#so i just settled for fiver looking pissed off

[warlordfelwinter]

one of these for fiver was overdue

[ciggylungz]

Pray to me

word count. 4,077

Warnings-like probably the most risky smut i’ve ever written, church sex, wild stuff (sorry)

Pray to me:

(A random little smutty one shot relating to my bad boy harry series, it’s not going to affect the story line so just imagine this is another au for my au that’s an au. I just gave myself a stroke writing that.)

__

Detention.

A ‘punishment’ Harry Styles was used to getting by now, he was in his third year of Catholic high school and to say he has gotten his fair share of detention slips is a gross understatement. You’d think being surrounded by crosses would help subdue his cursing yet Harry didn’t seem to inherit the same fear his classmates did by the ‘word of god’ that was crammed down his throat every day. So, it wasn’t exactly tolerated when the boy strung a slew of curses together to describe the head Priest, or when he got caught smoking spliffs in the boys bathroom when he was supposed to be in math and well, those choices led him to where he is now. Slouched in a pew whilst the head nun was giving him a proper tongue lashing and explaining to him that he was to clean the chapel from top to bottom, smooth any creased pages in the 300 bibles that were stacked in the rows of pews, get any gum off the under side of them as well and wipe down the stain glass windows. The school had called his mum to tell her he would be home very late that day knowing the job would take a solid 4 or 5 hours to complete and that’s if he rushed it. To say he was pissed was putting it lightly, yet the biggest shock was yet to come when he heard the heavy wooden doors open and slam again as another person shuffled inside.

“Miss Yln, you’re here. Mister Styles here can tell you the duties you both must complete, here are the keys lock the doors when you both are finished. We’ll expect to meet with you before mass tomorrow to get a proper apology once the work if finished. Right-o, chop chop kids.”

The grouchy wrinkle faced nun thrust the keys into an anxious Y/n’s hands while she shuffled her way towards the exit, giving a careless slam of the 20 pound doors causing both Harry and Y/n to flinch. Harry was genuinely surprised to see Y/n there with him, he’s used to seeing her at mass or in line at confessional but detention? That was a new one for her. He took his time standing from his seat, cracking his back and neck whilst he settled onto his feet, casting a curious glance at the girl who stuck out like a sore thumb in the somber hostile environment. He knew Y/n well, he considers her a friend which is rare since he’s not the friendliest of people around town. Yet he liked Y/n, she was cute as button and what teenage boy doesn’t find an innocent girl wearing a catholic school uniform appealing?

“well well well miss sunshine, what did you do to get yourself this torment?” Harry gave her the quick once over, using his typical teasing nickname for the girl just to get her cheeks to blush a bit and help lighten the mood. Y/n blew out a breath out through her plump glossed lips, subconsciously stomping her foot a bit in annoyance which Harry thought was funny, and also cute. “I accidentally said a bad word in class! James tricked me into saying it and Sister Amy heard and gave me detention.” Her pout grew further when the boy chuckled at her attitude. “How did he trick yeh into saying somethin’?” Y/n grunted a bit, very peeved and mentally hexing James for what his actions caused her, “He said hold your tongue while you say apple…” Harry at this point was letting out a belly laugh, just imagining Y/n’s face when she realized she’d said asshole and finding humor in how ditzy she could be sometimes. “You fell for that? Did you not have a childhood? I thought everyone knew that trick, hon” Y/n simply smacked his arm and tossed the keys onto the nearest surface. “Shush Harry” her little finger pointed at him, trying to be serious but he found it comical. His hands moved out to poke her sides, knowing exactly how ticklish she was feeling content as Y/n squirmed and squealed. Adorable giggles falling from her lips and making the chapel seem a bit less creepy, her tiny hands trying to push his biceps back to free herself from his tickling fingers. “Ah! Harry!-“ she was trying to speak between her laughs, the boy one year her senior smiled, dimples sinking into the flesh of his cheeks, “Dunno what you expected, love. You thought you could tell me to shush?! no one tells me to do princess.” “Okay! Okay I’m sorry! I take it back!” after what seemed like an eternity to Y/n, but was only a few ticks over a minute Harry finally let go, smiling down at her while he ruffled her hair chuckling to himself while she tried to straighten her uniform back out. “That was not a fair fight Harry, you had an unfair weight AND height advantage!” y/n stuck her tongue out at him. “Hey, you started it bossy pants. You’re lucky I didn’t throw yeh over m’ shoulder and tossed yeh around. You got off easy this time missy.”

