#avoiding federal tax

[senadimell]

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[renegadetalk-fm]

War Room Breaking! Hunter Biden Pleads Guilty in Federal Tax Case to Avoid Witness Testimony into the Biden Crime Family

[mostlysignssomeportents]

The one weird monopoly trick that gave us Walmart and Amazon and killed Main Street

I'm coming to BURNING MAN! On TUESDAY (Aug 27) at 1PM, I'm giving a talk called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE!" at PALENQUE NORTE (7&E). On WEDNESDAY (Aug 28) at NOON, I'm doing a "Talking Caterpillar" Q&A at LIMINAL LABS (830&C).

Walmart didn't just happen. The rise of Walmart – and Amazon, its online successor – was the result of a specific policy choice, the decision by the Reagan administration not to enforce a key antitrust law. Walmart may have been founded by Sam Walton, but its success (and the demise of the American Main Street) are down to Reaganomics.

The law that Reagan neutered? The Robinson-Patman Act, a very boring-sounding law that makes it illegal for powerful companies (like Walmart) to demand preferential pricing from their suppliers (farmers, packaged goods makers, meat producers, etc). The idea here is straightforward. A company like Walmart is a powerful buyer (a "monopsonist" – compare with "monopolist," a powerful seller). That means that they can demand deep discounts from suppliers. Smaller stores – the mom and pop store on your Main Street – don't have the clout to demand those discounts. Worse, because those buyers are weak, the sellers – packaged goods companies, agribusiness cartels, Big Meat – can actually charge them more to make up for the losses they're taking in selling below cost to Walmart.

Reagan ordered his antitrust cops to stop enforcing Robinson-Patman, which was a huge giveaway to big business. Of course, that's not how Reagan framed it: He called Robinson-Patman a declaration of "war on low prices," because it prevented big companies from using their buying power to squeeze huge discounts. Reagan's court sorcerers/economists asserted that if Walmart could get goods at lower prices, they would sell goods at lower prices.

Which was true…up to a point. Because preferential discounting (offering better discounts to bigger customers) creates a structural advantage over smaller businesses, it meant that big box stores would eventually eliminate virtually all of their smaller competitors. That's exactly what happened: downtowns withered, suburban big boxes grew. Spending that would have formerly stayed in the community was whisked away to corporate headquarters. These corporate HQs were inevitably located in "onshore-offshore" tax haven states, meaning they were barely taxed at the state level. That left plenty of money in these big companies' coffers to spend on funny accountants who'd help them avoid federal taxes, too. That's another structural advantage the big box stores had over the mom-and-pops: not only did they get their inventory at below-cost discounts, they didn't have to pay tax on the profits, either.

MBA programs actually teach this as a strategy to pursue: they usually refer to Amazon's "flywheel" where lower prices bring in more customers which allows them to demand even lower prices:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BaSwWYemLek

You might have heard about rural and inner-city "food deserts," where all the independent grocery stores have shuttered, leaving behind nothing but dollar stores? These are the direct product of the decision not to enforce Robinson-Patman. Dollar stores target working class neighborhoods with functional, beloved local grocers. They open multiple dollar stores nearby (nearly all the dollar stores you see are owned by one of two conglomerates, no matter what the sign over the door says). They price goods below cost and pay for high levels of staffing, draining business off the community grocery store until it collapses. Then, all the dollar stores except one close and the remaining store fires most of its staff (working at a dollar store is incredibly dangerous, thanks to low staffing levels that make them easy targets for armed robbers). Then, they jack up prices, selling goods in "cheater" sizes that are smaller than the normal retail packaging, and which are only made available to large dollar store conglomerates:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/27/walmarts-jackals/#cheater-sizes

Writing in The American Prospect, Max M Miller and Bryce Tuttle1 – a current and a former staffer for FTC Commissioner Alvaro Bedoya – write about the long shadow cast by Reagan's decision to put Robinson-Patman in mothballs:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-08-13-stopping-excessive-market-power-monopoly/

They tell the story of Robinson-Patman's origins in 1936, when A&P was using preferential discounts to destroy the independent grocery sector and endanger the American food system. A&P didn't just demand preferential discounts from its suppliers; it also charged them a fortune to be displayed on its shelves, an early version of Amazon's $38b/year payola system:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

They point out that Robinson-Patman didn't really need to be enacted; America already had an antitrust law that banned this conduct: section 2 of the the Clayton Act, which was passed in 1914. But for decades, the US courts refused to interpret the Clayton Act according to its plain meaning, with judges tying themselves in knots to insist that the law couldn't possibly mean what it said. Robinson-Patman was one of a series of antitrust laws that Congress passed in a bid to explain in words so small even federal judges could understand them that the purpose of American antitrust law was to keep corporations weak:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Both the Clayton Act and Robinson-Patman reject the argument that it's OK to let monopolies form and come to dominate critical sectors of the American economy based on the theoretical possibility that this will lead to lower prices. They reject this idea first as a legal matter. We don't let giant corporations victimize small businesses and their suppliers just because that might help someone else.

Beyond this, there's the realpolitik of monopoly. Yes, companies could pass lower costs on to customers, but will they? Look at Amazon: the company takes $0.45-$0.51 out of every dollar that its sellers earn, and requires them to offer their lowest price on Amazon. No one has a 45-51% margin, so every seller jacks up their prices on Amazon, but you don't notice it, because Amazon forces them to jack up prices everywhere else:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/01/managerial-discretion/#junk-fees

The Robinson-Patman Act did important work, and its absence led to many of the horribles we're living through today. This week on his Peoples & Things podcast, Lee Vinsel talked with Benjamin Waterhouse about his new book, One Day I’ll Work for Myself: The Dream and Delusion That Conquered America:

https://athenaeum.vt.domains/peoplesandthings/2024/08/12/78-benjamin-c-waterhouse-on-one-day-ill-work-for-myself-the-dream-and-delusion-that-conquered-america/

Towards the end of the discussion, Vinsel and Waterhouse turn to Robinson-Patman, its author, Wright Patman, and the politics of small business in America. They point out – correctly – that Wright Patman was something of a creep, a "Dixiecrat" (southern Democrat) who was either an ideological segregationist or someone who didn't mind supporting segregation irrespective of his beliefs.

That's a valid critique of Wright Patman, but it's got little bearing on the substance and history of the law that bears his name, the Robinson-Patman Act. Vinsel and Waterhouse get into that as well, and while they made some good points that I wholeheartedly agreed with, I fiercely disagree with the conclusion they drew from these points.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out (again, correctly) that small businesses have a long history of supporting reactionary causes and attacking workers' rights – associations of small businesses, small women-owned business, and small minority-owned businesses were all in on opposition to minimum wages and other key labor causes.

But while this is all true, that doesn't make Robinson-Patman a reactionary law, or bad for workers. The point of protecting small businesses from the predatory practices of large firms is to maintain an American economy where business can't trump workers or government. Large companies are literally ungovernable: they have gigantic war-chests they can spend lobbying governments and corrupting the political process, and concentrated sectors find it comparatively easy to come together to decide on a single lobbying position and then make it reality.

As Vinsel and Waterhouse discuss, US big business has traditionally hated small business. They recount a notorious and telling anaecdote about the editor of the Chamber of Commerce magazine asking his boss if he could include coverage of small businesses, given the many small business owners who belonged to the Chamber, only to be told, "Over my dead body." Why did – why does – big business hate small business so much? Because small businesses wreck the game. If they are included in hearings, notices of inquiry, or just given a vote on what the Chamber of Commerce will lobby for with their membership dollars, they will ask for things that break with the big business lobbying consensus.

That's why we should like small business. Not because small business owners are incapable of being petty tyrants, but because whatever else, they will be petty. They won't be able to hire million-dollar-a-month union-busting law-firms, they won't be able to bribe Congress to pass favorable laws, they can't capture their regulators with juicy offers of sweet jobs after their government service ends.

Vinsel and Waterhouse point out that many large firms emerged during the era in which Robinson-Patman was in force, but that misunderstands the purpose of Robinson-Patman: it wasn't designed to prevent any large businesses from emerging. There are some capital-intensive sectors (say, chip fabrication) where the minimum size for doing anything is pretty damned big.

As Miller and Tuttle write:

The goal of RPA was not to create a permanent Jeffersonian agrarian republic of exclusively small businesses. It was to preserve a diverse economy of big and small businesses. Congress recognized that the needs of communities and people—whether in their role as consumers, business owners, or workers—are varied and diverse. A handful of large chains would never be able to meet all those needs in every community, especially if they are granted pricing power.

The fight against monopoly is only secondarily a fight between small businesses and giant ones. It's foundationally a fight about whether corporations should have so much power that they are too big to fail, too big to jail, and too big to care.

Community voting for SXSW is live! If you wanna hear RIDA QADRI and me talk about how GIG WORKERS can DISENSHITTIFY their jobs with INTEROPERABILITY, VOTE FOR THIS ONE!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/14/the-price-is-wright/#enforcement-priorities

[jangillman]

To all the "Hands Off" Protesters (Democrats):

We are currently at a critical juncture with a national debt of $36.5 trillion, increasing by $2 trillion each year. This is a critical issue, and most experts are warning us that we have relatively few years left to take decisive action before America faces a financial crisis that would have catastrophic consequences for this country and the world.

Amid all your protests, the burning of Teslas, and your petulant vitriol, one crucial element is glaringly missing: any plan to cut government spending. Instead, your goal appears to be to spend even more.

We finally have leaders in President Trump and Elon Musk who are courageous enough to finally focus on sustainable spending practices that are critical to avoid risking our economic future. Time is of the essence—instead of being in the way, let’s act together before it’s too late.

If not...

HANDS OFF - my tax dollars, which were not intended for your pet projects and the corrupt, virtue-signaling Socialists who spew the garbage you all take as gospel. It’s not a slush fund and a money laundering operation through left-wing NGO's to make politicians rich.

HANDS OFF - my child at school. Teach them the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. They are not there to be indoctrinated into your Marxist ideologies.

HANDS OFF - trying to force American women and girls to compete against biological men, and then adding insult to injury, forcing them to change and shower in front of them. Stop forcing your fu@ked up theories on the rest of us.

HANDS OFF - all the property you destroy in the name of whatever cause you’re supporting that given week. Other people’s vehicles are not yours to destroy. Neither are statues or all the other s#it you light on fire.

HANDS OFF - our college campuses. Decent kids are there to learn. Free speech is protected. Violence, intimidation, and taking over buildings are not. By the way, if your cause is so just, take off the masks and show yourself. Cowards one and all.

HANDS OFF - our president, who was duly elected to clean up the mess y’all created. We sat by and watched as you supported a puppet who was practically dead. It damn near destroyed the nation. Financially, from a security standpoint, and morally.

HANDS OFF - to all the federal district judges. Your power does not supersede the executive branch. And, stop using Lawfare by going after your political opponents.

HANDS OFF - our ICE Agents, who are taking violent gang bangers out of our country and forcing people who want to come here to do so legally. It should be the only way. Period. End of story.

HANDS OFF - our Free Speech rights. For years, you have used the process of cancelling people who simply wanted to express their own ideas. In your world, you think free speech can only be allowed if it agrees with your screwed up ideologies.

HANDS OFF - the American family. You have done everything possible to destabilize the concept of families because you believe that our ultimate allegiance should be to the government.

HANDS OFF - from imposing your Marxist views of Critical Race Theory (CRT) and the methods you’ve used to implement them through Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI). Most Americans are compassionate individuals who believe in judging people based on their character rather than the color of their skin.

These principles are what the vast majority of Americans voted for.

You don’t like it, be like that slob Rosie O'Donnell and move to Europe, which is being taken over by radical Islam.

So, to borrow your stupid little slogan…. Hands Off...

Love,

MAGA Country...

[mariacallous]

History tells us that all freedoms are conditional. In 1920, the Soviet Union became the first country in the world to legalize abortion, as part of a socialist commitment to women’s health and well-being. Sixteen years later, that decision was reversed once Stalin was in power and realized that birth rates were falling.

The pressure on all nations to keep up their population levels has never gone away. But in 2025, that demographic crunch is going to get even crunchier—and the casualty will be gender rights. In both the United States and the United Kingdom, the rate at which babies are being born has been plummeting for 15 years. In Japan, Poland, and Canada, the fertility rate is already down to 1.3. In China and Italy, it is 1.2. South Korea has the lowest in the world, at 0.72. Research published by The Lancet medical journal predicts that by 2100, almost every country on the planet won’t be producing enough children to sustain its population size.

A good deal of this is because women have more access to contraception, are better educated than ever, and are pursuing careers that mean they are more likely to avoid or delay having children. Parents are investing more in each child that they do have. The patriarchal expectation that women should be little more than babymakers is thankfully crumbling.

But the original dilemma remains: How do countries make more kids? Governments have responded with pleas and incentives to encourage families to procreate. Hungary has abolished income tax for mothers under the age of 30. In 2023, North Korean leader Kim Jong-Un was seen weeping on television as he urged the National Conference of Mothers to do their part to stop declining birth rates. In Italy, Premier Giorgia Meloni has backed a campaign to reach at least half a million births a year by 2033.

As these measures fail to have their intended effect, though, the pressure on women is taking a more sinister turn. Conservative pro-natalist movements are promoting old-fashioned nuclear families with lots of children, achievable only if women give birth earlier. This ideology at least partly informs the devastating clampdown on abortion access in some US states. Anyone who thinks that abortion rights have nothing to do with population concerns should note that in the summer of 2024, US Senate Republicans also voted against making contraception a federal right. This same worldview feeds into the growing backlash against sexual and gender minorities, whose existence for some poses a threat to the traditional family. The most extreme pro-natalists also include white supremacists and eugenicists.

The more concerned that nations become about birth rates, the greater the risk to gender rights. In China, for instance, the government has taken a sharply anti-feminist stance in recent years. President Xi Jinping told a meeting of the All-China Women’s Federation in 2023 that women should “actively cultivate a new culture of marriage and child-bearing.”

