after she arrived from Dubai on Emirates Flight 203 at John F. Kennedy International Airport in Queens, New York, on Jan. 28, 2017.

The post Trump’s Muslim Ban Triggers Chaos, Heartbreak, and Resistance appeared first on The Intercept.

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