Harry wasn’t typically so playful and relaxed, he couldn’t bring himself to be so cold around Y/n. How could he? She’s sunshine personified, the real version of the rhyme ‘sugar, spice and everything nice’.  The girl was the only thing that kept him from dropping out. Y/n makes day to day bullshit tolerable for him…and well she also has given her inspiration more than once when he couldn’t sleep at night and resorted to a quick wank while mumbling of dirty phrases topped off with her name to send him off to dreamland.

 _______________________________

After some more shenanigans, the pair got to work on their scheduled tasks.  Y/n had started in the bibles in the first 6 pews on the right side of the chapel while Harry dug through a supply closet to get a ladder out to wipe the windows. He was contemplating if he should pretend to fall and collect an insurance claim instead of actually cleaning the 12-foot art pieces but he decided against it by the time he found what he was looking for. After setting the ladder up and grabbing the giant duster Harry decided to take his first break, he knew he was just procrastinating but who cares? He decided during his break he’d get Y/n to take one with him. “Hey love, wanna take a fiver?” Y/n looked up from the 12th bible she had fixed giving him a frantic nod, her mind numb from the task she was busy doing.

“what do yeh wanna do?” she left the choice up to the older boy, watching as he bit his lip lightly in thought, shrugging and scooting in next to her. “truth or dare?” he wiggled his eyebrows tempting her and being the compliant and very bored girl, she was, Y/n agreed.

“Okay you first Harry, truth or dare?” the boy pondered for a moment before shrugging, “Truth” he didn’t miss the way she was fidgeting with her skirt all excited for the game. “Ok, have you ever uhmmmm got drunk?” her innocence laced her tone, genuine curiosity. Her voice slightly lowered as if what she was asking was naughty which of course got Harry to chuckle, “Yes, pretty much every weekend. You’ve never drank? Not even once, love?” his left eyebrow raised and she timidly shrugged “Nope, I only had wine at communion but then it’s only a sip. Never been drunk before…Okay your turn!” he hummed slightly, “Truth or dare y/n?” “uhhh dare!” at this point she was squirming in her seat from her giddiness, and Harry took full opportunity over the chance he had. “I dare you to kiss me.”

Y/n wasn’t exactly expecting that one. She thought maybe he’d dare her to say another bad word or smoke one of his cigarettes, but he wanted her to kiss him…and she was confused on why she wanted to. She didn’t want to say no, she had the urge to follow through with it. The girl noticed the butterflies in her stomach she was used to getting when around her older friend, and a blush crawled up her neck to her cheeks. Harry sat with an amused smirk, darting his tongue out to lick over his lips whilst tipping his head to the side slightly, “cat got your tongue, love? What are yeh waiting for?” a pointer finger was placed under her chin to get her to look at him, and y/n decided it was better to bite the bullet and pushed her thoughts out of the way while quickly leaning in to give him a peck.

Harry was surprised she actually did it, feeling her lips on his for a split second before she pulled away with a shy giggle yet he was having none of that. “uh uh, a real kiss” his natural dominance reared it’s head when he grabbed the girl and plopped her on his lap, holding her jaw and planting his lips on her’s yet again coaxing her to move with him. When she didn’t respond how he wanted he tugged her hair a bit, biting her bottom lip and dragging it down so her mouth was pried open, “Being a tease y/n, keep your mouth open wanna taste ya’”

y/n’s head was swimming, she’d never done anything like this but her body went weak under Harry’s rough hold and demanding voice and so she complied opening her mouth so his tongue could infiltrate. She wasn’t really skilled in the kissing department; she’d only kissed one person before and it was nothing like this. Harry didn’t mind her clumsy, clueless movements he found it even hotter that she didn’t know what she was doing and he was the one cracking away at her purity. His heart was pumping, his fingers tangled in her hair as he tugged her by it to get her to move where he wanted her, it was hot. So fucking hot.