For now, most women are at least able to exercise some choice over if and when they have children, and how many they have. But as fertility rates dip below replacement levels, there is no telling how far some nations may go to buoy their population levels. 2025 looks to be a year in which their choice could well be taken away.

[robertreich]

Should Billionaires Exist? 

Do billionaires have a right to exist?

America has driven more than 650 species to extinction. And it should do the same to billionaires.

Why? Because there are only five ways to become one, and they’re all bad for free-market capitalism:

1. Exploit a Monopoly.

Jamie Dimon is worth $2 billion today… but not because he succeeded in the “free market.” In 2008, the government bailed out his bank JPMorgan and other giant Wall Street banks, keeping them off the endangered species list.

This government “insurance policy” scored these struggling Mom-and-Pop megabanks an estimated $34 billion a year.

But doesn’t entrepreneur Jeff Bezos deserve his billions for building Amazon?

No, because he also built a monopoly that’s been charged by the federal government and 17 states for inflating prices, overcharging sellers, and stifling competition like a predator in the wild.

With better anti-monopoly enforcement, Bezos would be worth closer to his fair-market value.

2. Exploit Inside Information

Steven A. Cohen, worth roughly $20 billion headed a hedge fund charged by the Justice Department with insider trading “on a scale without known precedent.” Another innovator!

Taming insider trading would level the investing field between the C Suite and Main Street.

3.  Buy Off Politicians

That’s a great way to become a billionaire! The Koch family and Koch Industries saved roughly $1 billion a year from the Trump tax cut they and allies spent $20 million lobbying for. What a return on investment!

If we had tougher lobbying laws, political corruption would go extinct.

4. Defraud Investors

Adam Neumann conned investors out of hundreds of millions for WeWork, an office-sharing startup. WeWork didn’t make a nickel of profit, but Neumann still funded his extravagant lifestyle, including a $60 million private jet. Not exactly “sharing.”

Elizabeth Holmes was convicted of fraud for her blood-testing company, Theranos. So was Sam Bankman-Fried of crypto-exchange FTX. Remember a supposed billionaire named Donald Trump? He was also found to have committed fraud.

Presumably, if we had tougher anti-fraud laws, more would be caught and there’d be fewer billionaires to preserve.

5. Get Money From Rich Relatives

About 60 percent of all wealth in America today is inherited.

That’s because loopholes in U.S. tax law —lobbied for by the wealthy — allow rich families to avoid taxes on assets they inherit. And the estate tax has been so defanged that fewer than 0.2 percent of estates have paid it in recent years.

Tax reform would disrupt the circle of life for the rich, stopping them from automatically becoming billionaires at their birth, or someone else’s death.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not arguing against big rewards for entrepreneurs and inventors. But do today’s entrepreneurs really need billions of dollars? Couldn’t they survive on a measly hundred million?

Because they’re now using those billions to erode American institutions. They spent fortunes bringing Supreme Court justices with them into the wild.They treated news organizations and social media platforms like prey, and they turned their relationships with politicians into patronage troughs.

This has created an America where fewer than ever can become millionaires (or even thousandaires) through hard work and actual innovation.

If capitalism were working properly, billionaires would have gone the way of the dodo.

[beauty-funny-trippy]

Trump's Press Secretary Accidentally Blurts Out Real Goal of His Tariff Scam, then Later, Lies to Americans about How Tariffs Work

"In his speech to Congress, President Trump kept lying about his tariffs, falsely claiming that Canada is letting huge amounts of fentanyl into our country and suggesting the trade wars will only get worse. Then press secretary Karoline Leavitt told reporters directly that if Canada wants to avoid tariffs in the future, it should become the fifty-first U.S. state.

She revealed it: Trump’s tariffs are not about fentanyl or any supposed unfair treatment of the U.S. They’re about forcing Canada, with no justification whatsoever, to submit to his will. Newsflash: It’s not OK for the American president to lie relentlessly about our allies and threaten them with economic Armageddon to bend them to his deranged, passing whims." (source)

The Trump administration is still trying to gaslight Americans into believing that tariffs will be good for the economy, even as the stock market hemorrhages cash. White House press secretary Leavitt got into a heated back-and-forth with an Associated Press reporter on Tuesday, in which she revealed that she really doesn’t understand how tariffs affect consumers—or at least is totally willing to lie about it. (source)

When asked why Trump isn't trying to lower prices like he promised, but instead, is raising prices with higher taxes in the form of tariffs, Leavitt said “He’s actually not implementing tax hikes. Tariffs are a tax hike on foreign countries, ...Tariffs are a tax cut for the American people.”

She blatantly lied. Tariffs are not paid by the foreign countries selling the goods. They are a type of sales tax paid by the American businesses buying the goods. That increase in cost is generally passed on to you, the consumer. Simply put, tariffs are hidden taxes that siphon money out of your wallet, and into the federal government.

Even Donald Trump has admitted that his tariffs will destabilize the economy, but has repeatedly dodged questions about whether his tariffs would dive the U.S. headlong into a recession. Trump's own lack of confidence in his handling of the economy sent the stock market into a tail spin.

It seems Trump is using tariffs to kill two birds with one stone. He's willing to risk economic hardship on the American people, taking money out of our wallets, in order to make up for the huge tax cuts he promised his billionaire buddies, and to coerce other countries to submit to his will.

As usual, when Trump gets his way — WE all have to pay.

[saywhat-politics]

While billionaires stash fortunes in offshore havens, the IRS is targeting gig workers who make a few bucks answering questions on a platform where people earn side income by sharing expertise.

A federal court in California has authorized the IRS to demand records from JustAnswer. While ProPublica revealed that America's wealthiest often pay lower tax rates than schoolteachers, the IRS is focusing its investigative muscle on gig workers trying to earn extra income.

"The world is getting smaller for tax cheats," crowed IRS Commissioner Danny Werfel, in a Department of Justice press release – though apparently not small enough to catch the billionaire class exploiting sophisticated tax avoidance schemes. While JustAnswer users face scrutiny, the wealthiest Americans continue employing armies of accountants to legally dodge billions in taxes through complex trusts and partnerships that the IRS fails to audit.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

If Elon Musk’s week were a Tesla, it would be the one parked outside a dealership in Oregon — the one with bullet holes in the windshield, a Molotov cocktail smoldering underneath, and the word "NAZI" scrawled across its hood. That’s not an exaggeration; that’s just Musk’s ego finally colliding with reality at high speed.

The man who once promised to colonize Mars now seems content burning down Earth. As Musk prances around Washington in his new role as Trump’s favorite government hatchet man, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) has turned out to be less about saving tax dollars and more about gutting everything that remotely resembles structure or accountability. Federal employees? Fired. Foreign aid programs? Slashed. Amtrak? Musk’s been eyeballing that one like a cat stalking a goldfish bowl.

Naturally, people aren’t happy. And when Elon Musk pisses off the public, they respond with a fury that makes Mad Max look like a yoga retreat.

TESLA GOES UP IN FLAMES — LITERALLY

This week alone, a Tesla dealership in Oregon was riddled with bullets like someone mistook it for a Wild West saloon. In Boston, a Tesla charging station was torched in what police believe was deliberate arson. In Colorado, someone planted a Molotov cocktail near a Tesla dealership. Over in France, a dozen Teslas were reduced to smoking husks outside a dealership near Toulouse. If Musk’s vision for the future was electric cars in every driveway, he probably didn’t imagine half of them looking like props from a Michael Bay movie.

In Manhattan’s West Village, protesters flooded a Tesla showroom chanting, "Nobody voted for Elon Musk!" — a fair point, since the only ballot Musk ever seemed interested in was whatever half-baked Twitter poll he was running to justify his latest tantrum. Six people were arrested after demonstrators stormed the showroom, with one unlucky soul charged with resisting arrest and obstructing government administration.

Meanwhile, in Massachusetts, one protester decided to skip the firebombs and go the arts-and-crafts route: he plastered stickers of Musk’s face on several Teslas — an act Musk angrily declared was "vandalism." Which is rich, coming from a man whose entire career is essentially high-speed vandalism of logic, decency, and common sense.

MUSK’S “MARTYR” ACT FALLS FLAT

Naturally, Musk reacted to all this chaos with the grace of a raccoon cornered in a dumpster. He claimed on X that ActBlue-funded leftist groups were behind the violence. Never mind that Forbes found zero evidence to support that claim — Elon’s approach to facts is about as precise as his driving instructions for Tesla Autopilot.

The man’s spent so much time in right-wing echo chambers that he now sees George Soros lurking behind every broken window and paint can. According to Musk’s logic, protesters torching cars across multiple continents are all part of some vast conspiracy to... make him look bad? No need, Elon — you’re doing that just fine on your own.

WHEN EVEN TESLA OWNERS ARE EMBARRASSED

The backlash isn’t just limited to Molotov cocktails and spray paint. Tesla owners — the very people who once bragged about their sleek, zero-emission status symbols — are now dumping their cars just to distance themselves from Musk’s political dumpster fire.

“I’m sort of embarrassed to be seen in that car now,” one former Tesla owner told The New York Times before trading in his Model S.

Imagine spending fifty grand on a car only to feel like you’re cruising down the street in a MAGA parade float. For years, Tesla owners took pride in driving the car of the future — now they’re just trying to avoid being seen in public like they’re piloting a clown car through town.

THE KING OF COLLAPSE

Musk’s descent into unhinged paranoia has turned his once-vaunted empire into a bonfire. His crusade against “woke culture” has driven his businesses into chaos. His obsession with control has gutted Twitter, slashed Tesla’s reputation, and made DOGE a bureaucratic joke.

The man’s ego is writing checks reality can’t cash. His cars are getting torched, his employees are fleeing DOGE like rats from a sinking ship, and his credibility is burning faster than a Tesla Supercharger station in Boston.

Elon Musk wanted to be humanity’s savior — the genius billionaire who would drag us into a brighter tomorrow. Instead, he's become the guy with too much money, too little sense, and a talent for turning everything he touches into scorched wreckage.

(Fear and Loathing Closer to the Edge)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Retiring the US debt would retire the US dollar

THIS WEDNESDAY (October 23) at 7PM, I'll be in DECATUR, GEORGIA, presenting my novel THE BEZZLE at EAGLE EYE BOOKS.

One of the most consequential series of investigative journalism of this decade was the Propublica series that Jesse Eisinger helmed, in which Eisinger and colleagues analyzed a trove of leaked IRS tax returns for the richest people in America:

https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files

The Secret IRS Files revealed the fact that many of America's oligarchs pay no tax at all. Some of them even get subsidies intended for poor families, like Jeff Bezos, whose tax affairs are so scammy that he was able to claim to be among the working poor and receive a federal Child Tax Credit, a $4,000 gift from the American public to one of the richest men who ever lived:

https://www.propublica.org/article/the-secret-irs-files-trove-of-never-before-seen-records-reveal-how-the-wealthiest-avoid-income-tax

As important as the numbers revealed by the Secret IRS Files were, I found the explanations even more interesting. The 99.9999% of us who never make contact with the secretive elite wealth management and tax cheating industry know, in the abstract, that there's something scammy going on in those esoteric cults of wealth accumulation, but we're pretty vague on the details. When I pondered the "tax loopholes" that the rich were exploiting, I pictured, you know, long lists of equations salted with Greek symbols, completely beyond my ken.

But when Propublica's series laid these secret tactics out, I learned that they were incredibly stupid ruses, tricks so thin that the only way they could possibly fool the IRS is if the IRS just didn't give a shit (and they truly didn't – after decades of cuts and attacks, the IRS was far more likely to audit a family earning less than $30k/year than a billionaire).

This has become a somewhat familiar experience. If you read the Panama Papers, the Paradise Papers, Luxleaks, Swissleaks, or any of the other spectacular leaks from the oligarch-industrial complex, you'll have seen the same thing: the rich employ the most tissue-thin ruses, and the tax authorities gobble them up. It's like the tax collectors don't want to fight with these ultrawealthy monsters whose net worth is larger than most nations, and merely require some excuse to allow them to cheat, anything they can scribble in the box explaining why they are worth billions and paying little, or nothing, or even entitled to free public money from programs intended to lift hungry children out of poverty.

It was this experience that fueled my interest in forensic accounting, which led to my bestselling techno-crime-thriller series starring the two-fisted, scambusting forensic accountant Martin Hench, who made his debut in 2022's Red Team Blues:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

The double outrage of finding out how badly the powerful are ripping off the rest of us, and how stupid and transparent their accounting tricks are, is at the center of Chokepoint Capitalism, the book about how tech and entertainment companies steal from creative workers (and how to stop them) that Rebecca Giblin and I co-authored, which also came out in 2022:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Now that I've written four novels and a nonfiction book about finance scams, I think I can safely call myself a oligarch ripoff hobbyist. I find this stuff endlessly fascinating, enraging, and, most importantly, energizing. So naturally, when PJ Vogt devoted two episodes of his excellent Search Engine podcast to the subject last week, I gobbled them up:

https://www.searchengine.show/listen/search-engine-1/why-is-it-so-hard-to-tax-billionaires-part-1

I love the way Vogt unpacks complex subjects. Maybe you've had the experience of following a commentator and admiring their knowledge of subjects you're unfamiliar with, only have them cover something you're an expert in and find them making a bunch of errors (this is basically the experience of using an LLM, which can give you authoritative seeming answers when the subject is one you're unfamiliar with, but which reveals itself to be a Bullshit Machine as soon as you ask it about something whose lore you know backwards and forwards).

