#venmo grant for small business

[investingdrone]

Venmo Small Business Grant 2024: How to Apply & Win | Eligibility & Deadline

Do you run a small business with big dreams? Ever wished you had a little extra cash to take things to the next level? Well, buckle up, because the Venmo Small Business Grant might be your ticket to success! This grant offers $10,000 plus mentorship to lucky winners, and in this article, we’ll break down everything you need to know to apply and win. We’ll cover eligibility, deadlines, and tips to…

[windwaver]

gonna be opening up my shop soon and im very excited about it. it’s gonna cost me about $400 to file for an llc but i wanna do this the right way. after that im gonna lock back into photoshop and get some new designs made. the shop will more than likely launch w/ stickers and hoodies and then expand on from there.

if you’ve been following me for a while you would know that i made hoodies before. my lonely squad hoodies were very limited at the time but im bringing em back along with some new designs.

and also i’ll have my stickers on there as well w/ a special message and maybe a gift inside.

be on the lookout and support if you can 🖤

[chrismerle]

Elsa's Crochet Commissions

Yooooo, I'm Elsa. I am broke and between contracts. I'm attempting to get a small business off the ground, and while I am enjoying the process, it's slow going and I need money in the interim.

I crochet. I crochet a lot, and generally pretty quickly. I can crochet things for you, if that's what you're interested in--especially with Christmas in a few weeks. (granted, if you order something after we're already into December, it will probably not be finished, packaged, and shipped in time for Christmas, sorry) If you're interested in my ready-made stuff, there's a link to my Etsy shop in my pinned post. If you're interested in custom pieces, keep reading!

Things To Know:

I'll take three crochet commissions at a time, but they won't necessarily be first come, first serve. I'll probably work on all of them simultaneously, which means if Person A orders a shawl and then Person B orders a hat, Person B's hat will likely be done before Person A's shawl.

I do clothing items, accessories, plushies, blankets, etc.

I crochet. I do not knit. I do not know how to knit. I don't have any imminent plans to learn how to knit.

The price of the item will be determined by the complexity of the end result, the amount of time I estimate it will take, the type of yarn you want it made of (wool or cotton are more expensive than acrylic, alpaca is more expensive than sheep wool, etc.), and the cost of the pattern if you want a specific item and the pattern costs money.

Payment will be half up front, then half + shipping afterwards. I have Paypal and Venmo. (I prefer Venmo.)

The item will be made in an environment where cats and dogs are present, if you need to worry about allergies. I can't really feasibly escape them.

What To Do:

If you're interested, get in touch. You can DM me here on tumblr or email me at widgets.apparel@gmail.com. In the unlikely event I already have three commissions lined up, I'll let you know, but if you want I can let you know when a slot frees up later.

Give me as many details of what you want as you can.

If you haven't presented specific patterns and yarn choices, I will supply options for your approval.

Once the details are determined, I will give the price and you'll pay half.

I will commence working. I can offer a rough estimate of when the item will be finished, but I can't make any guarantees.

When I'm done, I will take photos and show you. You'll send the second half of the payment + shipping.

I will package up the item and give you the tracking info, and get it to the post office, at which point it is figuratively and literally out of my hands.

Assuming the post office doesn't shit the bed, your item will arrive! Yay! I don't require photos of you with the item, but I will appreciate them.

Examples (under the cut):

(very long post under the cut, sorry)

Dragon scale fingerless gloves, acrylic. $32.

Granny square purse, acrylic. $45.

Headband/earwarmer, acrylic. $22.

Semi-posable dog plushie, acrylic. $175. (took about 25 hours)

Triangle shawl, acrylic. $160.

Fingerless gloves, acrylic. $28.

Textured slouchy hat, wool. $35.

Tunisian crochet plaid hat, acrylic. $35.

Pokeball hat, acrylic. $28.

Mosaic crochet makeup bag/pencil zipper pouch (with lining), acrylic. $36.

Tunisian crochet scarf, acrylic. $42.

Capybara plushie, acrylic. $30.

Rustic bunny plushie, acrylic. $15.

Laptop bag (with lining, buttons, and strap), acrylic. $95.

Medium purse (with lining, strap, and buttons), acrylic. $70.

Stegosaurus plushie, acrylic and wool/acrylic blend. $75 (he's a Big Boi)

Narwhal plushie, cotton/acrylic blend. $20.

Ribbed scarf, wool/acrylic blend. $42.

Chevron scarf, acrylic (I think?). $45.

Flower hat, acrylic. $38.

R2-D2 hat, acrylic. $30.

BB-8 hat, acrylic. $30.

[venmolimits]

Venmo Person To Person Limit: Steps to Increase Your Transaction Limit

In today’s fast-paced digital world, Venmo has become a cornerstone for quick and easy financial transactions. As a popular mobile payment service, Venmo allows users to send and receive money seamlessly. Understanding the Venmo person to person transaction limit is crucial for users who frequently use this platform for their financial needs. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into various aspects of Venmo limits, including sending, transferring, and withdrawing money, and how to increase these limits effectively.

Understanding Venmo Limits

Venmo limits are designed to ensure security and prevent fraudulent activities. These limits are categorized into sending limits, receiving limits, withdrawal limits, and transfer limits. Each of these plays a significant role in how users interact with the Venmo platform.

Venmo Sending Limit

The Venmo sending limit refers to the maximum amount of money a user can send in a specific period. For unverified accounts, the sending limit is typically lower. However, once a user verifies their identity, this limit increases significantly.

Verification involves providing Venmo with information such as your full name, date of birth, and the last four digits of your Social Security Number. Once verified, users can enjoy higher sending limits, making it easier to manage larger transactions.

Venmo Transfer Limit

The Venmo transfer limit refers to the amount of money a user can transfer from their Venmo account to their bank account. This limit ensures that the platform can monitor and manage the flow of funds effectively.

Standard Transfer Limits

Daily Transfer Limit: $999.99

Weekly Transfer Limit: $19,999.99

Instant Transfer Limits

Per Transaction Limit: $2,999.99

Weekly Transfer Limit: $10,000.00

Instant transfers allow users to move funds from their Venmo account to their bank account within minutes, albeit for a small fee. Standard transfers, on the other hand, are free and typically take 1-3 business days to process.

Venmo Withdrawal Limit

The Venmo withdrawal limit pertains to the amount of cash a user can withdraw from their Venmo account using a Venmo Debit Card at ATMs or through cashback at stores.

ATM and Cashback Withdrawal Limits

Daily Withdrawal Limit: $400.00

Users can increase this limit by verifying their identity, similar to how sending limits are increased. Verifying your identity not only enhances your account’s security but also grants you more flexibility with your funds.

How to Increase Venmo Limits

Increasing your Venmo limits involves a few straightforward steps. The most important step is verifying your identity. Here’s a detailed guide on how to do it:

Open the Venmo App: Log into your Venmo account using the app.

Go to Settings: Tap on the menu icon and select “Settings.”

Select Identity Verification: In the “Settings” menu, choose “Identity Verification.”

Provide Required Information: Enter your full name, date of birth, and the last four digits of your Social Security Number.

Submit Documents: In some cases, Venmo may request additional documentation, such as a government-issued ID, to complete the verification process.

Once your identity is verified, your Venmo person-to-person limit, as well as your transfer and withdrawal limits, will be increased.

FAQs:-

What happens if I exceed my Venmo limit?

If you attempt to send, transfer, or withdraw an amount that exceeds your Venmo limit, the transaction will be declined. You will need to wait until the next day or week, depending on the specific limit, before you can complete the transaction.

Can I request higher limits on Venmo?

Currently, Venmo does not offer the option to request higher limits beyond the standard verified limits. However, ensuring your account is fully verified will provide you with the highest possible limits available on the platform.

Are there fees associated with exceeding Venmo limits?

Venmo does not charge fees for attempting to exceed your limits. However, you will not be able to complete transactions that go beyond the established limits.

How often are Venmo limits reset?

Venmo limits typically reset on a rolling basis. For example, if you reach your weekly sending limit on a Tuesday, it will reset the following Tuesday.

Is there a limit on how much I can receive on Venmo?

Venmo does not impose a specific limit on the amount of money you can receive. However, receiving large amounts may trigger verification requirements or reviews by Venmo’s security team.

Can business accounts have higher limits?

Yes, Venmo offers different limits for personal and business accounts. Business accounts generally have higher limits to accommodate the needs of merchants and service providers.

Conclusion

Understanding and managing your Venmo limit is essential for maximizing the utility of this versatile payment platform. By verifying your identity and adhering to Venmo’s guidelines, you can enjoy higher sending, transferring, and withdrawal limits, making your financial transactions smoother and more efficient. Stay informed and ensure your account is fully optimized to take advantage of all that Venmo has to offer.

[onlinemarktplatz-de]

Venmo Small Business Grant: Unterstützung vom PayPal für US-Kleinunternehmen im dritten Jahr

Der Venmo Small Business Grant von PayPal geht in sein drittes Jahr und unterstützt erneut Kleinunternehmen mit finanziellen Mitteln und Mentoring. Das Programm vergibt Grants an zehn US-Unternehmer und bietet ihnen jeweils 20.000 US-Dollar. Lesen Sie den ganzen Artikel

[georgedonnel]

Can you increase the Zelle limit?

Zelle is a popular digital payment service that allows users to send and receive money quickly and securely through their mobile devices. Many people use Zelle for various transactions, from splitting bills with friends to making payments to small businesses. However, one common question that arises among users is whether they can increase the Zelle limit. In this essay, we will explore this question and discuss the options available to users who wish to increase their Zelle limit.

The first thing to understand is that Zelle imposes a daily limit on the amount of money that can be sent or received. This limit is set by your bank or credit union, which acts as the intermediary between your Zelle account and your actual bank account. The default limit for most users is $1,000 per day, but some banks may set different limits based on individual accounts. If you find that this limit is not sufficient for your needs, you may be wondering if you can increase it.