When he finally pulled away from the kiss he observed her. Plump lips now a flushed red, swollen and slick with her lingering lip gloss and their mixed spit. She was breathing heavily, eyes staring into his darkening ones. She looked amazing. “God…pet you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to fuckin’ do that” his tongue darted out to lick over his own lips frowning when he got a heavy taste of sticky lip-gloss , “gotta get this off yeh, it’s too sticky” his sleeve was pulled down to cover his palm whilst he rubbed the remaining product off her delicious lips before shuffling it back up to bunch at his elbows. “There, look a little dazed petal. Yeh alright?” Y/n nodded quickly at the question, smiling a little bit before kissing his nose and each of his cheeks then going back to his lips mimicking how he’d kissed her prior. The boy could hardly contain himself, taking over the kiss and pulling her hands off his face holding both her wrists in one of his hands yanking them above her head so she was completely bound. “No no no, little love. I make the rules hon, you don’t. I didn’t say to kiss me again did i? I didn’t say you could touch me, hmm? Being a bit naughty aren’t yeh baby?”

To say she was overwhelmed and a tad confused was accurate, she had really no experience in any sort of sexual situations all she knew is she was going to listen to Harry. His gaze was enough to melt her into submission. “Words Y/n, did I tell you to do those things?” his grip on her wrist tightened a bit, “No….no you didn’t tell me to…” his eyes were staring into hers a subtle hum exiting his throat. “Good girl, now tell me your sorry.” “I’m sorry, Harry” an adorable pout decorated her lips, Harry was loving this.

He let go of her hands, both of them falling into her lap where she folded them, making sure to follow the new rule of not touching without permission, waiting for what was going to happen next. Only a moment later did Y/n feel Harry’s right thumb pressing into her bottom lip, eyes jumping to meet his, “open” she complied, letting him slip his thumb past her lips to rest on her tongue, “Close, now suck.”

Her confused gaze met his stern one while she started suckling on his digit. She didn’t really understand why he wanted her to suck his thumb, regardless she did it.

It was taking everything in Harry to not bend the girl over and shove himself inside her, god he fucking wanted to but he had something else in mind. Something more sinful than two teenagers having premarital sex in a chapel, no he wanted to give the biggest ‘fuck you’ he could to the school, and the ‘god’ he was forced to submit to. He knew if all the preaching’s were true, this idea was his first-class ticket straight to the devil’s doorstep.

“Listen princess, you’re going to do what I say, okay?” Y/n gave a quick nod of her head, Harry scooting her off his lap and removing his thumb from her mouth as he guided her up the steps to of the pulpit where the priest usually gave his sermons, a holy pedestal of sorts but today it would get a new use.

“on your knees.” It wasn’t a request, it was an order. Harry stood in the center of the pulpit, the religious art work surrounding them did little to stop his ‘sinful’ desires. Desires of the flesh were the only thing on his mind.

Y/n was on her knees before him, looking up at her friend who had a smug sultry look on his beautiful face. His hands fumbled with his belt whilst he looked down at her.

“you’re going to pray to me now, angel.”

Y/n couldn’t believe she was really in this situation, kneeling under the podium in the pulpit where she hears sermons 5 days a week for 3 hours with Harry pulling his cock out. when he finally managed to get himself free a loud groan echoed in the sanctuary, one that made Y/n feel a tingle between her legs and salivate slightly. A strange new sensation she couldn’t describe, but she knew she liked it.