Well, Vogt has covered many subjects that I am an expert in, and I had the opposite experience, finding that even when he covers my own specialist topics, I still learn something. I don't always agree with him, but always find those disagreements productive in that they make me clarify my own interests. (Full disclosure: I was one of Vogt's experts on his previous podcast, Reply All, talking about the inkjet printerization of everything:)

https://gimletmedia.com/shows/reply-all/brho54

Vogt's series on taxing billionaires was no exception. His interview subjects (including Eisinger) were very good, and he got into a lot of great detail on the leaker himself, Charles Littlejohn, who plead guilty and was sentenced to five years:

https://jacobin.com/2023/10/charles-littlejohn-irs-whistleblower-pro-publica-tax-evasion-prosecution

Vogt also delved into the history of the federal income tax, how it was sold to the American public, and a rather hilarious story of Republican Congressional gamesmanship that backfired spectacularly. I'd never encountered this stuff before and boy was it interesting.

But then Vogt got into the nature of taxation, and its relationship to the federal debt, another subject I've written about extensively, and that's where one of those productive disagreements emerged. Yesterday, I set out to write him a brief note unpacking this objection and ended up writing a giant essay (sorry, PJ!), and this morning I found myself still thinking about it. So I thought, why not clean up the email a little and publish it here?

As much as I enjoyed these episodes, I took serious exception to one – fairly important! – aspect of your analysis: the relationship of taxes to the national debt.

There's two ways of approaching this question, which I think of as akin to classical vs quantum physics. In the orthodox, classical telling, the government taxes us to pay for programs. This is crudely true at 10,000 feet and as a rule of thumb, it's fine in many cases. But on the ground – at the quantum level, in this analogy – the opposite is actually going on.

There is only one source of US dollars: the US Treasury (you can try and make your own dollars, but they'll put you in prison for a long-ass time if they catch you.).

If dollars can only originate with the US government, then it follows that:

a) The US government doesn't need our taxes to get US dollars (for the same reason Apple doesn't need us to redeem our iTunes cards to get more iTunes gift codes);

b) All the dollars in circulation start with spending by the US government (taxes can't be paid until dollars are first spent by their issuer, the US government); and

c) That spending must happen before anyone has been taxed, because the way dollars enter circulation is through spending.

You've probably heard people say, "Government spending isn't like household spending." That is obviously true: households are currency users while governments are currency issuers.

But the implications of this are very interesting.

First, the total dollars in circulation are:

a) All the dollars the government has ever spent into existence funding programs, transferring to the states, and paying its own employees, minus

b) All the dollars that the government has taxed away from us, and subsequently annihilated.

(Because governments spend money into existence and tax money out of existence.)

The net of dollars the government spends in a given year minus the dollars the government taxes out of existence that year is called "the national deficit." The total of all those national deficits is called "the national debt." All the dollars in circulation today are the result of this national debt. If the US government didn't have a debt, there would be no dollars in circulation.

The only way to eliminate the national debt is to tax every dollar in circulation out of existence. Because the national debt is "all the dollars the government has ever spent," minus "all the dollars the government has ever taxed." In accounting terms, "The US deficit is the public's credit."

When billionaires like Warren Buffet tell Jesse Eisinger that he doesn't pay tax because "he thinks his money is better spent on charitable works rather than contributing to an insignificant reduction of the deficit," he is, at best, technically wrong about why we tax, and at worst, he's telling a self-serving lie. The US government doesn't need to eliminate its debt. Doing so would be catastrophic. "Retiring the US debt" is the same thing as "retiring the US dollar."

So if the USG isn't taxing to retire its debts, why does it tax? Because when the USG – or any other currency issuer – creates a token, that token is, on its face, useless. If I offered to sell you some "Corycoins," you would quite rightly say that Corycoins have no value and thus you don't need any of them.

For a token to be liquid – for it to be redeemable for valuable things, like labor, goods and services – there needs to be something that someone desires that can be purchased with that token. Remember when Disney issued "Disney dollars" that you could only spend at Disney theme parks? They traded more or less at face value, even outside of Disney parks, because everyone knew someone who was planning a Disney vacation and could make use of those Disney tokens.

But if you go down to a local carny and play skeeball and win a fistful of tickets, you'll find it hard to trade those with anyone outside of the skeeball counter, especially once you leave the carny. There's two reasons for this:

1) The things you can get at the skeeball counter are pretty crappy so most people don't desire them; and ' 2) Most people aren't planning on visiting the carny, so there's no way for them to redeem the skeeball tickets even if they want the stuff behind the counter (this is also why it's hard to sell your Iranian rials if you bring them back to the US – there's not much you can buy in Iran, and even someone you wanted to buy something there, it's really hard for US citizens to get to Iran).

But when a sovereign currency issuer – one with the power of the law behind it – demands a tax denominated in its own currency, they create demand for that token. Everyone desires USD because almost everyone in the USA has to pay taxes in USD to the government every year, or they will go to prison. That fact is why there is such a liquid market for USD. Far more people want USD to pay their taxes than will ever want Disney dollars to spend on Dole Whips, and even if you are hoping to buy a Dole Whip in Fantasyland, that desire is far less important to you than your desire not to go to prison for dodging your taxes.

Even if you're not paying taxes, you know someone who is. The underlying liquidity of the USD is inextricably tied to taxation, and that's the first reason we tax. By issuing a token – the USD – and then laying on a tax that can only be paid in that token (you cannot pay federal income tax in anything except USD – not crypto, not euros, not rials – only USD), the US government creates demand for that token.

And because the US government is the only source of dollars, the US government can purchase anything that is within its sovereign territory. Anything denominated in US dollars is available to the US government: the labor of every US-residing person, the land and resources in US territory, and the goods produced within the US borders. The US doesn't need to tax us to buy these things (remember, it makes new money by typing numbers into a spreadsheet at the Federal Reserve). But it does tax us, and if the taxes it levies don't equal the spending it's making, it also sells us T-bills to make up the shortfall.

So the US government kinda acts like classical physics is true, that is, like it is a household and thus a currency user, and not a currency issuer. If it spends more than it taxes, it "borrows" (issues T-bills) to make up the difference. Why does it do this? To fight inflation.

The US government has no monetary constraints, it can make as many dollars as it cares to (by typing numbers into a spreadsheet). But the US government is fiscally constrained, because it can only buy things that are denominated in US dollars (this is why it's such a big deal that global oil is priced in USD – it means the US government can buy oil from anywhere, not only the USA, just by typing numbers into a spreadsheet).

The supply of dollars is infinite, but the supply of labor and goods denominated in US dollars is finite, and, what's more, the people inside the USA expect to use that labor and goods for their own needs. If the US government issues so many dollars that it can outbid every private construction company for the labor of electricians, bricklayers, crane drivers, etc, and puts them all to work building federal buildings, there will be no private construction.

Indeed, every time the US government bids against the private sector for anything – labor, resources, land, finished goods – the price of that thing goes up. That's one way to get inflation (and it's why inflation hawks are so horny for slashing government spending – to get government bidders out of the auction for goods, services and labor).

But while the supply of goods for sale in US dollars is finite, it's not fixed. If the US government takes away some of the private sector's productive capacity in order to build interstates, train skilled professionals, treat sick people so they can go to work (or at least not burden their working-age relations), etc, then the supply of goods and services denominated in USD goes up, and that makes more fiscal space, meaning the government and the private sector can both consume more of those goods and services and still not bid against one another, thus creating no inflationary pressure.

Thus, taxes create liquidity for US dollars, but they do something else that's really important: they reduce the spending power of the private sector. If the US only ever spent money into existence and never taxed it out of existence, that would create incredible inflation, because the supply of dollars would go up and up and up, while the supply of goods and services you could buy with dollars would grow much more slowly, because the US government wouldn't have the looming threat of taxes with which to coerce us into doing the work to build highways, care for the sick, or teach people how to be doctors, engineers, etc.

Taxes coercively reduce the purchasing power of the private sector (they're a stick). T-bills do the same thing, but voluntarily (they the carrot).

A T-bill is a bargain offered by the US government: "Voluntarily park your money instead of spending it. That will create fiscal space for us to buy things without bidding against you, because it removes your money from circulation temporarily. That means we, the US government, can buy more stuff and use it to increase the amount of goods and services you can buy with your money when the bond matures, while keeping the supply of dollars and the supply of dollar-denominated stuff in rough equilibrium."

So a bond isn't a debt – it's more like a savings account. When you move money from your checking to your savings, you reduce its liquidity, meaning the bank can treat it as a reserve without worrying quite so much about you spending it. In exchange, the bank gives you some interest, as a carrot.

I know, I know, this is a big-ass wall of text. Congrats if you made it this far! But here's the upshot. We should tax billionaires, because it will reduce their economic power and thus their political power.

But we absolutely don't need to tax billionaires to have nice things. For example: the US government could hire every single unemployed person without creating inflationary pressure on wages, because inflation only happens when the US government tries to buy something that the private sector is also trying to buy, bidding up the price. To be "unemployed" is to have labor that the private sector isn't trying to buy. They're synonyms. By definition, the feds could put every unemployed person to work (say, training one another to be teachers, construction workers, etc – and then going out and taking care of the sick, addressing the housing crisis, etc etc) without buying any labor that the private sector is also trying to buy.

What's even more true than this is that our taxes are not going to reduce the national debt. That guest you had who said, "Even if we tax billionaires, we will never pay off the national debt,"" was 100% right, because the national debt equals all the money in circulation.

Which is why that guest was also very, very wrong when she said, "We will have to tax normal people too in order to pay off the debt." We don't have to pay off the debt. We shouldn't pay off the debt. We can't pay off the debt. Paying off the debt is another way of saying "eliminating the dollar."

Taxation isn't a way for the government to pay for things. Taxation is a way to create demand for US dollars, to convince people to sell goods and services to the US government, and to constrain private sector spending, which creates fiscal space for the US government to buy goods and services without bidding up their prices.

And in a "classical physics" sense, all of the preceding is kinda a way of saying, "Taxes pay for government spending." As a rough approximation, you can think of taxes like this and generally not get into trouble.

But when you start to make policy – when you contemplate when, whether, and how much to tax billionaires – you leave behind the crude, high-level approximation and descend into the nitty-gritty world of things as they are, and you need to jettison the convenience of the easy-to-grasp approximation.

If you're interested in learning more about this, you can tune into this TED Talk by Stephanie Kelton, formerly formerly advisor to the Senate Budget Committee chair, now back teaching and researching econ at University of Missouri at Kansas City:

https://www.ted.com/talks/stephanie_kelton_the_big_myth_of_government_deficits?subtitle=en

Stephanie has written a great book about this, The Deficit Myth:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/14/everybody-poops/#deficit-myth

There's a really good feature length doc about it too, called "Finding the Money":

https://findingmoneyfilm.com/

If you'd like to read more of my own work on this, here's a column I wrote about the nature of currency in light of Web3, crypto, etc:

https://locusmag.com/2022/09/cory-doctorow-moneylike/

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/21/we-can-have-nice-things/#public-funds-not-taxpayer-dollars

[darkmaga-returns]

Washington state Democrats accidentally leaked a document entitled “2025 Revenue Options” describing how they plan to hunt down citizens for additional taxes. An email containing the document and an accompanying PowerPoint presentation was sent to everyone in the Senate and entail exactly how they will wordsmith their way into extorting the people. “Do say: ‘Pay what they owe’ — but Don’t say: “Tax the rich” or “pay their fair share” because “taxes aren’t a punishment,” the graph read.

The proposal includes an 11% tax on firearms and ammunition. Storage units would be reclassified as RENTALS and seen as retail transactions. Amid the cost of living crisis exacerbated by shelter costs, these politicians believe that citizens should pay more in property taxes.

“Avoid centering the tax or talking in vague terms about ��the economy’ or ‘education,’” the document states, instead opting to use positive connotations such as “providing,” “ensuring,” and “funding.” These lawmakers note that they must “identify the villain” who is preventing “progress.” That villain is the government, but the government needs to pin your woes on another source to create division. “We can ensure that extremely wealthy Washingtonians are taxed on their assets just like middle-class families are already taxed on theirs,” the slide reads.

The leaked document assures that this common rhetoric is intended to blind the masses into believing that tax hikes will not affect them but the dreaded “rich” who do not pay their “fair share.” In truth, no amount of taxation could ever be enough for the government as it spends perpetually with no plan to “pay their fair share” of debt.

Smart money has been fleeing blue states for this precise reason. Amazon’s Jeff Bezos notably fled Washington state for Florida, reportedly saving $1 billion on taxes alone. He moved his parents out of the state as well to avoid the death tax, which is among the highest in the nation at 20%. Governor Jay Inslee is wrapping up his term by insisting on a “wealth tax.”

The state is expected to face a $16 billion revenue deficit over the next four years and believes a 1% levy on the wealthiest residents could generate $3.4 billion over that time period. Businesses generating over $1 million annually would be in a new tax category called “service and other activities” and would be required to pay a 20% surcharge from October 2025 to December 2026. Come January 2027, successful businesses would be punished with a 10% tax. Why would anyone choose to conduct business in a state that punishes success? Innovators are not going to begin their businesses under these conditions and established companies will simply leave.

“Let’s be clear: there is a deficit ahead, but it’s caused by overspending, not by a recession or a drop in revenue,” Gildon said in a statement. “When the cost of doing business goes up, consumers feel it too. His budget would make living in Washington even less affordable.”

The state failed to manage its finances properly, and that burden now falls on the people. We see the same problem emerge at the local and federal levels. Governments feel entitled to YOUR money. Rather than correcting the root issue of spending and misallocated funds, governments believe the people they govern will foot the bill. The rhetoric is always the same as they insist they are “progressing” society by punishing the greedy and vilified rich. In truth, everyone suffers as a result of government mismanagement.

[vague-humanoid]

We still don’t know quite why the assassin of Brian Thompson targeted the CEO of UnitedHealthcare. But it’s hardly a secret that UnitedHealthcare has the worst record among all large insurers in denying necessary medical care to its subscribers.