The good news is that in some cases, it is possible to increase Zelle limit. However, the process for doing so varies depending on your bank or credit union. Some institutions may allow you to request a higher limit directly through their online banking platform or by contacting customer service. You may be asked to provide additional information or undergo a verification process to prove your identity and financial stability before the limit can be increased.

It is important to note that not all banks or credit unions will grant requests for higher Zelle limits. Some institutions have strict policies in place to prevent fraud and ensure the security of their customers' accounts. In these cases, you may have to work within the existing limit or explore alternative payment methods for larger transactions.

If you are unable to increase your Zelle limit through your bank or credit union, there are other options to consider. For example, you could use multiple Zelle accounts to send larger amounts of money by splitting the transaction across different accounts. Alternatively, you could explore other payment services that may offer higher transaction limits, such as PayPal or Venmo.

In conclusion, while it is possible to increase the Zelle limit in some cases, the process may vary depending on your bank or credit union. If you find that the default limit is not sufficient for your needs, you may be able to request a higher limit, but there is no guarantee that your request will be approved. It is important to explore all of your options and consider alternative payment methods if necessary to ensure that you can meet your financial needs effectively.

[cavenewstimes]

Venmo, Nextdoor, Heinz All Support Small Businesses Through Grant Programs

Large corporations like PayPal, Nextdoor, and Heinz can make a major impact by supporting small business grant programs. This week, all of these companies announced new funding rounds to support underserved businesses. Read about these small business grant programs and more in the list below. Venmo Small Business Grant PayPal just announced the second iteration of its Venmo Small Business Grant.…

[don-lichterman]

New Venmo Small Business Grant Program to Support Emerging and Small Businesses

New Venmo Small Business Grant Program to Support Emerging and Small Businesses

According to a U.S. Bank study, 82% of businesses that failed cited cash flow problems as a factor in their failure.1 In addition to providing a financial grant, the Venmo Small Business Grant program will provide recipients with access to technical expertise and mentorship on topics such as legal services, financial analysis, digital marketing and more. These resources will be provided in…

[ellsbclls]

" wow... you look... you look amazing. " for peter please? i love love love ur writing btw!

NOTE: This... ended up so embarrassingly long... i don't even know what the word count is, but i can bet it's a good 20%-30% longer than the average blurb.

WARNINGS: cursing, quirky🤪 mentions of drug use, implied making out (but can be perceived as sex, dear god please don’t perceive it as sex though), and some good ol’ fashion stark!ready x peter parker banter

They say, "never meet your heroes." Well, Peter wished he had adhered to that warning before he ended up here — a lanky, overdressed thumb towering high above the roof of the Avenger's Compound.

A semi-annual assembly of New York City's finest heroes that had little to do with their civic duties, and much to do with their inhibitions, and just how much alcohol it would take to release them — but there was one glaring problem.

Peter didn't drink.

He never saw the allure, especially when it came at such a high risk. He'd convinced himself that he refrained for the sake of Aunt May, the only remaining part of his family who put her life on the line to ensure his safety and overall well-being — the Spider-Man reveal already took some getting used to, he didn't need to add drunken night expenditures to her overnight fretting. Yet, when Flash's 'End of the Year' party had been raided by the police, a small part of him found joy in knowing he needn't fear the police or their breathalyzer test, even if he was deemed Pussy Parker for the remainder of that summer.

Even if he wanted to instill some liquid courage into himself, he hadn't the basic courage to let himself be vulnerable like that, in front of all the adults that made up the Avengers. Mr.Stark had already commented on his only suit, and how small he looked as it swamped his form, and the entire altercation made him wish the roof would just open up and swallow him whole.

Bullies, you'd call them.

There they were, New York's finest Defender's, huddled around the Mastrangelo like it couldn't put their entire life savings to shame, hosting a rousing game of beer pong upon its marble exterior. Your father was lucky your mother was still in Milan, tying up loose ends on a new line of bullshit you didn't concern yourself with. You just counted the days until she returned home, and you could soak up every ounce of her nurturing presence.

God, did you miss her.

It’s not like your father wasn’t just as nurturing, competitively so, to a point were you almost felt smothered — but you were too alike. In spaces where you both held too stubborn, your mother was there to mediate, and with ceaseless barrages of dry humor came her firm, unwavering severity, proving her love with candid remarks instead of jesting quips.

“Oh, free intern!” He dragged you from your nostalgic supercut with your endearing nickname, coaxing a fierce glare from your hues. “Run down to that place on 7th street and get some beer? And not that Miller Coor’s Bud bullshit, the upper echelon on Sigma Delta Nu delicacies.”

Jesus Christ.

You had caught glimpses of his argument with Steve, complaining about how stupid it would be to pour anything top shelf into a red solo cup — blasphemous really — but you didn’t expect him to do anything more than concede.

"Father of the year, everybody." You clapped just above your head, prompting the remaining company to join you. "I think you're forgetting that I'm not twenty-one."

"First and foremost, I know I am," Tony counters your triumphant grin with a sarcastic one. "Which is how I know that your fake ID says 21."

"Stark, it's fine. I can grab the beer," You thanked God and her impeccable timing once Steve interrupted, settling himself between the two of you with outstretched palms. "I could use the fresh air anyway."

You mimicked Steve's stance, cocking your brows toward your father. "See? Problem solved. Now leave me alone."

Losing interest in the company exponentially, you started to retreat, but groaned once your father's voice pierced the air again. "Nuh-uh-uh, Rogers. Why? So you can go to the nearest GNC and snort a container of protein powder? I don't think so."

You retreat to the furthest recesses of your mind as Tony and Steve bicker back and forth about honesty and friendly competition. Steve wouldn't know how to bump a rail if the U.S Army assembled a thorough, interactive training course on it, and his age quadrupled the life expectancy of most snow-packed socialites. Yet, on the other hand, you were shocked that your father even knew what a GNC was — ultimately, you were riled from your thoughts by an irksome realization.

"Are you fucking- Why can't old man Jenkins do it?" you gestured wildly toward the enhanced super soldier in question, blind to the obvious offense scrawled across his features. You seldom took your opulent lineage for granted, but when situations such as these presented themself, a selfish corner of your mind wondered what it would be like to have a run-of-the mill, cheesy-pun equipped, golf short wearing father. "You'd rather risk your daughter's own safety, and the sanctity of her criminal record, for a stupid game of beer pong?"

Natasha's incredulous laughter chimed between your incessant back and forth, spurred by the uncanny resemblance you and your father shared between every aspect imaginable — your dry wit just so happened to be in the spotlight.

"Yes," He didn't bother to meet your glare, already familiar with its scorching beam against the side of his face "Yes I would."

Hues practically rolled into the back of your skull, exaggerating your every move to a thespian level to make it clear, to even the boniest of heads, that you didn't take pleasure in this task. You were so excited to finally unwind at this event — slam down the sugary mocktail your Uncle Thor always "forgot" to order virgin, dangle your feet over the shallow end of the pool, maybe even shoot a few low jests at Bucky if there wasn't a carnal gleam in his eyes.

Your thrilling plans were now put on hold just to support your father's mid-life crisis.

"I know, I know." He tried to repeat the name of the wine stop n’ shop, only for you to wave him off. He wasn’t wrong — you had been abusing your fake ID in that very stop n’ shop for years, though you’ve recently come to the conclusion that the cashier was far more interested in your chest than your credentials. "If I get arrested, I'm bring you down with me. I'll tell Business Insider that FRIDAY's just one, big elaborate ruse for the underground Fake ID business you have on the side. They'll eat it up like-"

"Love you, honey! I'll venmo you!" He butt in, sending you off with a wave of his fingers.

You flipped him off, shouting an earnest 'I love you' in return. There was no denying that you loved each other, some would even argue that he loved you more than he loved himself — you just chose to show it in your own, eccentric way.

Mere seconds into your newfound task, you stopped dead in your tracks. You could make out that bed of chestnut locks anywhere.

"Parker?" Swiftly surveying his frumpy attire, you struggled to stifle the upward tilt of your lips. Even as he stood uncomfortably before you, visibly seconds away from crawling out of his own skin, he still managed to be the sweet, endearing Peter you knew and loved. "God, I didn't even realize that was you."

You didn't have the heart to tell him that you caught one fleeting glimpse of him at the very beginning of the festivities and thought he was a part of the catering company, nor did you feel a need to disclose the snide remark you whispered into your father's ear about the miserable staff. There was no sense in kicking a dead horse while it was already down.

His gaze weighed heavy against your frame, though, bolstered by an overwhelming intensity that forced you to wonder if he could read your mind. Though, if you could tap into his thoughts, you'd be shocked to find a reflection of your own — bewilderment, adoration, the tell-tale signs of a burgeoning crush, and the myriad of excuses that disputed them.

He could only manage to stumble over his words, complimenting you with sentiments that could never amount to the emotions welling in his chest. "Wow... you look... you look amazing."

And you couldn't argue, not with the way you were pampered hours prior. Mercier had smothered your hair in this honey-infused serum that made your curls bounce to life with each step, and the custom Jacquemus silhouette you were sporting hugged every ample curve enticingly so. You felt like a million bucks, and you probably cost that much give or take, so why deny it?

Peter, on the other hand — Well, he was very lucky that he was so cute, and his jawline could probably cut Vision's infinity stone straight out of his skull. It almost made up for the tragic shape of his suit, and just how tragically out of place it was at this event.

"You look, um-" Softness tugged at the corner of your eyes as they crinkled dotingly. "You look very cute."

"That was a very convincing half-truth." He chuckled, a subtle pink hue blooming over the valleys of his cheeks."

"Oh, so a part of you knows you're cute." You teased, enjoying the way the pink hue grew deeper.

"Oh! Oh, no... No, I mean, kind of? On the scale of confident perspectives, I think-uh-cute... Cute is on the lower end? And you know what? My Aunt May-"

"Peter, you wanna get out of here?" You interrupted him, hoping to save him from all the words he had yet to stumble over. "And then immediately come back?"