“open your mouth, sweetheart.”

Y/n had never seen Harry’s eye’s look so dark, his tone so demanding and his breathing so heavy. His cock loomed over her face, bobbing slightly with every beat of his heart whilst something clear and sticky was leaking from the tiny slit in the top of it webbing onto the underside of his tip. She was nervous, but she did as she was told opening her sweet little mouth so the older boy could guide the crown of his cock into the warm cavern of her virgin mouth. The sensation was the closest thing to heavenly Harry had ever felt in this room, her mouth was warm and wet. Tongue slightly textured and slick with the nice, thick spit that comes from the back corners of your mouth. It’s better than any lube you can buy truly. He instructed her to suck his flesh, hollowing her cheeks and massaging his prick with the flesh of her mouth for the very first time in her life.

“Holy fucking shit, doll…you sure this is yeh first time? Good little cock sucker aren’t yeh? On your pretty knees, praying to me now huh?” Harry could see his cock pushing into the side of her cheek as she nodded, her mouth stuffed full of his leaking member, and because Harry was Harry and liked to really make a statement he decided if he was going to hell for this, he might as well make it worth it.

His fingers plucked one of the small wooden crosses off of the staircase on the pulpit, it was a decoration dedicated to Christ yet he had other plans for it.

The boy took a step back from Y/n, moaning slightly at the sight of her following after his cock when it started slipping from her lips. She wanted it, she liked it and god he fucking did too but he couldn’t wait any longer to execute the idea that just tumbled into his mind. Harry snapped his fingers in front of the drooly lipped girl, getting her attention on his eyes instead of the cock she wanted so desperately back in her mouth. “Up, don’t be greedy yeh can finish me off when I’m done with yeh..” Harry lifted the girl by her underarms up onto the flat part of the pedestal, where a bible was sat opened to a scripture that was suddenly smothered by the doe eyed girls round plump ass. Harry wishes he could dig his teeth into it but that’s for another time.

Y/n didn’t resist at all when he tipped her back a bit, hiking her skirt up and spreading her legs. The only reaction she gave at first was a quick gasp when he ripped her school tights right at the crotch her white cotton panties now in his view. “cute” was mumbled under his breath as he toyed with the tiny pink bow stitched into the waistband of her panties, but soon they were gone as well pushed fully to the side to expose her cunt, a small smattering of light curls at the apex of her thighs. They looked soft, light and quite cute. He could tell they’d never been shaven off before by how soft they were, wasn’t a very course or thick section of hair. That was likely to come later in her life, but for now her cunt was the only thing he was willing to worship in the holy home of Christ.

“Fuckin’ beautiful…got a real nice little pussy, angel.” Y/n was past the point of being shy now, she was spread eagle perched on top of a open bible with her cunt on full display in front of her half naked friend. Modesty flew out the door a while ago. And so, she responded in a little whine and shimmy of her hips, feeling the cold air lapping at her hot center and cooling the slick that had collected between her folds that she didn’t even notice till now.

The boy thought he might have been in the midst of one of his wet dreams, the stereotypical catholic school girl splayed out in a chapel with his hungry eyes staring at her virgin cunt. He was trying his hardest to take a mental picture so he can relive this the next time he has a wank, but in this moment his plan was coming to fruition.

Harry held up the small wooden cross, holding it between his thumb and pointer finger. The piece of religious art was about as wide around as a taper candle and maybe a good 4 inches from the base to where it met the divider of the cross. Much smaller than his cock, but a good size to fuck his classmate with.

“Open.” His voice doomed after the stretch of silence, Y/n letting her lips fall open again gurgling a bit as the wooden cross was thrust into her mouth. Harry was purposefully being rough, pushing her gag reflex intentionally, “Gag on it, get it nice and wet. Do as I say y/n, m’ getting’ yeh throat to slick it up. Could shove it in yeh dry be glad I’m lubing it up pet.” With a few more jabs at her uvula the boy was content with the amount of thick spit that dripped down the object.