The data confirm what far too many patients experience. In 2023, UnitedHealth’s denial rate of claims was 32 percent, compared to an industry average of 16 percent. Nonprofits had a far better record than for-profits.

I had assumed that UnitedHealth’s business model was to lowball premiums and then more than make up the profit by denying claims. But it’s even worse than that.

In Massachusetts, where I live, a supplemental Medicare policy from UnitedHealth costs $251 a month. An identical policy from Blue Cross, which has the state’s best record in not denying care, costs $212.

Why on earth would consumers buy such a flawed insurance product? It helps if they are captive customers, steered to UnitedHealth by a trusted source. That would be AARP.

AARP has just under 38 million members. But AARP is basically an insurance marketing scheme masquerading as an advocacy group for the elderly.

For 27 years, UnitedHealth has been the co-branded choice of AARP. If you are looking for a supplemental policy to conventional Medicare, or a Medicare Advantage product, or a Medicare drug insurance policy, AARP will steer you to UnitedHealth. And only to UnitedHealth.

The reason is shameful. UnitedHealth kicks back 4.95 percent of premium income from AARP subscribers to AARP. And the numbers are staggering. According to AARP’s audited financial report, AARP made $289.3 million from member dues, but $1.134 billion from kickbacks from insurers, of which the lion’s share, $905 million, was from health insurers. AARP delicately refers to these as royalties.

And somehow, because it is a nonprofit, AARP manages to avoid income taxes on this kickback income. Despite Congress’s efforts over the years to make nonprofits pay taxes on commercial income, AARP paid only about $3 million in federal income taxes on “royalties” of well over a billion. Read here the full article by The American Prospect

[pintadorartist]

Help Stop Trump's "Big Beautiful Bill"

House Committees have been working on completing their individual portions of the budget reconciliation bill that Republicans are pushing through to enact hefty tax cuts for the wealthy and corporations. To pay for these tax cuts—and take advantage of the filibuster-proof reconciliation procedure—Republicans are including many spending cuts and policy changes from their partisan wish list.

In addition to gutting Medicaid, boosting ICE funding and green lighting the sale of public lands for fossil fuel production, these harmful provisions include:

$351 billion in cuts to student aid. This includes new limits on Pell Grant eligibility, new caps on how much a student can borrow, roll backs of protections from predatory lenders, and a repeal of President Biden’s student debt forgiveness program.

$50 billion in cuts to the Federal Employee Retirement System, including significant reductions in take-home pay, retirement benefits, and protections against unjust treatment for federal workers.

Slashes to funding for the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau (CFPB) by nearly 70% and a complete dissolution of the Public Company Accounting Oversight Board, the government’s top watchdog of public company audits.

A widespread roll back of climate-focused programs and clean energy tax incentives authorized by the 2022 Inflation Reduction Act, including the elimination of EV tax credits, the Greenhouse Gas Reduction Fund, and countless other grants that have led to $630 billion in new business investments and jobs.

A $300 billion funding cut and stringent new work requirements for SNAP, the food assistance program that helps over 42 million low-income people nationwide.

Language pulled from the REINS Act, a long-time Republican goal, that would give Congress new control over federal rule making. This would make it easier for Republicans to roll back any regulation they don’t like, including those that have already been finalized and implemented.

A limit to federal judges’ authority to hold government officials in contempt of court. A move clearly designed to defend the Trump administration from accountability for defying the courts.

Once all committee work is complete, the House and Senate will both need to approve and vote on the full reconciliation bill. House Republicans are aiming for a floor vote by Memorial Day weekend.

What is worse is that the GOP is planning to advance the bill even further at 1 a.m. to avoid attention.

Call your Reps and demand they oppose this destructive bill.

These are scripts to various aspects of the bill:

This one below is a more general version:

The rest are more specific to certain provisions of the bill, call them as well under the Big Bueatiful Bill Act: https://5calls.org/all/

Fax Tool:

Find your legislator:

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Runaway

Part II - Sacrificial Lamb

Previous I Next

Summary: Hold onto the good times, for they never last. A glimpse into the first half of your life and how you came to live at the Tillman ranch. You thought Roy Tillman was your savior, until the dreaded truth comes to light, leaning heavily on Gator as you both try to navigate young adulthood.

CW: This has elements of canon storyline. Heavy content and mature themes. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Sunshine" and other pet names. Mentions of drug and alcohol use. Reader has a bad home life. Roy Tillman (a cw on his own). Depictions of domestic abuse. Reader is slapped - mentions of bruises. Fighting. Young love. Allusions to underage consensual sex (not explicit). Angst. Trauma bonding. Hurt no comfort. Let me know if I missed anything!

18+ Only! Minors DNI! Heed the warnings!

WC: 12.4K

Lehigh, North Dakota Early Spring 2007

For most kids, sixteen can be a tumultuous time in their lives to begin with but it seemed life had dealt you the losing hand at every turn.

From the moment you drew your first breath, you were doomed by the narrative. Born to drug addict parents moving from place to place or town to town, the only viable options for two people trying to avoid jail time or bad debts, simply dragging you around with them. It was a wonder the two halfwits managed to keep you alive those first few years.

They were smart enough to know they had to settle down before you started Kindergarten and ended up in the middle of Nowhere, North Dakota. They inherited a place from your grandmother who had passed away a few months prior, a single wide trailer that you got to call home for the better part of your childhood. It was a two-bedroom shack barely suitable for one person, let alone three. They grew pot out of the back bedroom, leaving you to sleep on a cot shoved into the corner of the living room.

School became your happy place, a solace from the reality of home. You flourished, despite your odds and loved to read. Books were an escape from reality. Late at night, you hid under the covers with a flashlight reading about princes and faraway kingdoms or of magic beyond your understanding. All manner of fantasy that you wished in some way could be true. You dreamt of your own adventures that would someday lead you miles away from here.

Both your parents had garnered the attention of the local authorities a month after your birthday. The county seized the property due to back taxes and your father took the fall for all the weed landing him a one-way ticket to federal prison. Somehow, they still let your mom keep custody despite her obvious involvement, coupled with the fact that the two of you had nowhere to live.

The two of you lived in and out of dumpy motels in the seedier parts of Lehigh until the day you were caught stealing from the local market where they detained you and called the Sheriff's department.

“Where’s your mom?” Roy Tillman asked with a sigh, looking down at you sitting there in the manager's office of the Piggly Wiggly. He sighed, taking the wide brimmed cowboy hat from his head, laying it on the desk beside him. The local sheriff had more than his fair share of run-ins with your family. He knew your past and your parents all too well.

You shrug instead of answering, pulling at a loose thread at the bottom of your very worn and dirty shirt. One of five you kept on rotation, the rest packed into the backpack on the floor beside you.

You hadn’t seen her in three days after she pawned off the only thing of value that you had left, a gold ring that she had given you a few years prior. It was the last straw, you knew right then and there she didn’t and would never care about you the way a mother should. She was nothing more than a junkie looking for her next fix.

He bent down to your level, fixing you with a sympathetic yet authoritative gaze that made you swallow the lump in your throat when your eyes met his as he asked you again. His presence made you feel uneasy at first, but he was taking his time to talk with you instead of speaking down to you like everyone else had.

“I d– don’t know. Haven’t seen her for a few days.” Your voice came out meek, suddenly feeling small under his domineering gaze, looking away from him.

His eyes narrowed, regarding you for a moment. “How old are you?”

“Si– Sixteen.” Your hangnail was suddenly more interesting, averting your attention as you began to pick at it as you answered.

“A pretty girl your age shouldn’t be out on her own.” He muttered more to himself than to you as he stood back up. “Well, come on now. Get up.”

You reluctantly stood, wary footsteps taking you to your resigned fate as the Sheriff walked you out. Your face was on fire from all the knowing gazes around the store. He tipped his hat to the store manager and led you to his blazer, helping you into the passenger side.

Instead of taking you to jail, to your surprise he took pity on you. For a runaway teen with nowhere else to go, he gave you an offer, an opportunity to live with a normal family and to better yourself. It seemed like a dream come true.

The Tillman's had a nice home on a large ranch with plenty of space to thrive and grow. The spare room was set up for you right next to Roy's teenage sons.

You'd seen Gator at school but coming from different sides of town, the two of you had never spoken. He was popular, played football and was far too pretty for his own good, the epitome of an all-American teenage boy. The kind of young man that parents would love to see their daughter date. Yes sir and yes ma'am were ingrained in his vocabulary. He was perfect and you absolutely hated him.

When you arrived, Roy's wife, Nadine immediately made you feel welcome, soon learning she was his second wife and not Gator's mother. She was younger than you imagined but seemed to be an old soul with her soft spoken and kind nature, advice of all manner at the ready if you asked.

It was church every Sunday and family dinners at night. It didn’t go without rules, but it was the structure and routine you so badly needed.

They gave you some new clothes, a warm, soft bed to sleep in and a roof over your head. You had your own room, a private sanctuary all to yourself. When you laid your head down on the feather pillow that night, you hoped that you wouldn't have to leave anytime soon. It was the first time in a long time you felt safe.

Gator completely ignored your presence for the first couple of days, until he couldn't. Roy had told him it was his duty to show you around the ranch and teach you various chores you would be doing, in his words, to “earn your keep.”

“You're still doing it wrong.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he crossed the stall, bootsteps heavy, grabbing the shovel roughly out of your hands. You'd grown accustomed to the frown gracing his handsome features that he most often wore around you, as if it caused him physical pain to be in your presence.

Your hands were beginning to blister, it was hot, and the barn smelled well, like a barn. It was a strong mixture of manure, hay and earth.

“You need to use more force. Here.” He demonstrates again, working across the old barnwood floor. He wore a crisp white shirt that showed off the lean muscle of his arms and shoulders as he moved, tucked into his tight-fitting Wranglers. His green cap was situated backwards, per usual, unless the sun was directly in his face. If you weren’t so annoyed you might have appreciated how good he looked, but in your current state it just infuriated you further.

He stops midway, an exhausted look replacing the frown when he hears your huff, turning his head in time to see your eyes roll, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aren't you just a ray of fuckin' sunshine.” He scoffs, moving the shovel upright resting his hands on the end.

“Think you're too good for shovelin’ horse shit? Hmm? That it?” He spat.

Your brows furrowed at his attempt at an insult, insinuating that he knew anything about your life. Rich, coming from a boy that grew up in a house where he never had to want for anything.

“No asshole, it's your bullshit I can't stand. You think you know anything about me? You don't know shit!” There was a fiery defiance in your eyes as you spoke but there was something else there. Something raw and vulnerable he couldn't quite put his finger on.

His brows furrowed at the sudden outburst; another venomous laced comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he thought better of it at the last second. He knew the heavy hand that ruled the ranch would tan his hide if he didn't show you how to do the rest of the chores, so he sighed and tried a different approach.

“Look, I'm tryin’ to help ya’ out. Roy he… he expects things to be done proper ‘round here. So just… can ya’ at least try?” He finally asks, with an almost pleading look. If only you'd known then, in his own way, he was already trying to warn you.

For the first time, his words seemed genuine, without the usual disdain. Warily, you narrowed your gaze but finally dropped your arms to your sides in a more relaxed, less defensive position.

“Yeah.” You nod, already reaching for the shovel to start again, this time doing it exactly as he had instructed instead of half-assing it just to spite him.

“There ya’ go, Sunshine. Gettin' the hang of it now.” He grins, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. You couldn't help the small smile that lifted the edges of your lips at the little nickname that suddenly didn't seem so condescending.

The rest of the day went much smoother. It seemed you finally had a small understanding while he showed you around the property demonstrating how to complete the other various chores that you and he would be sharing.

His thorny shell melted just a little more, as you began to warm up to him. He even cracked a couple of jokes and tried to make you laugh as the day waned. He could be crude and rough around the edges but there was something else there, a glimpse of his boyish charm in the gentle way he spoke to you.

It was quiet out as the day began to wind down. The sun was setting over the horizon while you finished brushing the horses. You had been chatting about nothing and everything as the last rays fanned out across the barn bathing you both with its warmth. When he looked at you, his hazel eyes caught the light just right, making the usual brown tones burst with greens and golds.

When you stared at him a beat too long, his lips curled with that cocky, crooked grin that made a faint blush warm your cheeks before you quickly looked away and cleared your throat. He huffed a small chuckle but didn’t say anything, keeping that genuine smile, a true rarity you would come to find out in the coming weeks around the Tillman ranch.

Each evening you all sat down to have supper together. Prayers were said before each meal while you all held hands, a family tradition you weren’t accustomed to. Roy was at the head of the table with Nadine to his left and Gator to his right, and you seated next to the aloof boy.

It was the same every time, he begrudgingly took your hand and dropped it as if your touch was searing to his skin. You weren't sure what you had done to offend him so vehemently, especially since the two of you had finally been getting along so well.

The dinner table was where the ugly truth began to seep into this painted reality a mere two weeks after you had come to live with them.

Report cards were just released and Roy asked Gator why his grades were slipping while serving himself another helping of mashed potatoes.

“I don't know, school’s hard sometimes. I—” he began but Roy quickly cut him off.

“Schools hard? That's all you have to say for yourself?” Raising his voice before his hands came down against the table making everyone jump.

“Roy,” Nadine's mild-mannered voice cut in, but he held up his hand to silence her, making her mouth snap shut.

“Dad it's—”

“Gator, school is going to be the easiest thing you ever have to do. Get your grades up. Or. Else.” He pointed a finger at him. “You have the Tillman name to uphold, and you will not make a fool of me. Understood?”

He nodded, forking at the food on his plate but that wasn't enough for the elder man.

“Is that understood?” Leaning slightly into his space with a stone-cold look to his eye.

“Yes, sir.” The younger boy replied a little more sheepishly.

You watched the entire interaction unfold while keeping your own head down, trying to stay calm, watching as Nadine's eyes bounced between the two like she was waiting for something to happen. You immediately lost your appetite, asking to be dismissed from the table a few minutes later, thankful Roy obliged without any objections.