"Yeah," He vigorously nodded his head, despite being equally as confused. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

"Come," You offered your hand, a small gesture the two of you have woven into your complicated relationship. 

You'd tend to straddle a very thin line between friendship and something more, reaping all the warm, tentative affections of newfound lovers without explicitly considering yourselves so. The both of you, for as brilliant as your merits show, continued to convince yourselves that the hand holding, the comfortable silences, the mornings plastered against each other's sides, were simply happenstance. Despite the increasing willingness of each encounter, you'd only ever chalk it up to chance. So when you offered your hand out to him, he took it in stride — because the two of you would indulge in every ounce of attention you could get your hands on, at least until one of you inevitably came to your senses and found someone worth your time.

Your fingers were firmly intertwined as you led him to the roof’s exit, tugging him down the staircase and through the vacant halls of the top floor just in time to catch the elevator. You found no reason to keep his hand hostage once you were inside, so you begrudgingly retracted yours. You swore you could hear a pitiful huff come from his side of the elevator, but you chalked it up to wishful thinking. 

Now it was just you and Peter, left to your own devices, and roughly ninety-two floors away from your destination. Just enough time to do what you were aching to do.

“Peter,” You murmured, and his gaze flickered to your own without a moment of hesitation, drenched in a hopeful haze you failed to decipher.

“Y/N?” He echoed, tilting his body toward your own.

“You look...” You paused, unsure of which word accurately portrayed your thoughts. ”insane.”

“I know.” He whined. You tried to stifle the giggle that bubbled at his hopeless demeanor, brows furrowed together as he squeezed his eyes shut, shoulders slumped impossible low.

“It’s a good thing you have such a charitable friend.” And you made light work of his suit jacket, the air suddenly rapt with a thick air of electricity as you worked the offending article off his shoulders, haphazardly tossing it on the ground. Protests formed on the tip of his tongue, but he opted to swallow them in return for your help, going slack when you ran your fingers through his meticulously gelled hair.

Though he embodied the vision of a suave, debonair socialite alarmingly well, with his carefully quaffed locks, nothing suited him as well as the pillowy, fawn tendrils that made up his soft curls. You needed them back, needed a reminder of your sweet, darling boy, and patience was never your strong suit. 

You wondered if he was in need of the same reminder, seeing as he’d let you manhandle him without so much as a hum of discontent.

All done. Only a few revisions, and he was a completely different boy. Clad in a crisp, white shirt, sans its horrifying grey counterpart, you rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top three discs. The fabric was taut against his impressive set of muscles, leaving little to the imagination with each sweeping roll of his arms. You’d pat yourself on the back, but you were too busy drooling all over your work.

“Is- Is this good?” He broke the silence with a tentative query, peering back at you through his lashes.

"Yeah,” You voice came out strangled at best, distracted by the flurry of butterflies ravaging your stomach. There was something about this moment — maybe it was the glint of tenderness ridding his gaze, or your tight proximity, or maybe it was fate, finally persuading you to topple over that dangerous line — but regardless, you decided it was now or never. “but there's still something missing," 

“My jacket?” He breathlessly queried. His eyes frantically searched your face, like he couldn’t settle on just one feature to admire.

“No, no...” You breathed back, cautiously inching closer, until there was only a sliver of space separating your chests. "You need to loosen up, Parker."

“And what- What do you suggest I do?” His gaze flickered down to your lips shamelessly, and returned just as quickly. 

“Do you trust me?” 

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

“Good,” You sighed, your breath fanning over his lips before you greedily chased its warmth, kissing him with such feather-light pressure, it almost felt like a dream — a thrilling, delicate dream. You had to tear yourself from his lips before you delved even deeper, hoping to find a mirror image of your relief, your satisfaction, in his own features. However, before your eyes even fluttered open, his palms swept under the curve of your jaw, and coaxed your mouth back to his, instantly qualming any of your fears as you both melted into the exchange. He tasted of spearmint, and cherries, and something so intoxicatingly him that you could barely restrain yourself.

You wanted him, God, did you want him, and for the first time, someone wanted you just as much, without an ounce of greed to it — He wanted you for you.

The remaining seconds of the elevator ride were filled with fervent kisses, and wandering hands, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck while his bunched the silky fabric of your dress. It was all smitten, indulgent brushes of your lips until the elevator dinged, and the doors opened up to reveal the fashionably late, dynamic duo —Sam Wilson and James Buchanan Barnes.

Their expressions were nothing short of priceless, one complexion green while the other ran pale at the sight of your interwoven limbs. You tried to open your mouth before they could comment, but you were far too late, buried in a booming wall of—

"This is a public space! You are defiling a public space!"

"I can't do this— I'm gonna take the stairs."

Their voices weaved into a messy, irritated harmony of disbelief, managing to still complement each other despite their varying levels of urgency.

An idea, a selfish, evil idea, popped into your head, and you enacted it before you could even unravel yourself from Peter’s hold.

"You just reminded me, I was about to text you! My dad needs a couple cases of Yuengling.” You gestured for Peter to press on the “Open Door” button, and by the time he started clicking the prompt, you’d already fetched your wallet, fishing your card out for Sam. “They probably have some at the corner store, but he’ll throw up if he finds out he was drinking alcohol from the corner store, so you’re gonna have to walk down to that market on Seventh.” You could feel Peter’s perplexed gaze gnaw at your shoulder, but you persisted in your impish pursuits, shoving the AmEx into his hand. 

“Chop chop, lover boys!” You hastily snapped your fingers in his direction, and yelled just loud enough to make sure Bucky accompanied him, parsing their punishment out evenly. 

Served them right, encroaching on such a perfect moment. 

Bucky’s groan echoed through the stairwell, followed by a childish stomp of combat boots, and you were pleased enough to shoo Peter’s hand away, pressing the “Close Door” button.

Sometimes it was nice being Tony Stark’s daughter — less backtalk from the sovereign throne of comebackdom.

“I thought you said we were getting out of here.” His brows were pinched together, the most adorable little frown forming between them.

“Oh, we most certainly are,” You replied, pressing the button for your floor. You could tell that the pieces weren’t clicking all the way, and you proceeded to spell it out for him, dropping a chaste kiss to the spot just below his ear. “We’re gonna go to my room. And then we’re gonna go right back to the party when we’re done.”

“When we’re done?” He mused, voice wavering beneath the soft caress of your lips, scattering even more tentative kisses down the column of his neck.

“When we’re done.” You parroted back, meeting his downward gaze through your lashes.”I think you still have some loosening up to do.”

[irwintry]

Jean Jacket

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, drug mention

Summary: Y/N and Luke have been best friends, but they haven’t seen each other in years. Based loosely off of the song “Jean Jacket” by The Summer Set.

Word Count: 9.5k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You messaged him at 10:14 in the morning. It felt unnatural, and a knot formed in your stomach once you hit send.

You:

hey.

string bean

He didn’t reply until 6:24 that night.

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Don’t call me that.

I’m toned now.

You:

oh my bad

what’s a thicc vegetable

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I don’t know

You:

you have cool hair

so do asparagus’

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Don’t call me asparagus.

You:

sorry

sexy stalk of corn

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I hate you

You:

i love u squid

should i learn how to use photoshop

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Absolutely not

I don’t want to be photoshopped onto corn

What do you want?

You:

oh sorry am i bothering u

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Yes

You:

:o

rude

string bean

Message not delivered.

why aren’t my messages sending

did u block me

wtf asshole

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Hehe

You:

i'm gonna kick ur ass

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Good luck reaching it.

You:

ok getting on a plane rn

and jokes on u

i'm bringing a step ladder w me

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I’ll pay

You:

bet?

did u just fucking venmo me

squid????

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Maybe

You:

luke

do u want me to visit u

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I just venmo’d you

You:

wait do u rly want me to visit u

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Yeah.

You:

wait ok shit... when works best for u

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Literally whenever

You:

don’t u have tours and shit

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Not for five months

You:

oh fuck.

ok I’ll start looking

shit dude

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I miss you.

You:

i miss u 2 squid

sorry i mean

string bean

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

JK. Can you venmo me back?

You:

no fuck u

it’s mine now

-

You weren’t in airports often.

You never grew accustomed to the atmosphere–– the hustle and bustle of business class and the lack of knives in terminal restaurants. You had no reason to be acquainted. Yet, there was still a familiar panic that gripped you as you stood shoeless and alone in the line for security. The terminals were each a maze of their own, and the heavy Jansport hanging off of your shoulder pushed down against your tight muscles.

You preferred traveling with another person. In fact, you preferred to not travel at all. The comfort of your home held Jeopardy re-runs and take-out Chinese. Whereas your terminal had startling gate announcements and overpriced froyo, and they didn’t even have toppings. The bathrooms smelled of poo no matter what time you chose to use them, and you sat on the toilet in mild discomfort, suitcase meshed between you in the broken metal stall. The same abandoned luggage announcement had played sixteen times since your arrival through security.

But you tried to think about the positive outcome of your travel. You saw yourself running up to him, hands slipping the bulky luggage to the ground as you threw your arms around him. He stood there smiling and calling you old nicknames you had been forced to read over text for six to seven years. And then he would take your hand and guide you to his car, his ever-present smile never faltering because you were there, and he was with you. It would be just like old times.

You thought about all of the places you would go and the people you would meet. Anxiety puddled your head when you thought about meeting his friends. They were untouchable, glamor and gold and all things Hollywood untold. And you were you, but Luke had changed, too.

-

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Still arriving at 6:13 in Terminal B?

You:

u bet ur (terminal B)um

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

That was one of your worst.

You:

ur right i gotta work on my comebacks on the flight

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

That wasn’t a comeback...?

You:

tHat WasN’t a CoMebAcK

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Die.

-

You fell asleep on the flight.

Economy class forced you between a professor in his mid-forties and an athletic coach whose knees nudged against yours every time he shifted. You had started the flight off with a movie, some Anna Kendrick rom-com that stimulated a headache worth three bottles of Ibuprofen. Soon enough you were hobbling over long legs, bladder aching from an unbearable pressure, and then the lavatory was occupied.