Y/n couldn’t help but squirm and mewl, feeling Harry split her labia. An audible clicking sound fell on their ears from the wetness adhering the folds of skin together, the sound gave a boost to his already prominent smirk. Once her engorged clit came into view Harry made a point to give it a few strong strokes with his thumb before pressing the end of the cross into the girl’s virgin opening. The sight was nothing short of filthy, completely sinful. He wouldn’t be surprised if the floor caved in and they fell straight to hell as he finally managed to press through her thin hymen gaining entry to the untouched inners of the girl.

The stinging caused Y/n to hiss slightly, her legs quivering as he finally made it inside her. A small streak of her purity stood out against the white wood. Harry couldn’t help but snicker to himself, he thought of Virgin Mary in this moment. Ironic right? The first thought into his mind when seeing Y/n’s virginal blood striping a cross was how this was a strange twist on the story of the savior’s mother.

His movements sped up considerably after the flimsy membrane of resistance was punctured. The cross now being plunged in and out of the girl’s sacred spot in quick succession while she gripped the railing behind her in an effort not to tumble off the stand.

“Would yeh look at that, might be the first girl in this school to get fucked with a cross, baby. Always knew you were special huh?” Harry migrated his hand down to thumb at her clit, the foreign sensation of something inside of her and a massaging of her pleasure organ had the girl pigeon toed and panting. Harry swears he’s never seen anything hotter than what he was doing in this moment. His arm was getting tired but he didn’t dare fucking stop. No, he decided he was going to violate the artwork until Y/n had her first orgasm clamping onto the now not so holy figurine.

Y/n could barely form a thought, pleasure wracking through her body and a strange sensation building inside of her. Harry mumbling filth to her was the icing on the cake, her body tipping over the edge. Her body went stiff before breaking out into shakes, vocal cords strained from the moans and yelps escaping her throat. Her first ever orgasm was the most intense feeling she had ever felt, and Harry almost came just watching her suddenly remembering his abandoned cock.

Y/n was scrambling to regain control over her body, pushing Harry’s wrists away with a slick popping noise following as the cross was removed from her body. Harry leaned down to kiss the panting girl, dribbling spit into her open mouth while she gasped for air. “good girl, you’re such a good girl.” His ring clad fingers pet her cheek lightly, the other hand sitting her up and tugging her forward giving her a shove to get her back onto her knees.

“Now, time to finish your prayer, love” His hand pushed his cock back into the cavern of her mouth, she suckled hard on him. Tongue lapping at the underside of his cock, suction hard on the crown of him. The way she gave harsh spongy movements of her tongue and cheeks had his knees weak having to hold himself up on the podium. “Shit, Christ pet I’m gonna cum”.

Harry felt his climax rapidly approaching, taking both of his hands and putting them on the back of her head forcing the entirety of his cock down the girls sore throat. The muscles already tired from all the noise she made with it, but she only dug her fingers into his thighs as he spilled down her tight throat.

Harsh breathing along with Harry’s pleasured chuckle were the only noises filling the room as the pair removed themselves from each other. Harry getting his control back, putting his cock away before pulling Y/n to her feet giving her a few smacking kisses as he helped straighten her out tossing her ruined tights into the trashcan.

“Think we took more than a fiver babe, guess we gotta finish now huh?”

His smirk was wide while he put the cross right back in it’s place, cum still dripping off of it.

[robronsecretsanta]

Hello, One Small Latte, Please

For @nooneelsecomesclose17​​ ❤️You are such a talented author, so I hope you enjoy this little fic! I made sure to keep it fluffy and have a happy ending! 😁

Summary: Five times Robert tries to get discounted coffee, and the one time Aaron finally relents.

Tags: 5+1, coffee fic, fluffiness, Aaron is exasperated, Robert is charmed by it

1

“Hello, one small latte, please.” The man says with a cheeky smile. He looks pleased with himself - a large grin on his stupid face.