Late that same night, you were startled awake by the sound of glass breaking followed by muffled shouting and cries. You clung to the sheets and pulled them up, covering your head. It became the startling realization you had traded one abusive home only to be stuck in another. The perfect facade that was the Tillman home began to crack, showing all the festering secrets and lies in one fell swoop.

As you lay there, a soft knock came at the door, but you didn't move, too afraid to open your eyes until his hushed voice cut through the dark as he poked his head in.

“Hey, Y/N, are you awake?” Gator whispered out soft and timid, as the shouting and cries were slowly fading out. When you say nothing, he sighs, slowly pulling it closed on creaking hinges.

“Wait!” You whisper, making him stop. “Wh—what do you want?”

He pauses, watching as you carefully lower the covers, your sleep mussed hair popping into view before your wide, frightened eyes catch his.

“Can I come in?” He asks, hand still poised on the handle. He seemed small standing there in his grey joggers and tight-fitting tee, shifting slightly on bare feet waiting for you to answer.

You nod, not seeing him as a threat but kept your guard up, giving him a puzzled sort of look as you sit up.

He takes another look back out into the hall before quietly tiptoeing in and softly shutting the door behind him, crossing the room to the edge of the bed taking a seat at the end of it. He stays silent a moment longer, as if trying to figure out what to say.

“Why'd you come here?” He finally asks, with a hint of frustration, trying to keep it no louder than a whisper.

“I didn't have a choice.” You shrug, eyes flitting down to the worn comforter. “Dads in jail, mom didn't want me. Your dad said I could stay here that I— I'd be safe.”

Recounting the small conversation Roy had with you, it was either come here or spend the rest of your teenage years in juvie or foster care. It had seemed like a no-brainer.

“Yeah… Safe.” He scoffs. “Not everythin’ is sunshine and rainbows.”

You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, tears threatening to spill over your lash line.

“You don’t think I know that?” It came out a little breathless and high pitched, a little louder than you intended, unable to hide your emotion. “I should be used to bullshit by now.”

He gulped, not expecting the sudden reaction from you, firmly holding your gaze as his lips part but nothing comes out.

You think he's about to leave, head swiveling to the door as he sighs, then looking back to you through the dim light.

“Just try to stay out o’ trouble. Keep your head down and try not to piss off the old man.” He settles on.

There was a hint of something you couldn’t quite discern in his actions and words. Was he worried about you? He oozed a sort of macho bravado but here in this room, he slowly began to show a little more of himself. A teenager, just like you, trying to find his way in the world.

“Yeah,” you agree, unsure of what else to say.

“I better go. Ya’ gonna be okay?” He mumbled quietly, with a sweet sincerity to his question, rising from the bed to take his leave.

You nod, even though you didn’t feel okay, prompting him to nod back before he shuffled back out into the hall, leaving you alone once more. All the shouting had finally stopped, leaving the faint murmuring of the TV drifting from the room down the hall. The safety you had felt was gone, leaving you to question if there was truly any good left in the world. A question a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t have to worry about.

Something else happened that night. It was the first time Gator Tillman ever let someone see him in a different light. This compassionate, caring side he kept hidden away was vastly overshadowed by this continuous need for acceptance and love from his father, bringing out the worst side of him.

He had taken note of how strong willed you were, with a fiery, no bullshit nature that immediately drew him in. These attributes were also what worried him. The ranch had never been kind to those unwilling to fall in line and do as they were told.

Maybe it was the way you looked up at him, eyes shining on the verge of tears or despite yourself, he knew you would never stay out of trouble. You were only a couple of months younger than him, but he knew all too well what happened the last time Roy had brought someone he deemed a “throwaway” home. She became his stepmother after his own mother disappeared. Roy had an affinity for the young and pliable. The mere thought disgusted him. Gator feared the worst and was hit with an unwavering need to protect you.

-

The next morning an eerie sort of quiet hung over everyone at breakfast as Nadine, sporting a new black eye, sat everything down at the table. You couldn't help but stare at the state she was in, fragile and avoiding any sort of direct eye contact. Roy and Nadine both acted as if everything was business as usual, prompting you and Gator to do the same.

As horrid as it was, it didn’t take long to get used to seeing her bruised or battered in some way or another. As mild mannered and quiet as she seemed, she had a sharp tongue and wit that Roy didn’t take kindly to. This cycle became your new normal. You didn’t want to turn a blind eye, but given your situation, you had no alternative.

Life at the ranch aside, Gator suddenly didn't make it a point to ignore you so much, even going out of his way at school for a chat here and there or eating lunch with you.

The world didn't seem so lonely anymore, until a few weeks later when it was decided you would be homeschooled.

“Homeschooled, sir?” You asked puzzled as you set your fork back down to your plate, your heart suddenly began hammering in your chest. Gator's gaze briefly caught yours trying to communicate a warning glare, which you chose to ignore.

“Yes, Y/N. Nadine can show you the basics and you can better keep up with your chores during the day. I can teach you the more advanced curriculum when I get home in the afternoons.” He said, shoving a fork full of food into his mouth as if this would be the end of the conversation.

“I make good grades. I would rather stay in school. I want to try to go to col—”

“Y/N!” His gruff voice cut you off. “As long as you're under my roof you'll abide by my rules. The women in this family are homeschooled.”

“You can't make that decision for me! You are not my father!” You suddenly burst out feeling as though the air were suddenly sucked from the room. Nadine's gaze shifted from you back to Roy as Gator held his breath. It just wasn’t in your nature to back down from something you felt so passionately about. School had ALWAYS been your outlet.

Roy remained stoic, swallowing his food and wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin before turning and giving you his full attention, eyes dark as he trained them directly on you.

“Let's get one thing straight, your parents don't give a damn about you. If it weren't for me, you'd either be in the street or worse, God forbid. You're going to start showing a little gratitude! By law, I am your legal guardian, and I decide what’s in your best interest.” He pauses, watching your reaction.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, tears threatening to spill at your lash line as he smirked.

“You will be homeschooled starting tomorrow and I don't want to hear another goddamn word about it! You should be thanking me, you little ungrateful brat!” He spat, picking up his fork once more, returning to his meal, uncaring if you had a retort.

“Dad,” Gator suddenly spoke up, as hot tears spilled silently down your cheeks, casting your face toward the table.

“What is it son?” He asked, without looking up at the boy.

“If Y/N wants to go to school, I can keep an eye out on her. Make sure no one bothers her.” He shrugs, trying to keep his voice even.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” He harshly smacks the back of his head with a thump that makes you jump slightly. “Eat your food. My decision is final.”

The rest of the dinner was finished in tense silence until Roy got up to retire to his study for the evening. Gator went outside to finish the rest of his chores and you helped Nadine put away the leftovers and wash the dishes as you sniffed and tried to hold back your remaining tears the entire time.

She looked at you with sympathy, but didn’t try to make conversation.

You laid in bed that night staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep as the grim truth of the situation weighed on you. There was no shouting or cries that night, just cold silence and a reality you didn't want to face.

Pulling the covers back, you silently slipped from bed and out into the hall listening for any other sounds. The TV played in Roy and Nadine's room, hopefully covering any miniscule noises from you, tiptoeing down the hall, avoiding the creaks in the floorboards you had come to memorize.

You slowly turned the handle to Gator's room and opened the door enough to squeeze in as he shot up in bed.

“What're ya’ doing in here?” He hissed, voice groggy and sleep ladened, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand as he sat up.

You came in here to thank him for speaking up earlier but suddenly you couldn't say anything, your voice caught in your throat as you began to cry.

“Shit, hey.” He rose from his bed and quickly crossed his room over to you, hesitantly placing an arm around your shoulders. The warmth of physical touch you hadn’t felt in so long, melting almost instantly into his side. He wasn’t one to show his affection, hell he could barely remember the last time someone hugged him. It must have been his momma, he thought fondly, before shoving that back down.

He led you over to the bed and sat you both down, the springs squeaking slightly in protest. He sits in silence, listening to you, unsure of what to say to bring you some sense of comfort.

“Gator?” You finally ask, wiping your nose with the back of your hand.

“Yeah?” His eyes trained on the side of your face, his hand itching to reach up and help wipe away your tears.

“Can I stay in here tonight?” You ask timidly, turning your head to look up at him.

“In— in my bed?” He swallows thickly, contemplating just how bad he'd get his ass beat if Roy happened to walk in here, as you nod.

You see his hesitation and the way his eyes move back toward the door.

“I'll leave before he wakes up. I just don't want to be alone tonight. Please.” The words slipped from your mouth as if you read his mind.

The way you looked up at him, all doe eyes and pouty lips, he couldn't deny you. It would be hard to ever tell you no. Even with tear-stained cheeks and a runny nose you were devastatingly pretty to him.

“Yeah, yeah.” He nods quickly, standing up. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“No, please. There's enough room, I'll scoot over.” Saying as you lay down, moving over to the other side as close to the edge as possible, pulling the comforter over you.

“Yeah, ok.” He sighs, nervously sliding in beside you, laying on his back looking up toward the ceiling.

“Thank you.” You meekly spoke leaning up to give him a small kiss on the cheek, your lips leaving his skin abuzz, before turning over to face the wall.

The two of you fell silent, unsure if anything further needed to be said as your eyelids grow heavy, finding solace in his presence. He listened for a while until your breathing evened out as you drifted off to sleep.

He eventually followed, only jolted from a deep slumber when he heard Roy's fists banging on the door the next morning.

“Gator, get your ass up! Don't make me come back up here!” He yelled through the door.

His initial reaction was to look for you, but the other side of the bed was empty, he sighed. The only reminder of your presence was the lingering scent of your shampoo filing his lungs as he rolled over on the pillow you had laid on only an hour before.

-

Homeschool consisted of mainly taking care of the house, the only real curriculum you received was, as Roy had promised, with him late in the afternoons.

He wasn't kind nor patient, quickly growing frustrated with your attitude and unwillingness to comply. It's not that you didn't mind learning new skills, but this wasn't what you wanted to do. It was boring and, in your mind, useless.

It only took a few days for him to reach a boiling point.

“Y/N! Answer the damn question.” He gritted out between clenched teeth, his growing frustration mounting.

“I don't know the answer.” You shrugged, refusing to look him in the eye.

His hulking form came around the desk, grabbing your chin forcefully making you look up at him.

“Stop being so fuckin' difficult! Either fall in line, or I will make you fall in line.” His voice was strained, showing just how tired and weary he had grown of your behavior.

You stayed silent but met his gaze, determined to not back down. That very defiance would be your downfall.

It was the first time you felt the cruelty of his touch as the back of his hand met your cheek with a sharp, resounding smack. It had happened so suddenly; it left you stunned.

A searing heat flooded the side of your face, your eyes instantly welled with tears as you shot up from the chair, running from the room and out the back door. He watched, unmoving, letting you go.

You didn’t think. You just needed to run. Your bare feet carried you across the field, uncaring of how the uneven earth beneath you prodded and poked at your soles. The barn would reveal a good hiding spot, crawling into a small space concealed by hay. With your knees pulled into your chest you cried long and hard into the evening.

At some point you fell asleep, only rousing when you heard Gator yelling your name. You softly stirred, stretching your achy muscles.

“Gator?” You called out, your voice tired and scratchy.

“Y/N? Where the hell are ya’? Everybody's been lookin’ for ya’.” He replied, coming around the corner to see you wedged into your hiding spot.

“Jesus, it's fuckin’ freezin’ out here. What're you—” His heart dropped, as he shined his flashlight over in your direction taking in your disheveled appearance and the welt across your cheek.

His fists were clenched at his sides, anger bubbling up as he watched you crawl toward him, face tear streaked and puffy. He knelt down beside you, hesitantly bringing his hand up to brush the hair from your face as you closed your eyes. It was tender, careful not to aggravate the raised skin. The touch sending a shiver down your spine despite your current state.

“I shouldn't have talked back.” You murmured, barely above a whisper, as Gator's warnings from days earlier to stay out of trouble rolled to the forefront of your mind.

He nods in understanding, eyes flitting away from you, unsure of his own voice, dropping his hand back down.

“We have to get ya’ back to the house. I— Everyone's been worried sick.” He states, standing back up to shed his jacket.

He takes your hand as you stand on wobbly legs, making sure you’re steady before wrapping his coat around your shoulders. You lean on him, with his arm securely around your waist as you make the small trek back up to the house.

You're grateful the kitchen is empty when you enter.

“He got called away.” He commented as if knowing exactly what you were thinking. “Nadine left ya’ a plate in the microwave. Go sit down.” Nodding toward the table.

You sat quietly, watching as he heated your supper before setting it down and taking the seat across from you.

Gator watched as you ate a few bites and placed your fork back down.

“M’not very hungry.” You mumbled, regarding him for a moment.

Gator was an enigma. He was sweet but guarded and blindly loyal to his father in a way that made him dangerous, craving his approval so deeply that he would do anything to gain it. It left you wondering why he would help you knowing he would most likely get himself into trouble.

“Can I stay in your bed tonight?” You asked, catching him off guard.

“Hey,” he whispered, suddenly looking around the room and down the hall. “Keep that between us.” He hissed, and added “that's probably not a good idea. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” You look away, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I'm going to take a shower.”

You stood from the chair so quickly, he didn't have time to respond, watching you leave and climb the stairs before muttering to himself what an idiot he was.

He made his way to his room, passing the bathroom on the way, pausing in front of the door for a moment listening to the water run. He silently berated himself again before retiring to his bedroom.

He tried to sleep, but it eluded him, tossing and turning most of the night. Just before 11 pm he heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall, as he heard your bedroom door creak open and a few seconds later shut.

Roy was finally home.

He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep as his door swung open slightly before it closed shut once more.

He waited another half hour before slipping out from the warmth and silently taking the few steps over to your door, making sure he wasn't making a sound before slowly opening it.