You filled the next few hours with a playlist you had made for the flight. Luke’s songs lulled you to sleep–– but you wouldn’t tell him that. You wouldn’t grant him the satisfaction, not unless the moment called for it. That moment only occurred a few times within a year. That moment occurred during the times he came to you when he thought he had no one else.

And you would never tell him how selfish you felt. You would never admit that you loved those moments because you felt important. You felt like he needed you.

You weren’t sure how long you had been asleep for after you woke. The plane was dark and quiet, and not a soul breathed a word. So, you settled down into your seat and kept the light of your phone low. The time was 5:35 in the morning.

The airplane awakened a little after six o’clock, brightness flooding in followed by a chorus of groans and moans. You toyed with the sleeves of your jacket and felt incredibly small. The nerves in your chest simmered, and you thought about the shaky steps you would soon take to reach the arms of an old friend. You didn’t know why the blistering excitement felt so bad. You wanted to sit back down and take a one-way flight all the way back home.

-

Luke was in airports all too often.

He grew accustomed to suitcases rattling against filthy marble floors. He memorized the high-pitched, buzzy tone of squeaking escalators in frequented terminals. The familiarity overwhelmed him, and he had almost convinced himself he was among the many travelers on this day.

But he stood alone, not a single ounce of hurry in his bones while he waited for the arrival of an old best friend. The rising sun outside seeped through the large glass windows, yet the warm colors touched his back and kept his chest cold. He wanted your embrace, and he wanted the heat of your smile. Because he didn’t quite remember how it made him feel. He saw your face through pictures and videos, but the comfort of your presence faded from his memories.

Strangers eyed him. He could picture them searching the depths of their brain and wondering why they knew him. At the moment, he wished he wasn’t known. He wished he was seventeen again, the year the excitement was fresh and when the world didn’t seem so small. He wished he still knew you like he had back then.

Luke was tired.

-

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

i need some fucking food

He felt nauseous and numb as he laughed at your words. It was like stage fright, like the intense, sickening nerves had hadn’t felt in years. His fingers trembled against the screen of his phone.

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

also where r u

can u meet at baggage claim

i get nervous when i have to pick up my bag

i get scared that i’m gonna miss it

is that weird

Luke’s stomach knotted, and he typed out a quick affirmation while he kept his eyes locked on the small crowd of faces. Faces that looked like they hadn’t slept in forty years. But then again, Luke felt as though he looked the same way.

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

what happens if i miss my bag

Luke:

It comes back around.

Don’t worry

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

fffuckkkkkk customs

Luke:

Lol.

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

escalators escalators escalators

Luke:

Eels.

-

Luke swallowed the bile rising to his throat. It had been years. He hadn’t seen you face-to-face in years, and he still wondered what it was about the moment that made him nervous. The anxiety caused him to shiver, and he tugged the sleeves of his sweater up and under his fingers. His eyes ached from lack of sleep, but he hoped your energy would change that. He hoped his nerves would ease the minute you opened your mouth. All he wanted was for it to feel natural.

He thought he saw you. He thought he had immediately recognized you from across the room, but the stranger was in a dress. Luke knew you would never––in your right mind––wear a dress to travel anywhere. So, he kept his eyes on the person as they walked away, and then there was a tap on his shoulder.

“Hey Squid.”

Luke glanced to his right, heart stammering in his chest at the sound of your voice. You were smiling, your eyes tired yet warm while the jean jacket you wore swallowed you whole. His jean jacket.

“You busy later?”

He cleared his throat and reached up to brush a few hairs away from his face. He didn’t know how to speak or initiate any kind of touch. He didn’t know how to talk to you anymore. “Yeah, sorry,” he mumbled with a small smile. “Got plans.”

“Ah.” You nodded. “You do?”

Luke hummed. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking. “Meeting up with this old friend,” he said. “They flew all this way t’see me, and to be honest, that was kinda dumb of them.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” you replied with a laugh. “We gonna hug or just like, stand here looking like assholes?”

“The latter,” he said, and you rolled your eyes. Luke laughed as he allowed himself to push down nerves and throw his arms around you. It was a warm hug, just like he wanted it to be. “I see you still got that fuckin’ jacket.”

“Technically, it’s your jacket,” you said, pulling away. Your hair was messy, but he found it endearing. You looked like his best friend even though the years had separated the two of you. You looked soft and sweet, and he didn’t know why he wanted to keep holding you.

You nodded to yourself. “Got my suitcase,” you told him. “No thanks to you. In case you didn’t know, this isn’t baggage claim.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“Oh, sorry to bother you,” you replied, smiling brightly before sending him a wink. “I’ll be going then.” You took a few steps toward the door.

Luke caught your arm. “No, no, you’re not leaving me. We’ve come this far. You’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, joy.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm, babe,” he said, and two of you made your way outside into the cool morning.

You stumbled behind him, your suitcase smacking against large chunks of concrete on the sidewalk. “Babe? Shit. I just shuttered.”

Luke chuckled. His nerves hadn’t disappeared, but he tried hard to ignore them. He felt out of place. He felt as though his head and his body did not exist on the same plane. He felt like he was caught in a dream. Or maybe it was a nightmare.

“Hey, Lu?” You yawned and curled yourself up in the passenger seat of his car.

Luke thought you looked too damn good. He wanted to tell you. “If you put your feet on my dash, I’ll kill you,” he said instead.

You mumbled something incoherent.

Luke slid his keys into the ignition. “Okay, well, that was not English,” he said, “but nice try.”

“Shut up. I’m tired.”

“I’m tired,” he mocked.

You hit his arm, and his laughter filled the small car. “I’ll kill you first. I was gonna ask you if we can get breakfast, but I changed my mind.”

Luke kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, but he ached to look over at you. He ached to take you in and memorize you like he had done over seven years ago. “We can get breakfast, babe,” he said quietly, glancing your way, and then he smiled. Your knees were pressed to your chest, and you had closed your eyes.

At the stop sign, Luke waited a moment to accelerate. The sunrise painted gold into the sky and onto your skin. He wondered if you had always looked this beautiful. He wondered if he had ever thought so before. All he could remember was the present, and every memory was drowned out by the soft scent of your perfume in his car.

The jean jacket you wore had been his once. He never saw how it looked on you. And he never imagined that the sight of you in it would one day take his breath away.

-

“Do you think I should leave it unbuttoned like this?”

“You’re really asking for my opinion on that?”

“Yes.”

You narrowed your gaze.

“Okay, you’re right,” he said, “unbuttoned it is.”

You rolled your eyes. “Love that my opinion is so valued.”

It had only been a day. Your body clock had yet to reset to the time difference, and you spent the afternoon prior knocked out on Luke’s bed with Petunia cuddled against your stomach. It hadn’t been a terrible way to nap, although your neck ached when you woke. The situation was still surreal. You still refused to believe you had traveled across the globe to visit someone you felt like you hardly knew. Except you did know him. He was Luke. He ate his gummy worms with peanut butter.

Yet, your eyes lingered on his figure on your way into his kitchen. You gazed a little too long when he talked about his plans with you. Whenever he nudged your shoulder or poked your arm, you thought about his touch for a few minutes after. It had only been a day.

And it didn’t take long for him to invite you out to a club.

You didn’t like the feeling of the leather seats against your thighs on the drive into the city. Your shorts had ridden up, and you had the sense that something about the night was off. It wasn’t the intoxicating fragrance of Luke’s cologne or the exposed bit of chest that drove you wild. It wasn’t the unbroken melody he sang loudly or the expensive boots that added an inch or two to his already-towering height. It was how expensive he looked–– how untouchable he was. You had thrift your jean shorts for $15, and Luke was missing a button off of his designer shirt. But there was something else about the night that bothered you, and you couldn’t quite place it. So, you belted along to his favorite songs and pretended as though you didn’t feel sick to your stomach.

Luke’s smile hardly faltered throughout the night. He introduced you to faces you assumed you would never see again, and then he would buy you another drink without asking. You could feel his energy, and not even the blasting bass could distract you from the weight of his laughter. He knew everyone, but it didn’t come as a shock. He had always loved people, and people had always loved him.

So, you sat quietly on the couch, feeling miles apart yet inches away at best. You twirled the tiny straw with two fingers and watched your old best friend bounce from person to person. He had a big heart, you told yourself, he loved people. But the thoughts never pushed down the sinking feeling that he had forgotten about you. It was halfway through the night, and you had been sitting alone for forty-seven minutes. Luke was nowhere to be seen.

You:

luke

You placed your phone in between your thighs. One single text had sent your heart into your throat, and you weren’t sure why. You weren’t sure why you felt so sick at the thought of his response.

You:

r u ok

where’d u go

A few strangers crowded around the couch Luke placed you at. It was his usual spot, he said. No one ever took his spot. But you sat alone, and not a soul cared to join you. They knew you didn’t belong here.

You:

string bean

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

I’m okay.

:-)

You sighed, letting your head rest against the leather cushion while you watched drunken interactions play out. A song you recognized played throughout the cramped club, and you wished you were anywhere else. You wished you were on a bench overlooking the ocean with a bag of tacos separating you and your friend. You wished you were on the bike path by your house, hand-in-hand with someone you had known all too well. You wished you hadn’t fallen witness to a life you had no part in. You wished you could be the person he wanted you to be.

You:

ok i’m just chillin

The empty glass from your drink had perspired onto the table. After a while, the heat of the room had melted the ice as well, and you were stuck wishing you could conjure up the courage to join the crowd. But you couldn’t. You felt out of place, like you didn’t quite belong. All eyes told you so. You carried on waiting, but you were no longer sure what it was you were waiting for.

You:

r u getting hungry

You stopped waiting for a response after fifteen minutes. Luke had left you for two hours in a club, in some town you had never been to before. He had left you, and you had only been with him for a day. An unsettling feeling grew in your stomach, but you wanted to reject it as much as you could. It was Luke, the boy who shot carrots out of his Nerf Guns but ended up giving himself a black eye. It had to be the same Luke.