You were turned away, facing the window as he tiptoed further into the room, assuming you were asleep he thought about turning back around but then you whispered his name and turned over toward him.

“Hey. Still want some company?” He grinned, even if you couldn't make it out in the dark.

“Yeah.” You sighed, scooting over to make room for him. He crawled in beside you a little closer than the few days before.

You both laid on your backs, not saying anything for a few minutes. The silence was comfortable; happy to just be in the presence of someone else who understood.

“We need to get out of here.” Whispering, with your gaze set firmly to the ceiling. You hadn’t intended to say “we”, but it had slipped out so easily. Neither of you deserved the life that was being laid out before you.

“We can't.” He sighs, feeling your sudden hopelessness. “But I'll take care of you.”

He feels a little wave of confidence, his hand moving toward you. His pinky brushes yours, sending goosebumps across your flesh as you turn your head toward him.

“How?”

He turns his head at your question, meeting your eyes as his hand glides over the top of yours, resting there a moment before taking him by surprise when you suddenly turn your palm, threading your slender fingers through his. His palm was calloused but warm and comforting, his hand easily dwarfing your own.

“I'll keep you safe.” The only words he could think to say. He didn't know how to keep you from Roy entirely, but he knew he had time to think. You wouldn't turn eighteen for a while yet.

He kept the rest of those thoughts to himself. He had time.

-

After that night, you decided to stay quiet around Roy and do your lessons without any resistance. Things began to go a lot smoother around the Tillman ranch.

Weeks turned into months without another incident or hand raised against you and every night you would take turns sneaking into each other's rooms taking comfort and solace in the presence of one another.

Gator turned seventeen and was gifted a shiny new truck. He began spending less time at home but always found his way back to you at night under the cover of darkness until an idea struck him.

“It's too dangerous.” You giggled.

“And this isn't?” He laughed along with you. “If Roy walks in here and sees us under the covers, he'd skin me alive and probably burn you at the stake.”

You shake your head, burying your face in the pillow.

“Come on, just this one time and I won't say another word ‘bout it. I'll drive us down to the lake. Be back before anyone knows it.” He gives you his best puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

“Gatorrrrrr.” You whine. “Don't give me that look.”

He pouts further, jutting his lower lip out.

“Okay.” You whisper, finally giving into his antics.

“Yeah?” His eyes light up at the prospect, a grin lifting the edges of his lips.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Okay!”

He gave you instructions to change and meet him outside in ten minutes before he left your room. It had luckily been a night Roy had a little too much to drink and would hopefully be out cold until morning.

You held your breath as you tiptoed down the hall, looking back only once before descending the stairs and quietly heading out the back door, feeling a rush of relief with the fresh air.

As you slowly closed the door, you felt arms wrap around your waist, a shiver traveling down your spine, as he whispered “gotcha” close to your ear, his hot breath tickling your cheek.

“Ready darlin?” He hums, still close, obviously no idea what his warm body pressed up against yours was doing to you as you turn to face him, his grip loosening.

“Yeah, let's go.” You smile, mirroring his. He slips his hand into yours as you race off the porch running the short distance to his truck, jumping in quickly before slowly rolling down the long drive without the lights on until you made it to the main highway.

Your heart was racing, looking back in the mirror as the old farmhouse grows smaller until it's finally out of sight.

He steals small glances at you when you aren't looking, admiring the non-stop smile gracing your face but he could tell you were nervous. You were far too quiet.

If only he could read your mind, it would have made this a lot easier. You weren't nervous because of sneaking out or even the chance of being caught. It was him. He made you nervous, in the best way.

You're not sure when it happened, those innocent late-night chats turning into a little bit more. Soft touches and scooting closer to one another. You sought comfort and found it in him.

“It's not far. We'll be back before no one knows we're missin’. Promise.” He states, grinning back over to you, trying to quell your nerves as his fingers fiddled with the radio before Patsy Cline’s “She's Got You” faintly played through the speakers.

“Patsy Cline?” You ask, with a quirk of your brow, expecting something, anything other than that.

“She was my momma's favorite.” He shrugged, as if mentioning her was no big deal, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

No one ever talked about Linda, even though her picture was still hung in the hallway nestled right alongside Nadine and Roy's wedding photo, it seemed like it was still a touchy subject in the Tillman household.

“She was pretty.” You said quietly. His gaze flicked quickly to you and back to the road before he left out a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, she was.” He replied solemnly, giving away the hint of nostalgia he was feeling.

You nodded, looking back out the window, thinking the conversation was over until he cleared his throat to speak up again.

“She would play Patsy when I was little, when it was just the two of us.” A fond smile played on his lips before he continued. “Sometimes we'd dance around the kitchen while she was cooking. I– I miss her.” He could picture it now, the old turntable softly filling the small kitchen with Patsy’s voice as he danced with her. His small feet on top of hers as she moved them both around the room. Her smile and laughter were infectious, making his eyes sparkle with childhood delight.

A few beats of silence passed before you finally asked, “where is she?”

“Don't know.” He shrugs again, but the pain was evident in his voice. “Figure she got tired of the way dad— uh, she just left.”

“I'm sorry, Gator.” You reply, as he scoffs slightly, making you look back up at him.

“What're you sorry for? She was a grown woman. She made her choice.” He spat out.

“I know that. I'm sorry you had to go through it.” You slowly place your hand to his forearm, your touch both electrifying and soothing to him.

“Sorry, I— shouldn't've… it's not your fault.” He sputters, feeling remorseful for the harsh tone. He thought of his mother often but never spoke of her aloud. It was a nice change to speak so freely without any repercussions. Her records were still at the house, tucked away in the bottom of his closet. Roy wouldn’t allow them to be played after she was gone.

“It's okay.” Your touch lingers momentarily as the song finally comes to an end. Pulling your hand away and settling back into the passenger seat, the moment passing between the two of you. Each passing moment you learned a little more about this boy, peeling back the layers of his complex life.

He turned down a small road off the highway, pavement giving way to gravel as it got a little bumpier.

“You come here often?” Asking, as you take in his profile, he had gotten a little taller over the spring and summer, lean muscle on display under his tight shirt.

“Sometimes. Guys on the football team bring their gir—” he clears his throat. “Uh, they have parties here.”

“They bring their girlfriends here?” Smirking at his abrupt change in phrasing.

“Uh, yeah, it— it's a nice spot to, I dunno. Relax, I guess.” He shrugs trying to downplay his own embarrassment.

“Sounds nice.” You say quietly, looking back out the window.

The gravel eventually turns into a dirt road as he slows down further to navigate the dips and ruts before a clearing comes into view up ahead. The moon is large and sparkling against the water below as he moves close to the shore.

He throws it in park, as you jump out of the truck without another thought, laughing out into the clear night.

“Hey, damnit!” He yells out. “Wait for me!”

You're already bolting across the shore, toeing your shoes off and letting the water lap at your ankles as he strides up beside you. So caught up in the sound of your laughter he can't bring himself to scold you for running off.

“It's so pretty!” You say, smiling out at the water.

“Yeah,” he whispers, staring at you instead. He takes in your features and the unadulterated bliss, as he thinks that he’s never seen you this happy since coming to the ranch. If he could do more, he would, but this is the best given your circumstances.

“We could come out here again, maybe try to sneak away once a week? I know I said I wouldn't ask again but—”

“Really?” You asked, looking up at him with excitement, but still feeling hesitant to get your hopes up. Roy rarely lets you leave the ranch, just the occasional trip with Nadine to the grocery store.

He nods, pulling a pack of smokes out of his pocket, along with a Zippo as your eyes follow his movements.

“You smoke?” Questioning with a raise of your brow toward him.

“Sometimes. Want one?” He offers, holding the pack up but you shake your head. He shrugs, taking one and placing it between his lips, lighting it with ease as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

His cheeks hollow as he inhales, the end glowing cherry red between you. He smirks when he sees you watching him so intently.

“Come on, let's go sit.” Nodding his head toward a downed tree not far behind you, as you follow reluctantly leaving the water.

You sit beside him, suddenly growing a little anxious. The sounds of water lapping at the shore and the crickets filling the silence. It felt right. This is what you should be doing, living outside of that invisible barrier that has been placed in your way.

The rules you now have to follow make it impossible to be a normal teenager. For just a little while, you could pretend you were on a date with a boy you liked. Nothing more.

Your toes dig at the soft sand below your feet, before gaining the courage to speak again.

“Gator, is this a date?”

He chokes, inhaling roughly and coughing before sputtering out a hoarse, “What?!”

“A date. When a guy likes a girl, he asks her to go out and they—” You start to explain.

“Fuck, I know what a date is. This," he gestures between you, "ain't that. I just thought ya’ wanted to get out of the house, s’all.” He huffs, extinguishing the rest of his cigarette on the roughened wood beside him.

You nod, quickly looking away, a little saddened by his curt response.

He immediately noticed your face fall, silently cursing himself for saying the first damn thing that came to mind.

“I mean, is that— did ya’ want this to be a date?” He quickly recovers.

“I don't know.” Shrugging, still looking away, the water was suddenly much more interesting, as the heat in your cheeks became too much.

He wasn't sure what to say. Did you want this to be a date? Did he?

Other guys his age went on dates and had girlfriends. He often wondered if he was the oddball ignoring the advances of his peers. None of the girls at school ever drew his attention like you did. You were just there. A friend and someone he longed to be around. Those hushed conversations late at night were what he looked forward to the most each day, when he really felt like himself.

Should he ask you on a date, even though you live together under the same roof? He knew it was fucked up but in some odd way, he felt like you were already his.

He grew too quiet, lost in his own thoughts and it felt like the silence was too deafening, so you stood up and began to pull your shirt up over your head.

“What the hell are yo–” his jaw dropped when your hand drifted to your shorts and popped the button as they slid down your bare legs. Your back was to him, standing there in nothing but your underwear. Sure, he'd seen a lot of your skin but not like this.

“Y/N! Put your damn clothes back on!” He hissed out, trying to look anywhere else.

“We're at the lake, Gator! I want to swim!” You yelled back, suddenly sprinting for the water.

“Jesus Christ!” He muttered, watching you dive headfirst into the lake and disappearing briefly before your head popped back up.

“Are you trying to give me a goddamn heart attack?” He yelled, with no real malice. His next words dying on his tongue as he watched you from the shore, the moonlight glistening over your soft skin making you appear like some ethereal creature from a storybook.

“Gator! Come swim with me!” You yelled, looking back toward him standing there on the shore.

Who was he to deny you? He toed off his sneakers and unbuttoned his pants in haste, looking down to realize he had worn his briefs instead of his boxer shorts. Shit. Heat creeped up his cheeks thinking of you seeing him in so little.

He pauses a moment, before he hears you call his name again, finally releasing a heavy sigh, he finishes unzipping his jeans and letting them pool at his feet before removing his shirt and pulling off his socks.

“Comin’ Sunshine!” He finally calls back, taking a deep breath, before diving in after you.

When he surfaces, he's met with silence. His head swivels as he turns in the water to catch a glimpse of where you might be.

“Y/N?!” He yells, already frantic as a spike of panic sets in. “Y/N?!” He shouts a little louder this time.

He suddenly hears a splash right beside him as your hands grab his shoulder and head, surprising him as you push him under the water with a loud laugh.

Once he resurfaces, he instantly wraps his arms around your waist, pulling your back into his chest as you let out a scream and start laughing once more.

“You're such a little shit!” He shouts, still trying to catch his breath but your laughter is too contagious to feel any real anger toward you.

“Your turn!” He shouts before you feel him start to drag you backward with him. You hold your breath, as the water closes in around you, enveloping you both in her cool embrace. His grip loosening for you to float back up.

You're both laughing, trying to catch your breaths, opening your eyes to him already looking at you with a big lopsided grin that you've come to feel he only reserves for you. The laughter quietly subsides as you continue to stare at each other.

The moon is big and bright, almost full but not quite, providing enough light to take everything in as you silently begin to drift around him, your fingertips dragging across his back, causing goosebumps to rise in their wake.

He freezes at the contact, making something stir deep within him. There's something in your gaze that makes him nervous, it's soft and warm. No one's ever looked at him with such kindness and admiration.

“What— what're ya doin’?” He finally asks, trying to hide the small tremble in his voice.

“Just swimming…” You giggle, moving back directly in front of him, your feet finding the lake bottom to stand in the chest deep water.

“Yeah, but why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” His voice cracks at the end, giving away his nerves, despite trying to keep his cool.

“Like what, Gator?” You tilt your head, playing dumb, trying to let him make the first move. You'd been dreaming about your first kiss, hoping and praying it would be with him. This was the first chance you'd had actually getting him alone, free from worry or prying eyes. Was he really that clueless?

“Like— like that.” He sputters, feeling a slight mixture of annoyance and something, he couldn't quite discern.

“I don't know.” Shrugging and looking away, suddenly feeling embarrassed as doubt began to creep in.

He notices the expression that crosses your face and suddenly it clicks for him. You begin to slowly ease back into the water, about to dive back in when he softly grabs your wrist.

“Wait! Just— wait a sec.” He holds firm, pulling you a little closer to him. “I'm an idiot, okay.”

Your eyes turn back to his face. He's grinning, unable to contain it at this point but you don't say anything. His eyes flit across your face, down to your lips and back up.

“You still want this to be a date?” He asks, voice a little huskier than before. He kissed Becky Mitchell behind the bleachers last fall to see what all the fuss was about, so he knew what to do, but he was suddenly a little anxious, because he wants so badly to see what it's like with you. Would it be different? Would it feel different?

“Um… yeah, I'd like that.” You nod.

You aren't sure what to do, as he begins to crowd into your space, your heart beating wildly at the thought of what might come next. He releases your wrist to place his hand on your hip, fingers splayed across your soft skin pulling you even closer.

“Gator?” You hesitantly ask, searching his face.

“Yeah?” His grip grew a little tighter in response, his free hand timidly coming to your waist, fingertips dancing at your ribs causing a shiver to travel down your spine.

“I— I'm nervous.” You say, a little breathless.

“Don't be, s’just me.” Finally finding a hint of his feigned confidence as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, trying to hide the truth. He thought his heart might explode out of his chest at any moment, wondering if you could hear the rhythmic beat with how wildly it was thumping against his ribs.

You nod, as your words fail you, gasping, as your bodies finally brush and meet underwater, pressed chest to chest. He's warm and firm, your hands finding their way up his body to wrap your arms around his neck.

It's like time stops, the world ceases to exist around you as he closes the distance, and his lips finally meet yours. They were soft but a little chapped, not that you gave it much thought because you were trying to keep your nerves at bay.

It's a soft peck, then another. It's a little messy at first, timid and unknowing but then he tilts his head slightly, lifting his hand to cradle your jaw as his lips glide against yours. You let him take the lead, unsure of yourself but the feeling of him against you makes your head feel dizzy, closing your eyes against the onslaught of sensations running rampant.

His tongue sweeps across the seam of your lips, begging for entry. A small, involuntary noise emanates from the back of your throat as they part for him.

You try to pull him a little closer, as he does the same, his tongue darting out, and then a little further licking into your mouth meeting yours in a messy crescendo. He tastes of nicotine and something faintly sweet and what you could only describe as inherently Gator. A low groan passes his lips as you swallow and savor the sound.

Your lungs are on fire, aching and pleading for you to come up for air but you don't want the moment to end. For the first time in your life, you feel alive. Your body is electrified, senses on high alert, as your tummy does somersaults.

A few more seconds and he's the one to finally break, pulling away, breath heaving as he lowers his forehead to yours. Your eyes open to his, the hazel irises barely a faint ring around his dark pupils. The waves softly move around you, finally reminding you where the two of you still are, his body pressed firmly to yours and you're suddenly all too aware how exposed you feel.

Shyness creeps slowly back under your skin and you want to crawl away, duck back into the water so he can't see you.

You grin, pulling out of his reach to dive back in, leaving him there gawking back at the ripples you’ve left behind with a groan. He's very aware of the effect you have on him and his body as he tries to discreetly readjust himself.

He begrudgingly makes his way back to the shoreline so he can get dressed. It was getting late, and you needed to get back home before the sun came up.

He slides his jeans on, eyes still watching you move through the water.

“Come on! We gotta get home!” He calls out.

Sighing, you finally start to remove yourself from the water, not yet ready for the night to end but it was inevitable.

He turns away as your body is slowly revealed, feeling like he should show you some sort of privacy. He throws his shirt back on and walks back to the truck to wait on you.

A few minutes later, the passenger door swings open as you get in with sopping wet hair and clothes sticking to your still damp skin, but he thinks you're the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

It was a quiet ride back, neither of you quite knowing what to say. He cuts the lights and slows down as he pulls back into the drive, just as you had left, parking a little further away so the roar of the engine wouldn’t wake anyone.

You both silently exit the truck, making your way up to the house. Once you enter, the air is still, no sounds of people yet stirring as you breathe a small sigh of relief.

He's right behind you, tiptoeing up the stairs, and then down the hall, a warm hand to the small of your back as he reluctantly stops at your bedroom door.

You don't turn around, hand poised on the handle as he leans in, whispering in your ear. “I hope you had fun. Goodnight, Sunshine.” With a hum, he presses a small parting kiss to your temple before you open the door and slip in. You hear his own door open and softly close a few moments later.

You exchange your wet clothes for a soft nightgown, laying back on the feather pillow as the kiss you’d shared plays over and over again in your head. There was a permanent smile etched across your face, making your cheeks faintly hurt from overuse. A warmth was blooming deep inside your chest. You’d had your fair share of crushes, but there was no doubt in your mind this must be what it felt like to be falling in love.

-

A few weeks passed, along with a few more stolen kisses and sneaking out at midnight.

At home, you didn’t spend much time together, trying to avoid suspicion from either Roy or Nadine.

The days were filled with summer chores and nights spent hidden away in each other's beds. You enjoyed kissing him, you were happy but sometimes there was a need for more; a longing and desire you couldn’t quite satiate.

He was currently situated beside you, upper body pressed into yours as his weight pushed you further into his mattress. Your lips languidly moved against his, before his mouth began to drift across your jaw and down your neck. The ache pooling deep in your lower belly was reaching a fever pitch.

“Gator?” You ask, timidly, with your eyes still firmly shut, relishing his soft kisses across your skin.

“Hmm? Yeah?” He asks, pulling back to study your face.

“I… feel like I need more.” You blurt out, covering your face with your hands.

He groans, knowing where this conversation was headed, lifting himself off you and laying back against his pillow as you turn to your side. With a heavy sigh he replies, “We can’t.” Keeping his eyes fixed firmly toward the ceiling.

“Why not? I– I want you to be my first.” You quietly admit.

“Christ.” He mutters, raking a hand down his face, trying to choose his words carefully. He couldn’t deny his own need but this was new territory for the both of you.

“Is that— what ya’ want? Ya’ want me to—?” He can barely get his question out without stumbling over his words as he reluctantly meets your gaze. He knows you shouldn't. If Roy ever found out, he'd probably kill the both of you but he didn’t want to think about the consequences. Not when you were looking at him with your big sparkling eyes, like he’d hung the goddamn moon.

“Yes.” You breathe out softly.

“Okay,” he replies, swallowing the lump in his throat, coaxing you to lay your head on his chest as he wraps an arm around you. “We can’t here, but I promise I'll think of somethin’.”

He made good on that promise a few nights later, a sweet boy trying to show a girl just how much he means to her, the only way he knew how.

Whatever happened in the barn that hot August night was between you, him and the Moon. She would forever keep your secrets safely hidden away.

-

Bliss. It was the only way to describe the high you'd been riding. Sneaking out of the house was still a regular occurrence, except most of the time you spent fogging up the inside of his truck. You both dove headfirst with reckless abandon and had little regard or worry about the consequences.

He wished to take you out on a real date, to hold your hand while watching a movie or sharing a milkshake at the diner. You both knew it would remain just that, a wish. It was too risky. Everyone knew Gator and word would surely get back to Roy so you kept your secret to yourselves to enjoy it for as long as you could.

Labels were never put on this thing between you. He never called you his girlfriend and you never saw any reason to call him your boyfriend. When you were alone, you were simply his and he was yours. Neither of you ever brought up the future, simply living in the moment and giving into your impulses as you saw fit.

Summer faded into Autumn, bringing with her the bright, crisp colors of fire and embers. Gator went back to school and you went back to your at-home studies.

The days became shorter as the weather began to grow colder heading quickly into the winter months. You spent less time outdoors, getting your chores done as quickly as possible, opting to stay in the warmth of the house as much as possible. This is when you began to notice a shift in Nadine.

She had grown a lot more quiet than usual, drawn in on herself. The usually bright and cheery nature she outwardly portrayed was no longer there, though you couldn’t blame her. The frequent abuse had never gone unnoticed, you’d only assumed he had finally broken her spirit. You’d never fully understood why she stayed with a man like Roy Tillman until it was far too late.

Roy, on the other hand, seemed to be in good spirits. There were less outbursts around the house with you and Gator managing to stay on his good side. They say hindsight is 20/20 and looking back now, it should have been clear.

She’d hugged you after supper one afternoon, something not uncommon but the way she held you tighter, letting the embrace linger for just a little longer than usual caught you a little off guard.

“You’ll be good and stay out of trouble, yeah?” She’d whispered, her voice timid.

“Of course.” You replied, squeezing her back.

“Good.” She pulled away, with an almost remorseful look in her eye. “You’re a good girl. I’m sorry.”

Your brows furrow at her apology but before you could ask what she meant by it, she dropped her hold on you and left the room.

You snuck out that night for your midnight rendezvous with a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach telling you it was a bad idea that you ultimately chose to ignore.

The engine hummed as you walked over, forcing a smile to hide the trepidation you were feeling. He had gone out ahead of you to warm up the cab.

The door opened to reveal him waiting in the driver's seat, hands cupped around his mouth, blowing on them for added warmth. He wore his thick Carharrt jacket with a black beanie covering his head. He lowered his hands to smile up at you when his eyes found yours.

“Hey Sunshine.” He greets you sweetly, as you softly reply with “hey.” Your voice came out a little more melancholy than you intended, hoping he hadn’t noticed as you climbed in, softly shutting the door behind you.

“Here.” Extending his hand toward you holding out a matching beanie. “Didn’t know if you had one. It’s gonna get hard to do the chores in the mornin’ without one. Ya’ can keep it.”

You couldn’t help the genuine smile that lifted the edges of your lips at the thoughtfulness, while he beams at you. In all honesty, it wasn’t something that you had thought to ask Nadine or Roy for.

Your fingers brush his as you take it from him before haphazardly throwing it over your head.

“Cute.” He remarks with a sideways grin. “Now, get that ass over here and warm me up.”

You giggle, moving a folded quilt he had brought along and scooting across the bench seat. When you got close, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you the rest of the way into his side. His lips leave a warm, lingering kiss to your cheek before asking if you were ready to go.

He drove with no particular destination in mind as the truck sped down deserted highways and backroads, happy to be here with you more than anything. His hand fiddles with the radio a time or two, quickly finding its place back on your thigh, as you lace your fingers with his.

You never mentioned the feeling you had or the odd way Nadine had acted, thinking it was better to keep it to yourself instead of souring the mood.

His truck comes to a stop on the lakeshore. The very spot he’d brought you countless times before. You sat there on the tailgate, pressed together with the quilt draped around both of you in comfortable silence as you held hands. The radio played softly in the background as the gentle lapping waves kissed the shore.

You move to rest your head against his shoulder with a sigh, looking out across dark water. There was no moon, no one to keep your secrets tonight.

“We won’t be able to stand the cold much longer. Hell it’ll be snowin’ in a few weeks.” He finally remarks.

“That’ll make it harder to sneak out. Won’t be able to hide our tracks.” You add, feeling a little saddened by the thought.

“Mhm. Didn’t think about that.” He hums, bringing his lips to your temple for a chaste kiss. “Guess we’ll make due in our rooms. You’ll have t’keep the noises down.”

“Gator!” You scoff, head shooting up, sending him a glare that makes him bark a laugh.

“I know. I know.” He holds a hand up in mock defence, with a grin. “Thought I’d try, anyhow.”

You shake your head, smiling back, despite yourself.

“You’re doing well at quarterback? Me and Nadine always listen to the games on her little radio.” Changing the subject before he could get any other bright ideas.

“Oh yeah, Anderson went down for a couple of weeks, and I showed em’ what I could do. Coach is going to start me next fall for senior year.” He suddenly glowed at the prospect, on his way with a full ride scholarship once he graduated.

“That’s amazing!” You praised, truly proud of him.

He lit up and began telling you a story as you watched him, everything else fading away. The slight crinkle at his eyes as his laughter carried through the clear, bright night. The warmth in the smile that he only ever reserved for you. He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person on earth when he looked at you with his undivided attention. You suddenly wished so desperately you could stop time at this very moment and live here forever.

The conversation drifted for a little longer into the night until your cheeks and noses were rosy and numb. A few more laughs and stolen kisses before you reluctantly had to head back to the ranch.

He helped you back into the truck, shutting the door and rounding the front with a jog, eager for a little heat.

You were still wrapped up in the blanket looking back at him with an all too dulcet smile as he quickly hopped in and turned the ignition, hoping like hell it would warm quickly.

“Hey, Sunshine.” He says, holding your gaze, as he lifts his hands to brush some hair from your face. “Anyone ever tell ya’ that ya’ got the prettiest smile around?”

You shake your head, in reply. The smile at your lips only grows with his compliment.

“Well, ya’ do. You’re real pretty.” He turns more toward you, starting to lean in, his hand dropping to the side of your neck, warm and calloused against your cool skin.

His nose nudges yours, as slightly wind chapped lips meet yours. You melt into the kiss with a soft sigh, parting your lips for your tongues to tangle rhythmically. There was an underlying urgency as he tilted his head, his free hand slipping to the small of your back, pulling you into him.

You poured every once of what you felt for him into that kiss, hoping through actions you could convey what mere words never could.

Gator Tillman was your first love.

Though no “I love yous” were ever said aloud, you felt it in each and every moment you shared. In reality, it was a love that was never meant to last. This night would forever be ingrained as the turning point, doomed by the narrative that was laid out before you but you were both too naive to see it.

He hesitantly pulls away, resting his forehead to yours, eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. He had to get you home but wanted to keep you to himself. When you think back to Gator, these are the quiet moments that pull to the forefront of your mind. The moments you tried to carry with you in your darkest days.

He smirks and pecks your lips one last time before reluctantly pulling away completely, sitting back in the seat.

“Damn.” He mutters. “I wish we had more time.”

“Me too.” You softly reply, taking up your usual spot right in beside him, not a hint of daylight between you as he shifts the truck into gear taking your leave.

It was a quiet, comfortable ride back until the house finally came back into view.

Your stomach dropped, like all the air had been sucked from the space you shared. All the lights were on and numerous deputies were parked outside. Something was terribly wrong.

Gator turned into the driveway, heart in his throat, trying to stay calm for your sake but in all honesty was scared shitless.

“Hey,” his hand resting on your thigh gave you a gentle squeeze. “It's okay, just follow my lead. Whatever it is, whatever happens, I'm right here.”

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from outside the window. Your insides were twisted, feeling like tonight's supper was going to come back up at any moment as you placed your hand on top of his, clinging onto him with an almost bruising force. You wanted to believe him but you were both truly powerless against a much bigger force.

Roy, standing on the porch, turned to see the truck. His stare was cold and indifferent, but his jaw was set. He began to walk over as Gator put the truck in park.