You gathered up some strength to stand up. The battery on your phone had been roasted from too many games of Solitaire, and Luke still wasn’t answering your texts. You reached down for your sweating drink, but a pair of arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders before you could.

“Sleepy,” he said, smushing his face against your back. “Why do you smell like pancakes?”

Your body felt frozen beneath his touch. Every muscle tensed. “I don’t,” you replied. “Can we–– can we go? Is that okay?”

Luke’s arms slid off of you, and you could feel his presence now to the right of you. And for some reason, your head hurt at the thought of looking at him. Yet, you did. His curls had slicked down against his rosy, albeit shiny skin, and his eyes were red and droopy. For those few seconds, you weren’t sure why you had thought him attractive. But it quickly changed. He was looking at you, completely looking at you, and he could tell something was wrong.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips falling into a frown. “Course. You okay?”

You nodded and swallowed back the aching tears that threatened in your eyes. “Jet-lagged,” you mumbled. “That’s all.”

Luke nodded, too. “Okay. Yeah. We can go. I’ll get us an Uber.”

“What will you do about your car?”

He seemed to shrug it off, but it was hard to tell through the mass of sweaty bodies. “She’ll be fine. I’ll find a way to get her.”

“I’m sorry.” You hugged your arms close to your chest as the heat from the club transformed into the cool night air.

“No big deal,” said Luke. “Just another Uber trip to come get her. Then I can take her right back.”

“No, um, about leaving,” you responded. “I’m sorry that I wanted t’leave.”

Luke glanced at you from over his shoulder, brows furrowed and lip tugged between his teeth. “Don’t be, babe. I was gonna leave soon anyway.”

You nodded, and an uneasy silence settled in the air. You wished for the right words to say, but you brain went blank, and you found yourself counting cars that passed by.

“It’s really good to see you again,” said Luke after a while. His voice was low and hoarse, and it made you feel a new type of warmth. “Forgot what it was like t’be with you. It’s nice. Like a breath of fresh air.”

You smiled at him, but you knew that was all you could do.

“Missed you a lot.” He smiled at you, too, and through that smile, he whispered, “I’m just really happy you’re here.”

-

Luke thought it hurt to look at you. Because when he did, he was reminded of the person he had left behind, the person he could have been had he stayed. You reminded him of a lost potential within himself, and he didn’t like it. It made him feel dejected, like a lost cause. And looking at you caused much more pain than that. Looking at you was like looking at the world in color for the first time. He saw you differently, and he wondered if this was how he was always supposed to see you.

It was unavoidable— the dawning feeling that only worsened every day. You had only been with him for a week. A whole week of stealing glances and swallowing down irritant thoughts that a best friend shouldn’t have. A part of him felt like he couldn’t call himself that. He felt like he knew you, but he didn’t know you. He read your personality through words and not actions. Maybe it was time he opened his eyes to the person you had become.

-

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

can u not send me tweets rn

u r literally right next to me

loser

Luke:

Can you not be rude?

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

no

Luke:

Fight me.

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

hehe ok

kinky

Luke:

Shut up

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

i feel the sexual tension already

-

Luke took a breath and glanced your way. The afternoon had been spent with his friends; a brimming beer cup soirée spent around the fire in Calum’s backyard. And for some reason, Luke felt like an anomaly. He had better luck counting the hairs on his leg than concentrating on a single conversation. Meanwhile, you cradled your first drink of the night, torso hidden behind the heavy jean jacket he once owned. Beneath it, only a floral bathing suit covered you, and it was enough to make Luke wonder why he had bothered leaving home in the first place.

He couldn’t hear what his friends said, but he could focus in on every little thing about you. From the shape of your legs, all tucked in beneath you to the small smile you wore as you listened to his friends speak. Your hair had dried from the few minutes you spent in the pool, and after a while, you pulled it out of your face and up into a bun. Luke thought you looked pretty, and he knew it wasn’t the initial heat of the fire that warmed him.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was wrong. You were quiet––timid almost––while you gazed at the palm shadows against the sunset. Even beyond the smiles, you seemed lost. Luke wanted to know why.

-

Luke:

You hungry?

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

fucking starving

tell cal to get better snacks

Luke:

Lol.

I want tacos

Kermit the little bitch frog 🐸:

yoooooooooooooo

can we get tacos?

Luke:

Let’s get some fucking tacos

-

You hadn’t realized how hard it would be.

Luke started a new life for himself seven years prior, and it messed up your world for a while. It had messed up plans and memories you wanted to make with him. You started your own life without the company of your best friend, but he was still a text message away whenever you needed. Because he was still your friend. He still told you every little detail about his life. You knew how things had changed for him, whether they were for better or worse.

You hadn’t realized you would one day face the life he chose for himself. You hadn’t realized how hard it would be. He was the same, but he was so different. Being here simply acted as a reminder that you no longer fit into his life.

It came to you in heavy waves. When the overall reality hit, it hit like a sheet of sadness. You were washed over by emotions while Luke carried on about his favorite restaurant in Italy. You had never been to Italy or France or Spain. You had never been on grandiose adventures, not like Luke. It only hurt because you wished you had been by his side.

The two of you swung by his place for a change of clothes. There was an unexplainable silence that you chose not to break. You felt as though any word from your lips would feel forced, so you kept quiet instead. When you walked back out into the living room in an old tee and leggings, Luke was already there. He was already waiting for you in the patchy jean jacket that you treasured simply because it once belonged to him.

“Still fits, I guess,” he said, and you smiled. It was like old times, so you took a picture of the moment. Luke shot a goofy grin your way, and you had to pretend like it didn’t make your stomach flutter.

“Are there are any taco places you know of that are still open?” you asked Luke after settling into the car. You kept your hands pressed between your thighs. “I’m not really feeling like shitting my pants at a Taco Bell.”

Luke laughed. “Yeah, I know a place.” He turned on the ignition, and right off the bat, a song by The Summer Set began to blast through the speakers. And it felt like a tension had been swept away with the music.

He kept the windows down as you drove, his one hand firm on the wheel and the other out against the breeze. When he sang, he sang low. You couldn’t find it in yourself to sing at all. You could hardly look at him. Yet, you had given into temptation. You gazed at him during the verses and glanced away at the choruses, letting the city lights seep in while you listened to his soft voice. Luke drummed on the wheel during the upbeat melodies, and you found yourself reminiscing on old memories no matter how much you wanted to repress them.

He had always been an awkward kid. The heart on his sleeve never faded or splintered–– it just grew with each passing day. His presence made any form of discomfort wash away, and it still felt that way now. But, as people do, he had changed, and you struggled to find the good in everything. Around you, it was the same Luke you knew. Around others, he had built up a façade for himself. It broke your heart.

Street lamps glistened against the pavement as rain drizzled down. It didn’t last long, and the droplets on the windshield soon dried, but it left an earthy petrichor in the air. A comforting scent that only came with rain. The breeze slipped through your fingers, and you soon felt the words of familiar songs bubble in your chest. They left your lips a second later just as you began to smile. There was something oddly beautiful about the melancholy moment.

So, Luke sang loudly, his hands hitting the wheel while you cried your favorite lyrics. It all came rushing back, and the sorrow melted away. You wished Luke had never left, but you were happy to have this night with him.

-

You unwrapped your taco on your lap. “I’m not gonna tell you you’re wrong for putting that much sour cream on your taco,” you said, kicking your feet out on the stone wall before you, “but you disgust me.”

The waves crashed along the shoreline in the distance, and the beach was dark and eerie. It didn’t matter that it was ten o’clock at night–– the nearby park was busy and loud.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” said Luke, “is it okay if I put sour cream on my taco?”

You kicked his thigh as he broke out in hysterics, and you thought, this is it–– this is what I’ve been waiting for.

“If you get that shit on my jacket, I’ll kill you,” you responded, meanwhile taking an unattractive bite out of the hard shell of your taco. Shredded cheese fell to the ground below.

“Isn’t it technically my jacket?”

You shrugged “Maybe if you had actually bothered keeping it.”

Luke let out a small gasp, and a large dollop of sour cream plopped against the wrapping on his lap. “Maybe if you were smart enough, you’d realize I let you keep it.”

“Oh, shit. That stings.”

“Good.”

“Fuck you,” you said with a laugh. “I deserved to keep it. I was the one who added all of those patches anyway.”

Luke furrowed his brows. “Not true. I added––“ He twisted around and pointed at a small bunny patch on the shoulder. “––this one.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your tongue. “You deserve more credit for the tiny bunny patch you found on the side of the road.”

“Thank you.” Luke sighed and grinned, sending a wink your way before biting into his sour cream-coated taco.

You watched the hard-shell crack and fall apart beneath his grip, and you watched as he pouted once the food hit his lap. You stared for too long, burning the image of him in your brain until you were confident it was permanently in there. It burned a little too hot and for a little too long. It continued to burn along the highway while the waves stirred beside you. You were nestled between the hills and the ocean, a cute boy to your left and a strip of heaven laid down before you.

Luke drove for an hour, taking exit after exit until he pulled off near the mouth of a lake in the mountains. The air was stale yet breezy, and exhaustion overwhelmed you. But you kept your eyes from drooping just so you could keep looking at the person you hadn’t realized you missed.

“Come home soon,” you whispered into the dark night. Bugs and other creatures hummed in the distance, meanwhile, you kicked up the crumbled pavement and leaned back against his car. “It hasn’t been home without you.”

Luke let out a quiet laugh, but it was muffled between his lips. “Gonna get all sappy on me now, huh, babe?” he asked, but his smile soon fell when his head turned to face you. He swallowed and faced the stagnant water ahead. “I wanna come home,” he said, “but I feel like I don’t belong there anymore.”

“You’ve always belonged.”

Luke didn’t speak.

“I don’t belong here,” you said, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You had expected an outrageous reaction, something that assured you that he thought you did belong. But he stayed quiet. “This whole city, this place, it’s–– I mean it’s wonderful. I love it. But it’s not me.”

“It’s weird to have you here,” said Luke. His voice had lowered into a faint hush, yet you felt it in your bones. “Not bad weird. You’re just home. You feel like home. I’m not used to that here.”

“You’re home,” you mumbled.

Luke didn’t waste another moment. He pulled you into a hug, one that reminded you of teenage years and restless late nights. It reminded you of a warmth you lost, of strong arms that hadn’t held you in seven years. His chest expanded with each breath, and you listened closely to the air as it left his lips. And then you couldn’t help but dig your fingers into the rough denim along his back. You couldn’t help but press yourself against his chest in order to feel his heartbeat in sync with yours. You ached to embrace his scent–– you ached to embrace everything about him.

There was something in the air as you pulled away, something thicker than the hint of humidity. Whatever it was, you had trouble letting go of Luke. It felt like you had stood there for ages, just staring at his chest and holding onto his waist as if your life depended on it. You felt like crying, and you felt nervous. Something about his presence made you nervous.

When you looked up, Luke had already been looking down at you. A small smile was playing on his lips, and you could hardly see the twinkle in his eye through the dark night. But you weren’t focusing on his eyes. You focused in on that smile, the one that stretched his smooth, pink lips just slightly. The one that kindled some spark in your chest, and you couldn’t look away.

Luke placed a hand on your jaw, his long, slim fingers cradling you in a soft manner. “You okay?” he asked breathily.

You replayed his words in your head and thought about the ways his lips moved around them. No, you weren’t okay. But you didn’t mind the feeling.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears. At the same time, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. The desire to kiss him was overwhelming, and it ached and ached. You tightened your grip on his waist, eyes flickering back up to where his lips had pulled into a concerned pout.

Luke let out a breath and tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. His fingers were firm on the back of your head, and then he pulled you in. His lips were on yours, hard yet passion-filled, and neither of you could move. But when he ran out of air, Luke pulled away slowly. His top lip brushed yours as he moved, yet the pressure never left. It still felt like he was kissing you.

Luke had kissed you. And you hadn’t wanted him to stop.

You smiled, fingers toying with the opening of his jean jacket as you glanced down at your shoes. “That was new,” you said lowly.

He laughed, meanwhile running his thumb along the apple of your cheek. It made you feel safe. “Sure was,” he mumbled. “Not bad, though.”

“No,” you replied, looking up. His gaze was intense, but it was the kind of intensity that summoned butterflies. You shrugged. “Not bad at all.”

“Good,” said Luke. “Cos I was plannin’ on kissing you again, but I wasn’t sure if we were on the same page, or––“

You tugged him in and leaned forward to press your lips on his again. You felt him smile against the kiss, and you had to smile, too. Luke’s opposite hand met your other cheek as the kiss deepened. You didn’t mind it–– you had no reason to mind it. In fact, you loved it. You craved it. It was warm and soft, and it made your toes curl. His lips felt like velvet. The heat crawled up into your chest, but the kiss soon ended before the moment carried on.

You felt lighter than air. Small puffs of air escaped your lips while you tried to laugh. And Luke was laughing, too. You were each other’s best friend, and you had kissed.

“Wanna keep driving?” Luke asked you, tracing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

You grinned and nodded before pecking his lips. And then you skipped over to the passenger seat to once again fill the night with new memories to be made.

-

Luke grabbed your hand and laced your fingers with his while The Summer Set continued to blast throughout his car. It felt good to touch you, to finally feel you after all of these years. For some reason, he craved your touch even more now. It had only been a week, yet Luke quickly realized the effect you had on him. It had never been like this before, and he was relieved to know you felt the same way, too. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He wanted every piece of you.

“Should we head back home?” you asked at around two in the morning, lips red from the 7-Eleven slushie you were slurping.

Luke smiled at your appearance. His heart swelled at the sight of you so comfortable in his company. It made him want to hold you and never let go. “You gettin’ tired, babe?”

You giggled. “Never said that.”

Luke’s face physically ached from the weight of his grin.

“I like it when you call me that,” you said.

“Hm?”

“When you call me ‘babe’,” you spoke. “I like it.”

Luke felt a chill rush over him. He wanted to call you “babe” every single fucking day–– he never wanted to stop. “Yeah, babe?”

You hummed.

Luke’s hand instinctively reached out to place itself on your thigh, and he froze. But you didn’t react. When he looked over, your smile hadn’t left.

“Is this okay?” he asked you, fingers burning and shifting against your leggings. His eyes left the road for a split second to watch you nod. Luke smiled again and squeezed your thigh, emitting a quick squeal from you. The sound was music to his ears, and he couldn’t believe how fast he had fallen for everything about you.

The silence that fell over was comfortable.

“Is this what Brian felt like when he wrote Passenger Seat?” you asked after a while.

Luke glanced at you, smile still wide as he slowly replied, “it’s exactly what he felt.”

He took you down to a small beach off of the beaten path after that. The waves were loud, almost violent as he kept his hand firmly locked with yours. The breeze had picked up, but he could still hear your teeth chattering through the gusts.

“Gosh, sure is nice to have a jacket to keep me warm right now,” said Luke while he set himself down into the sand.

“Sh-shut the fuck up,” you muttered, plopping right beside him. “You’re such a fucking j-jackass.”

Luke laughed and took off his jacket, nevertheless. You pulled it over you before falling against him, head nestling onto his shoulder as you brought your knees up for warmth.

“It’s so dark,” you said a few moments later. “Did you come here to murder me?”

“How’d you know?” gasped Luke.

You shoved him away, he only tugged you in closer. You set your head on his lap, and the two of you sat there for thirty minutes in complete silence. He hadn’t wanted to stay quiet–– he had so many things bouncing about in his brain, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say a single word. He couldn’t tell you that this week had been the best week of his entire life, and he couldn’t beg you to stay. He couldn’t keep you in a city you hated to be in.

It had hurt to hear you say that, but he didn’t disagree. Los Angeles didn’t fit you; it never would, no matter how much he wanted you to stay with him. You belonged in comforting towns, ones filled with life and love but held hopes and dreams high. You belonged with him, yet he wasn’t sure where he belonged either. It was too painful to think about.

So, Luke kissed your forehead and ran his fingers along your arm. If he could hold you forever, then he wouldn’t have to think about anything else. He wouldn’t have to think about saying goodbye to you within the next week. He wouldn’t have to think about losing all of the built-up feelings that had surfaced within the past few days. He wouldn’t have to think about losing you.

You were curled up in the passenger seat of his car on the ride home. Your eyes had succumbed to exhaustion at the beach, and he carried you all the way back without stirring you awake. It filled his heart with so much love to see you so calm and peaceful–– he wanted to take you home and hold you for the rest of his life. But he couldn’t do that. He buckled you in, kissed your forehead once more, and then drove home in silence. It left him alone with his thoughts, and he didn’t like that.

“Lu?” Your eyes fluttered open as he unbuckled you and prepared to take you into his home.

“Mornin’, darling,” he said, cracking a smile.

You hummed. “You don’t have t’carry me,” you said, “but thank you.” You rubbed at your tired eyes, and he grabbed your hands to help lift you out of the car. You fell against him and pulled him into a tight hug.

He chuckled, but he didn’t say anything. He just held you close.

“I’ve missed you so much,” you mumbled into his shirt. You leaned back to look up at him.

Luke smiled, and he felt like the luckiest man in the world. He kissed you softly before pulling you back into a hug. “I’ve missed you, too.”

-

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

On my way home.

Still okay with going to the party?

You:

ya i wanna black out and vomit in a pool

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

Please do not do that.

You:

don’t poop on my party

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

It’s technically not your party

You:

party pooper

stinky pooper

ur stinky

lukey “red lobster isn’t that bad” hemmings:

You’re stinky.

You:

yes

-

The next day was weird.

It felt like the night prior had been some drug-induced dream filled with romcom storylines inside a coming-of-age film. It was an old memory resurfaced–– a moment you had shared with him many years prior. Things changed so suddenly.

And neither of you spoke of it. You didn’t know how to. At the same time, you weren’t sure you wanted to.

It had been beautiful in the moment, but thinking back, you weren’t sure it had been a good idea. Luke was Luke, a famous rock star living among the elites in Lost Angeles, and you were a shell of a best friend, old remnants of a life he used to live. You weren’t the one for him, and you never had been. He had too many choices before him; he wouldn’t choose his best friend.

A friend was hosting a birthday party, one you assumed would involve a cake and stupid decorations, perhaps presents as well. But the house was packed upon arrival, and it felt more like a frat party than anything. You wished you had known, yet you fisted the skirt of your black dress and ambled in behind Luke, feeling more like a lost puppy than ever.

Because he had always been a people person. He had always loved people.

You lost him at some point in the night. You scoured the premises, searching for his bright red button-down amongst the sea of illustrious eyes. And then there was you, looking sad and somewhat angry while you searched for your best friend. He had done this only a week ago. He had left you to fend for yourself against a pack of B-list wolves. You hardly felt human in comparison.

Sweat had accumulated against your back while you wandered the crowded rooms. You admired the architecture through a Mike’s Hard haze, wishing you had left town when Luke did to maybe make a name for yourself in and amongst the wealthy. The guilt would have eaten you alive; it would have been all at Luke’s expense.

You found him in the kitchen at one point during the night. He stood there with his friends crowded around, a dazzling yet drunken smile etched on his features, and it seemed as though his eyes alone lit the whole room. The knot building in your stomach was uncomfortable. His laugh echoed, and you had to excuse yourself before he could glance your way.

So, you wandered again and retraced your steps, wondering if you would ever know your place in a world this big. It felt like you never would.

You hadn’t gotten black-out drunk, nor did you vomit in a stranger’s pool. Instead, you sat by that pool with your feet plunged into the illuminated water, fingers still cradling the neck of your lemonade while you listened to strangers talk. The bright blue below made you feel sick, so you stared up at the light-polluted sky and hoped for the night to be over soon.