“Just stay in here.” He ordered, hand on the door handle, eyes pleading for you to listen to him.

“Gator,” you whimper, tears suddenly springing to your eyes. You were scared. There was no way either of you would walk away from this unscathed.

He sent you a half smile before leaving you alone in the cab with your heart hammering in your chest. You tried to take a few big, calming breaths to ease the anxiety that was coursing through your veins.

Roy's steps were heavy and calculated, reaching Gator in a matter of seconds before grabbing him by the collar pushing him harshly up against the door of the truck. You gasped out, covering your mouth.

“Where the fuck have you been?” He hissed between gritted teeth.

“We ju— just went for a drive. S’all dad. I asked her to.” His voice came out sure and steady. A scenario he'd thought about a million times, never believing it would come to fruition but he was living his worst nightmare.

“A drive? You expect me to believe that?” His grip grew a little tighter, pushing him again.

“S’the truth. I swear. You didn't have to get the whole department involved. We just went to the lake.” Shrugging nonchalantly, holding onto his lie for dear life, hoping for once he was believable.

You held your breath watching the whole thing unfold, the tension between the two only growing with each passing second.

“They ain't here for you, idiot! Nadine's gone!” He hisses.

Gator's eyes went wide with the sudden revelation.

“And then I find you sneaking out with Y/N after I told you to stay away from her?! Can't you listen to a goddamn thing I tell you?!” His voice bellowed out, sending a chill down your spine.

You looked on with horror as he held Gator by the collar with one hand, quickly raising the other, as the back of it connected with the side of his face.

“No!” You wailed, watching him slump forward as Roy then punched him in the abdomen, letting his knees hit the hard ground below. You wouldn’t forgive yourself if you stood by and let this happen without trying to help him.

You immediately flew into action, jumping out of the truck and running around to the other side, throwing yourself in front of him as he lay on the ground, groaning and gasping for a breath.

“Leave him alone!” You screamed, facing Roy head on with fury in your eyes before you felt the sudden sting of his palm meeting your cheek, knocking you dazed for a moment as you fell into the rough gravel below.

“You're an ungrateful little whore!” He yelled, taking a step toward you, but Gator had somehow managed to get to his feet, tackling the older man to the ground.

“Don't you fuckin' touch her!” He yelled, his fists coming down anywhere he could land a punch.

You cradled your jaw, trying to sit up, still dazed and helpless to the scene playing out before you.

Blow after blow pelted down on Roy until one of the ranch hands and a deputy were able to finally drag Gator off of him, kicking and screaming, leading him away and toward the back of the house. He was yelling out your name when Roy slowly got up and spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground turning his attention back to you.

His eyes bore into yours, staggering a step before righting himself and coming toward you like a raging bull.

You weren't quick enough to back away as he grabbed your arm with a bruising grip, pulling you to stand. Tears were free falling down your cheeks as he began to drag you to the house.

“No! Let me go!” You shrieked up at him, trying to wrench out of his grasp but he quickly turned, grabbing your other arm getting directly in your face.

“If you don't goddamn behave, I'm only going to make it worse for him.” He sneered. “You hear me?”

The implications of his words were crystal clear. Roy was capable of anything. No, God no. Please don’t let anything happen to him. When you didn't say anything, his grip on your arms only tightened as he shook you.

“Do you hear me?!”

“Yes, s—sir.” You sputter, bowing your head in defeat.

Without another word, he led you into the house and up to your room, shoving you in, causing you to trip and fall onto the unforgiving hardwood floor. You wince as your knees hit, bruising upon impact.

The door was quickly shut, with the unmistakable sound of him locking it from the outside could be heard echoing across the room.

You sat on the floor, leaned up against the bed, praying to whoever might listen. Please God, don't let Roy kill him.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Death & Dying

Death - the end of life, a permanent cessation of all vital functions.

Dying - the body’s preparation for death. This process may be very short in the case of accidental death, or it can last weeks or months, such as in patients suffering from cancer.

DEATH PREPARATION

Although it is not always possible, death preparation can sometimes help to reduce stress for the dying person and their family. Some preparations that can be done beforehand include:

Inform one or more family members or the executor of the estate about the location of important documents, such as social security card, birth certificate, and others.

Take care of burial and funeral arrangements (such as cremation or burial, small reception or full funeral) in advance of death, or inform family members or a lawyer what these arrangements should be.

Discuss financial matters (such as bank accounts, credit card accounts, and federal and state tax returns) with a trusted family member, lawyer, estate executor, or trustee.

Gather together all necessary legal papers relating to property, vehicles, investments, and other matters relating to collected assets.

Locate the telephone numbers and addresses of family and friends that should be contacted upon the death.

Discuss outstanding bills (such as utilities, telephone, and house mortgage) and other expenses that need to be paid.

Collect all health records and insurance policies.

Identify the desire to be an organ donor, if any.

MOURNING & GRIEVING

The death of a loved one is a severe trauma, and the grief that follows is a natural and important part of life.

No two people grieve exactly the same way, and cultural differences play a significant part in the grieving process.

For many, the immediate response may be shock, numbness, or disbelief.

Reactions may include:

Shortness of breath, heart palpitations, sweating, and dizziness.

Other reactions might be a loss of energy, sleeplessness or increase in sleep, changes in appetite, or stomach aches.

Susceptibility to common illnesses, nightmares, and dreams about the deceased are not unusual during the grieving period.

Emotional reactions are as individual as physical reactions.

A preoccupation with the image of the deceased or feelings of hostility, apathy, emptiness, or even fear of one’s own death may occur.

Depression, diminished sex drive, sadness, and anger at the deceased may be present.

Bereavement may cause short- or long-term changes in the family unit or other relationships of the bereaved.

It is important for the bereaved to work through their feelings and to not avoid their emotions.

Support groups are often available.

If a person does not feel comfortable discussing emotions and feelings with family members, friends, or primary support groups, they may wish to consult a therapist to assist with the process.

Various cultures and religions view death in different manners and may conduct mourning rituals according to their own traditions.

Visitors often come to express their condolences to the family and to bid farewell to the deceased.

Funeral services may be public or private.

Family or friends of the deceased may host a gathering after the funeral to remember and celebrate the life of the deceased, which also helps the bereaved to begin the mourning process positively.

Knowing how much a loved one is cherished and remembered by friends and family can provide comfort to those who experienced the loss.

Other methods of condolences include sending flowers or cards to the home or the funeral parlor, sending a donation to a charity that the family has chosen, or bringing a meal to the family during the weeks after the death.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Pain ⚜ Bereavement Death & Cheating Death ⚜ Pain & Violence ⚜ Death & Sacrifice

[mariacallous]

Last month, the Trump administration placed a $1 spending limit on most government-issued credit cards that federal employees use to cover travel and work expenses. The impacts are already widely felt.

At the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, scientists aren’t able to order equipment used to repair ships and radars. At the Food and Drug Administration, laboratories are experiencing delays in ordering basic supplies. At the National Park Service, employees are canceling trips to oversee crucial maintenance work. And at the Department of Agriculture and the Federal Aviation Administration, employees worry that mission-critical projects could be stalled. In many cases, employees are already unable to carry out the basic functions of their job.

“The longer this disruption lasts, the more the system will break,” says a USDA official who was granted anonymity because they aren’t authorized to speak to the media about the looming crisis.

A researcher at the National Institutes of Health who tests new vaccines and treatments in rodents says he has had to put experiments on hold; his lab is not able to get certain necessary materials, such as antibodies, which are needed to assess immune response. “We have animals here that are aging that will pretty soon be too old to work with,” says the researcher, who requested anonymity as they aren’t authorized to speak publicly about the agency. Young mice and rats that are 6 to 8 weeks old are typically used for drug and vaccine studies, but some of the animals in their lab have now aged out of that window and may have to be euthanized.

They say NIH workers have been using internal listservs to ask for reagents and lab equipment from other buildings or institutions to try to compensate for shortages, but they’re not always able to track down what they need. The NIH is made up of 27 institutes and centers, and its Bethesda, Maryland, campus is spread across more than 75 buildings. “Sometimes you need something that's really niche, and you're just not going to find it from someone else on campus,” they say.

The change comes as Elon Musk’s so-called Department of Government Efficiency continues to hunt for alleged examples of waste across the federal government. Late last month, DOGE announced that it was working to “simplify” the government’s largest credit card program, which issues GSA SmartPay travel and purchase cards for federal employees. Last Wednesday, the agency claimed 24,000 cards had been deactivated.

The credit card program allows federal workers to bypass the typical procurement process required to buy goods and services. A 2002 report from the Department of Commerce said that, “by avoiding the formal procurement process, GSA estimates the annual savings to be $1.2 billion.” It also enables federal employees to avoid paying sales tax on expenses that the government is exempt from.

At the FDA, labs that analyze samples to ensure that food, drugs, medical devices, and cosmetics are safe and meet regulatory standards are already facing shortages. "While we are always acutely aware of when Congress’ funding is going to run out, we are able to order supplies to keep things going in the lab. This abrupt ending felt like the rug was being pulled out from under us," says an employee at the FDA who requested anonymity because they aren't authorized to speak with the media.

The employee recently placed an order for pipette tips, an essential laboratory supply, but found that order was put on hold. "Now we are running out, asking colleagues at other offices to share what they might not be using,” they told WIRED.

In addition, workers say FDA labs now have to go through a lengthy process to order liquid nitrogen, which is used to keep ultra-cold freezers running. These freezers preserve samples of cells and other biological material that reflect years, and sometimes decades, of research. Delays in getting liquid nitrogen tanks could destroy that material. Previously, new tanks could usually be acquired the same day as putting in a request. Now, it takes a week or so to receive a tank after initiating a request.

An employee at the Environmental Protection Agency says her facility is not able to place regular orders of liquid nitrogen at the moment. “We have dozens of these freezers full of important environmental samples that are imminently at risk of being lost because we can no longer get our regular shipments of liquid nitrogen,” says the employee, who requested anonymity. These samples are used as part of research on detection and remediation methods for chemicals such as PFAS, which are found in many products and break down very slowly over time.

“Scientists are being forced to jerry-rig the connection points on these freezers to accept pressures of liquid nitrogen they were not designed to handle,” the employee says. “Divisions are resorting to bartering with each other to obtain needed items.”

The FDA and EPA did not immediately respond to a request for comment from WIRED.

The credit card freeze also means that federal researchers who were working on scientific manuscripts can’t pay journal fees, meaning they can’t submit their work to certain journals for publication.

An employee at a federal forensics lab told WIRED that spending limits mean the lab is no longer able to pay to ship evidence back to agents, effectively halting its ability to do casework. Before a case goes to trial, defendants have the right to access and review evidence that the prosecution intends to use against them, which includes access to the evidence in their case. Defendants are able to send that evidence to an outside lab for analysis if they choose. “Cases can’t progress until we return the evidence,” says the forensics lab worker, who asked to remain anonymous. “I basically can’t do my job right now.”

NIH employees were told that travel cards could not be used at all for 30 days, forcing scientists to cancel plans to attend a major infectious disease conference next week. USDA employees at the Pest Identification Technology Laboratory have stockpiled reagents used for molecular tests in advance of the spending limits, according to the USDA official.

FAA employees who travel to work on and test aviation systems worry the credit card freeze will prevent them from completing their projects. “We are allowed to use our personal cards in emergencies but none of us trust them to pay us back now,” says one employee.

The impacts have hit the National Park Service as well. One employee was poised to go on a trip to oversee road maintenance at a national monument when the change went into effect on February 20. “Unless I want to pay for it myself, I can’t go. I can’t pay for my hotel, my rental car, fuel for the car. Now I can’t carry out the mission,” the employee says. “Today, instead of focusing on other work, I’m focused on three different contingencies on how to handle this. Do I go? Do I call my engineering team and tell them to reschedule? And if so, when? The project is on an indefinite hold.”

A memo written to staff at the National Park Service specified that “all travel that is NOT related to national security, public safety, or immigration enforcement should be canceled if it begins on Wednesday, February 26, through the end of March 2025.” A long-term decision on the travel policy, it said, will come “at a later date.” Some NPS staffers were able to travel in February despite not getting official clearance. They have now been told no travel will be allowed in March. To date, roughly 75 trips have been canceled or rescheduled, according to a source familiar with the situation.

The National Park Service did not respond to a request for comment from WIRED.

Some government employees say they were given a warning prior to the change being announced on February 20. “We went out and bought cases and cases of toilet paper the night before,” another current employee at the National Park Service says. “There’s a general acknowledgement that things are going to break.”

That employee works in the Pacific West Region, which manages federal land in California, Hawaii, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, and Nevada, as well as parks in Arizona, Montana, Guam, and American Samoa. While the GSA did allow for the possibility of exceptions to the clamp-down, the employee claims there are only four purchase cards with spending limits above $1 available for the entire region.

Some of these parks pay for services like internet and wireless on purchase cards—leaving staffers wondering if their work devices could soon be cut off. “Before someone can fix a bathroom a work order has to be issued,” the current employee explains. “That happens electronically. Like any business, we rely on email, Teams, and chat to get things done.”

The spending limits reflect Musk’s belief in zero-based budgeting. After he purchased Twitter, he slashed the budget to zero and forced employees to justify every expense. He also froze people’s corporate credit cards.

“With the Twitter pausing of payments, at some point we were in a meeting at 1 am on a Saturday, and it was like, ‘Hey, let's turn the credit cards off to see what bounces, and what happens,’" explained angel investor Jason Calacanis on the All In podcast in February. (Calacanis was part of Musk’s transition team at Twitter.) “And of course, we started getting calls ... The people who come first, they're probably the ones who are in on the biggest grift.”

Employees see it a different way. “There are so many controls in place to make sure fraud doesn’t happen,” alleges the current NPS staffer. “I honestly believe the only fraud occurring is being committed by Musk, [Russell] Vought, and [Donald] Trump.”