And then there was a tap on your shoulder.

“Jesus Christ–– thought I lost ya for good,” said Luke, voice hoarse and slurred while he slumped down onto the brick beside you. He stuck his feet in the water without rolling up his pants.

“Nope,” you mumbled. “Been here.”

Luke was smiley, and the freckles on his nose seemed more prominent under the teal hue from the pool.

“Where’d you go?” you asked him, yet your heart ached at the thought of him leaving you the way he did. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Uh, y’know.” Luke shrugged. “This, there, n’ that.”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t know.”

“I’ve been looking for you,” said Luke, fingers running along the surface of the water before gently splashing your knees. “Wanted t’show my girl around. People kept asking ‘bout you.”

“Your–– your girl?” The words rattled around in your brain, but at the moment, they didn’t settle quite right. They would have sounded wonderful the night prior. But you weren’t property. You weren’t his girl.

Luke glanced at you, eyes shiny and dark, and his lips tugged into a lazy smile. He smelled of whiskey sour and bourbon, a combination that made your stomach churn. You admitted his proximity intimidated you, and you admitted that you wanted nothing more than to go back to last night.

Suddenly, Luke was leaning in to kiss you, and all you could do was push him back. It had been sloppy and wet. It had been wrong.

You couldn’t speak.

“Sorry?” he asked. His eyebrows scrunched together.

You stood quickly, reaching down to fix your dress before you walked off. Luke was hot on your tail.

“I thought you were cool with that!” he exclaimed as he stomped through the grass behind you. A few strangers turned their heads, so you faced him and kept him close. “Did last night mean anything to you?”

“Yes,” you said flatly. “Last night meant everything to me. But last night means nothing now. It has to mean nothing now.”

Luke laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Us, Luke,” you said, holding out your arms. “We’ve been best friends for like, ten years, and suddenly that changes in one night. Maybe if we were on similar paths, it would actually work. But it doesn’t work, Luke. It just doesn’t. Not for us.”

His face relaxed, and his lips pulled into a frown. “Not for us?” he whispered. “What does that even mean?”

“It means that you’re you,” you said, “and I’m me. We live on two different parts of the world, and we still don’t know where we belong. It’s not the right time–– if there’s even a right time at all.” You hugged your bare arms as a light breeze blew over.

“Who fucking cares?”

“I care,” you replied.

Luke let out an exasperated sigh. “Fucking hell,” he mumbled, laughing lightly. “Why do you have t’care? Just say fuck it. Do what you fuckin’ want.”

“No, Luke, I can’t just do that––“

“God, you’re being so annoying.”

You blinked. “I’m–– what?”

Luke blanched and swallowed. “Nothing.”

“I’m being so annoying?” you asked with a smirk. “Oh, wow. Okay. Sorry. I guess I’ll stop being so annoying then.”

“No,” said Luke. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You can’t take it back.”

“Please.” His eyes widened, and his sincerity radiated off of him. “I didn’t––“

“What did you mean?”

“What?”

You sighed. Your stomach hurt, and you wanted to just go home. “If you didn’t mean it, then what did you mean?”

Luke shrugged. “Just think you’re being kinda unreasonable.”

“What?” you questioned. “Because I don’t like it here?”

“Because you’re not open to trying!” yelled Luke.

His raised voice made your heart stop. It made every built-up emotion ache to release in an instant. But you wouldn’t let yourself cry. “I want to try,” you said weakly. “I wanna try so badly. But I wanna be happy, Lu.”

He folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m happy with you,” you continued. “But I’m not gonna be happy here. As much as I like being with you, it’s not gonna cancel any of that out.”

Luke didn’t reply. He stared at you, eyes glazed and emotionless.

“I’m gonna go home,” you said.

“Okay.”

You nodded. “I mean, home home.”

Luke’s eyes filled with another unreadable emotion. “Why?”

You sighed again, but this time, you felt annoyed as well. You felt like every feeling from the night prior had dripped from your shoulders. You felt like it had all gone down the drain. “I don’t belong here,” you said.

“Yes, you fucking do!”

“I’m going home,” you repeated, this time harsher as your eyes brimmed with tears.

Luke’s composure fell. There was silence for a moment, and then he nodded. He nodded twice. “Okay,” he mumbled. “Okay.”

-

Luke had been peeling the skin from around his nails.

The two days following the party had been spent in heavy tension. It took every ounce of him to not bring it up–– he wanted to talk about everything he had said, yet the more time that passed, the more he forgot. But he remembered every change in your expression, and his stomach churned at the thought of him upsetting you the way he did. He wanted to take it all back.

You didn’t mention it either. You packed up your belongings quietly, and he didn’t bother you. He didn’t bother exhausting you over words that meant little in the grand scheme of things. Because as much as he wanted you to stay, he knew that you had no choice. In a perfect world, he could drop everything for you. In a perfect world, he could settle down and be with you for the rest of his life. Nobody made decisions in the span of a week, but he wished he could.

He saw you. He didn’t want to see anyone else.

Luke drank his coffee cold on your last day. It stained his white shirt, yet he kept his feet planted against the tiles in his kitchen. He didn’t go change because you were back in the guest room, and he knew that his chest would hurt the sight of you. He knew he would try to say things to make you stay. He knew that they would fail.

He heard the wheels of your suitcase before he saw you. And then you were there, jean jacket draped over your arm while you waited for him to speak up. Luke didn’t know how to talk anymore. He only felt dejection.

“My flight leaves in four hours,” you said, grip tightening around the handle of your suitcase.

Luke nodded. He wanted to believe you were sad, too. He wanted to believe you still thought about that night only days ago.

“I can call a cab,” you continued with a shrug. A light-hearted shrug that felt out-of-place.

He shook his head. “I’ll take you,” he said, but his voice was weak.

“Okay.”

And the familiar silence clicked back into place. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It hadn’t felt like this before. Leaving you at sixteen was full of smiles and “see-you-soon”’s. But with you leaving now, it felt like you were leaving for good.

Luke nodded again. “Okay.”

The ride to the airport was quiet. It was a sickening quiet, one that brought on the urge to cry and scream. He wanted to yell at himself for being so fucking ridiculous. His fingers tensed against the steering wheel.

When Luke parked the car, the words “I’m sorry” tumbled from his lips.

You glanced over. “What for?”

A part of him wanted to laugh. You knew the exact reasons why he felt sorry.

But he just shrugged. “For throwing you into my life,” he said. “It was selfish of me. I didn’t think about how it would make you feel.”

“You didn’t mean it like that,” you replied. “I know you didn’t. You were just showing me your life.”

“But it was too much.”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

You gave Luke a small, sad smile before reaching over and grabbing his hand. You intertwined your fingers with his.

“If it’s okay,” you said, “I’d still like to be a part of your life.”

Luke smiled, too. “Yeah,” he breathed out. “It’s always okay.”

-

You felt sick.

You held Luke’s hand on your way into the airport, and you dreaded letting go. You dreaded the idea of possibly never feeling his touch again. You weren’t saying goodbye for good, but it felt like you were.

“Here’s where I leave you,” he mumbled, voice breaking at the last few words, and his grip on your hand loosened.

You refused to let him go. When you turned around, Luke’s façade had chipped. His eyes welled with tears, and soon enough, yours had, too. You pushed yourself against him in a tight embrace, arms meeting around his neck while his wrapped around your waist. The tears slipped down your cheeks before you could stop them.

You wondered why it was so hard. You wondered why it hurt so much.

You held him for as long as you could before losing your balance. Yet, when you pulled away, you didn’t let go of him. You stood on your toes to brush your nose against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, clutching the collar of his shirt as you pressed your lips to his through tear slicked cheeks.

Luke held you closer, and this time, he didn’t let you pull away. His lips were warm and wet, but it was perfect. Everything about him was perfect. It hurt so much. You wanted to kiss him forever.

When all air ceased, Luke rested his forehead against yours, and you could feel his own tears falling against your skin. His breath was hot on your lips. And then you pulled him in again, teeth clashing in a hard yet heartbreaking kiss. You didn’t care–– you just needed to feel his lips again.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled.

Your arms weakened around his shoulders, hands soon resting on his chest as you began to move away. It hurt to smile, but you did it anyway. “Gonna miss you, Squid,” you said, and your eyes watered once more.

Luke sniffed, and as your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into you. He let out a breath. “Gonna miss you, too,” he said.

Your hand fell back to your side. “Well,” you said, swallowing down the tears that threatened to spill. You shot him another smile. “I’ll let you know when I land.”

He nodded. “Yeah, um––“ He scratched the back of his head. “Thank you.”

So, you nodded, too. “See you soon, String Bean.”

And finally, Luke smiled, too.

You gathered your belongings and slowly made your way to the security line, stomach twisting as your thoughts invaded. You couldn’t shake the negative feelings away. Every glance over your shoulder reminded you that you didn’t want to say goodbye. Every step felt erroneous. You looked back at Luke.

He waved at you, and your chest caved in.

It was wrong. Everything was wrong.

Your eyes scanned the line and the many travelers waiting with their tickets in hand. You looked at the agents who seemed less than pleased to be there that day. And finally, you locked your gaze back on Luke again, and your heart tugged.

It was wrong.

So, you left the line and walked back over to him, and he watched you the entire time.

“I’m sure there’s a later flight,” you sputtered out, heart pounding in your chest while a grin spread on his cheeks. You smiled in return.

“Yeah,” he said, laughing. “I’m sure there is.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck again and kissed him until your head spun. It finally felt so right.

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[mrchristianaxavier]

$10 Ain’t No Reparations

Slavery. Jim Crow. Separate but equal. The Tuskegee Experiment. The Tulsa Massacre. The MOVE bombing. Police brutality. Gentrification...Until we reckon with the moral debts of this country, so-called America will never be whole nor great.

In the age of social media activism, the offering of reparations by self proclaimed white allies and accomplices of various communities, has become a growing trend. From Facebook groups to Instagram pages that promise mutual aid for marginalized individuals, the term Reparations in my opinion has seen a surge in usage amongst allies, online activists and their networks. Oftentimes, these reparations are dispersed to BIPOC, Trans individuals, Women, Undocumented Individuals, People living with disAbilities and last but not least- Sex Workers. Typically these so-called reparations come in the form of Cashapp, PayPal or Venmo deposits of $5, $10 and $20. As a disabled Black Trans man, who has engaged in sex work in order to survive...I’m here to proclaim THAT IS NOT ENOUGH!

Reparations are not simply funds given to a Black person by a white person or to a Trans person by a cisgender person. Reparations are not chump change or small sums of money that one is willing to part with because they just got paid. They are not charitable donations, tax write-offs or hand-out’s. They are not funds provided to pay one’s phone bill or to buy groceries for the day. Reparations are not a pair of free movie tickets or a $25 Gift card to Target. This misconception has caused many white allies and accomplices to feel accountable, vindicated and resolved of the guilt associated with their white privilege and so-called supremacy. But these small deposits are in fact donations and financial assistance, NOT reparations. And to think so, in my opinion, is an insult to my ancestors and their legacies. As a call that originated in 1865, reparations should not solely help someone out during tough times. Reparations are a redistribution of wealth that should impactfully transform a marginalized person’s life for the better.

Reparations are understood as compensation given for abuse or injury. In the context of the US, it usually refers to money given to Black people and communities for hundreds of years of slavery, violence, colonization, exploitation and oppression. Today, the average white family has roughly 10 times the amount of wealth as the average Black family. White college graduates have over seven times more wealth than Black college graduates. Money cannot un-do or re-do history but it can close some economic gaps and redistribute wealth in a country where many of those who profit off the land and capital are not the ones who originally inhabited it, cared for it and built it. And in order to close economic gaps, marginalized individuals need way more than a couple dollars, in order for their lives to be drastically transformed while surviving and living in a white supremacist society. The key word many so-called allies and accomplices are forgetting is “wealth.”

Reparations can take numerous forms, including: money, scholarships, waiving of fees, systemic initiatives to offset injustices, and land-based compensation. Additionally, reparations should come in the form of wealth-building opportunities that address disparities in education, housing, and business ownership. But reparations should also require sacrifice and loss from those who have benefitted from the oppression of others. Reparations should not be viewed as the gifting of what is easily give-able. Reparations should be a valuable lesson, painfully felt in the gut, for all oppressors, colonizers and abusers- past, present and future. Reparations should also increase equity and close wealth divides for those who have historically been denied access to the so-called American Dream.

When considering the giving of reparations so-called allies and accomplices, should think big and long-term, rather than small and short term. Ask yourself…Are you contributing to gentrification? What are some areas in which you can redirect your purchase-power to Black businesses? Black Trans businesses? What are the ways that you can hold the institutions you are a part of – schools, faith organizations, workplaces, non-profits – accountable in making reparations in land, payment and access?

For me personally, reparations would come in the form of Black Trans people in positions of power, the decriminalization of sex work, the abolishment of the police, the dismantling of the prison and non-profit industrial complexes, a million dollars, affirming health care, credit renewal, plane tickets for year-round travel with all accommodations covered, land, student loan forgiveness, several cars. and huge monetary investments into my entrepreneurship. This is not to say that I am not thankful for all donations and mutual aid, especially when I’m really in a bind because things are never easy when you’re Black and Trans, but these are the types of reparations that would drastically change my life, and others like me, for the better. I also want to make it clear to those who are privileged enough to be able to donate...small donations are not reparations.

In many instances, justice will never be fully granted to BIPOC communities who have been harmed, as long as we ignore the very foundations of which this country was colonized, pillaged and falsely founded. There are lives, memories and histories that cannot be restored or rewritten. But in the pursuit of justice, we must include accountability, reparations and systemic change. Reparations are one way to acknowledge the true face, histories and sins of this country, and take actions that make real, transformative, life-changing amends to those who have suffered in lineage, legacy and in life. Reparations must indeed be the foundation if Liberation is in fact the plan.

[sheminecrafts]

Clubhouse launches payments so creators can make money

Clubhouse, a one-year-old social audio app reportedly valued at $1 billion, will now allow users to send money to their favorite creators — or speakers — on the platform. In a blog post, the startup announced the new monetization feature, Clubhouse Payments, as the “the first of many features that allow creators to get paid directly on Clubhouse.”

Clubhouse’s press team did not immediately respond to comment. Paul Davison, the co-founder of Clubhouse, mentioned in the company’s latest town hall that the startup wants to focus on direct monetization on creators, instead of advertisements.

Here’s how it will work: A user can send a payment in Clubhouse by going to the profile of the creator to whom they want to give money. If the creator has the feature enabled, the user will be able to tap “Send Money” and enter an amount. It’s like a virtual tip jar, or a Clubhouse-branded version of Venmo (although the payments feature doesn’t currently let the user send a personalized message along with the money).

.@joinClubhouse

@stripe pic.twitter.com/u7kXXdPXU7

— edwin (@edwinwee) April 5, 2021

“100% of the payment will go to the creator. The person sending the money will also be charged a small card processing fee, which will go directly to our payment processing partner, Stripe,” the post reads. “Clubhouse will take nothing.”

Stripe CEO Patrick Collison tweeted shortly after the blog post went up that “It’s cool to see a new social platform focus first on participant income rather than internalized monetization / advertising.”

It's cool to see a new social platform focus first on *participant* income rather than internalized monetization / advertising. Excited for the burgeoning creator economy and next era of internet business models.

— Patrick Collison (@patrickc) April 5, 2021

When the startup raised a Series B led by Andreessen Horowitz in January, part of the reported $100 million funding was said to go to a creator grant program. The program would be used to “support emerging Clubhouse creators,” according to a blog post. It’s unclear how they define emerging, but cultivating influencers (and rewarding them with money) is one way the startup is promoting high-quality content on its platform.

The synergies here are obvious. A Clubhouse creator can now get tips for a great show, or raise money for a great cause, while also being rewarded by the platform itself for being a recurring host.

Clubhouse UX teardown: A closer look at homepage curation, follow hooks and other features

The fact that Clubhouse’s first attempt at monetization includes no percentage cut of its own is certainly noteworthy. Monetization, or Clubhouse’s lack thereof, has been a topic of discussion about the buzzy startup since it took off in the early pandemic months. While it currently relies on venture capital to keep the wheels churning, it will need to make money eventually in order to be a self-sustaining business.

Creator monetization, with a cut for the platform, has led to the growth of large businesses. Cameo, a startup that sends personalized messages from creators and celebrities, takes about a 25% cut of each video sold on its platform. The startup reached unicorn status last week with a $100 million raise. OnlyFans, another platform that helps creators directly raise money from fans in exchange for paywalled contact, is projecting $1 billion in revenue for 2021.

Clubhouse’s payments feature will first be tested by a “small test group” starting today, but it is unclear who is in this group. Eventually, the payments feature will be rolled out to other users in waves.

Celebrity video request site Cameo reaches unicorn status with $100M raise

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Clubhouse launches payments so creators can make money

Clubhouse, a one-year-old social audio app reportedly valued at $1 billion, will now allow users to send money to their favorite creators — or speakers — on the platform. In a blog post, the startup announced the new monetization feature, Clubhouse Payments, as the “the first of many features that allow creators to get paid directly on Clubhouse.”

Clubhouse declined to comment. Paul Davison, the co-founder of Clubhouse, mentioned in the company’s latest town hall that the startup wants to focus on direct monetization on creators, instead of advertisements.

Here’s how it will work: A user can send a payment in Clubhouse by going to the profile of the creator to whom they want to give money. If the creator has the feature enabled, the user will be able to tap “Send Money” and enter an amount. It’s like a virtual tip jar, or a Clubhouse-branded version of Venmo (although the payments feature doesn’t currently let the user send a personalized message along with the money).

.@joinClubhouse

@stripe pic.twitter.com/u7kXXdPXU7

— edwin (@edwinwee) April 5, 2021

“100% of the payment will go to the creator. The person sending the money will also be charged a small card processing fee, which will go directly to our payment processing partner, Stripe,” the post reads. “Clubhouse will take nothing.”

Stripe CEO Patrick Collison tweeted shortly after the blog post went up that “It’s cool to see a new social platform focus first on participant income rather than internalized monetization / advertising.”

It's cool to see a new social platform focus first on *participant* income rather than internalized monetization / advertising. Excited for the burgeoning creator economy and next era of internet business models.

— Patrick Collison (@patrickc) April 5, 2021

When the startup raised a Series B led by Andreessen Horowitz in January, part of the reported $100 million funding was said to go to a creator grant program. The program would be used to “support emerging Clubhouse creators,” according to a blog post. It’s unclear how they define emerging, but cultivating influencers (and rewarding them with money) is one way the startup is promoting high-quality content on its platform.

The synergies here are obvious. A Clubhouse creator can now get tips for a great show, or raise money for a great cause, while also being rewarded by the platform itself for being a recurring host.

Clubhouse UX teardown: A closer look at homepage curation, follow hooks and other features

The fact that Clubhouse’s first attempt at monetization includes no percentage cut of its own is certainly noteworthy. Monetization, or Clubhouse’s lack thereof, has been a topic of discussion about the buzzy startup since it took off in the early pandemic months. While it currently relies on venture capital to keep the wheels churning, it will need to make money eventually in order to be a self-sustaining business.

Creator monetization, with a cut for the platform, has led to the growth of large businesses. Cameo, a startup that sends personalized messages from creators and celebrities, takes about a 25% cut of each video sold on its platform. The startup reached unicorn status last week with a $100 million raise. OnlyFans, another platform that helps creators directly raise money from fans in exchange for paywalled contact, is projecting $1 billion in revenue for 2021.

Clubhouse’s payments feature will first be tested by a “small test group” starting today, but it is unclear who is in this group. Eventually, the payments feature will be rolled out to other users in waves.

Celebrity video request site Cameo reaches unicorn status with $100M raise

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