“Right. Five quid please.” Aaron says dully.

“Think it’s one-fifty, mate.” The man says with this irritating smile. The man is referring to the sign outside the coffeehouse that Matty thought would be a ‘fun way to get customers to be nice’. It’s not been fun. In fact, Aaron has had too many customers trying to get discounted coffee and him having to explain the stupid sign. He’s going to make Matty be the afternoon barista and see how fun he thinks the sign is.

“Nice try, mate, but it’s just a tongue in the cheek sign.” Aaron gives the man a pointed look while he’s steaming the milk.

The man’s smile doesn’t falter - it actually grows. He leans over the counter as if he’s about to divulge a secret, “So what do I have to do to get a discounted coffee?”

Aaron finally gives a proper look at the man. He’s seen him a few times before - he’s managed to stand out to Aaron despite serving hundreds of people a day. This is the first time the man is trying to broker a conversation and Aaron is hardly impressed.

“Work here for an employee discount?” Aaron tersely suggests. The amount of times Aaron has had to have this conversation makes him especially short with this man. It’s hardly cute at this point, and Aaron is ready to strangle the next person who tries to get a discounted coffee.

The man chuckles and leans away from the counter as Aaron finishes up the latte. If Aaron is being honest, he’d probably enjoy the attempted flirting the man is trying at a different point in time, but as it stands, it just serves to annoy him. Aaron pours the steamed milk into the papered cup to finish the latte, and hands it over to the man. “One small latte.”

The man lifts his papered cup, as if to toast Aaron. “I’ll get you to give me a discount on your coffee one of these days, Aaron.” He gives a half smirk, looking at the apron Aaron’s wearing with his name stitched on it, and walks out before Aaron can respond.

Aaron makes Matty serve drinks the rest of the day, and Aaron sulks in the backroom.

2

When Aaron was a kid, he’d make his mum breakfast in bed for her birthday and other holidays. His favorite thing about making the breakfast (which usually just consisted of an assortment of toast and jams), was making a cup of coffee for her. Chas had a french press that Aaron would use to make the coffee. Sometimes, Chas would just politely drink a few sips but toss it when Aaron wasn’t looking. Other times, he would brew the perfect cup, and he’d watch her eyes grow in amazement and nod at Aaron.

Aaron’s passion for coffee grew as the years went by. And little by little, he saved enough money to open Has Beans. He had opened shop a little over six months ago to modest success. It’s been a dream come true for Aaron to now experiment and brew the coffee he wants as owner. He hired Matty a few weeks ago when the shop began to get more popular. Matty has been on a crusade to market Has Beans as a fun coffee shop; hence, the sign outside the shop. After the whole discounted coffee attempt from the sign, Matty has scaled it back to just coffee related to puns.

It’s why it’s a surprise to Aaron when the arrogant man from the other day comes back with the same smug smile from before and says, “Hello, one latte please.”

“You know that ain’t gonna work.” Aaron says with a roll of his eyes, “Five quid.”

The man chuckles but slides the fiver towards the cashier’s box as Aaron gets stared on the latte. He sneaks a few glances to the man as he prepares the drink. He’s looking intently at his phone, tapping away on his screen. He’s just as fit as before, Aaron is reluctant to admit.

“Y'know,” the man starts, looking up from his phone to talk to Aaron, “Think there’s something off with the way you make your latte.”

Aaron immediately stops making the latte, “You what?”

The man looks like a cat that got the canary. He smiles and innocently says, “You heard me. There’s something off with your lattes.”

Aaron has never hated a customer. He has sometimes felt a lot of anger and annoyance, but he always knew their interactions were fleeting and he’d get over their rudeness. But standing here, across from a man that Aaron has to listen to say his lattes are bad, Aaron hates him.

“You know what’s wrong?” The man continues, testing every ounce of Aaron’s patience.

“The fact I’m still serving you?” Aaron suggests, angrily frothing the milk. He’ll not let his temper impede his ability to make a latte, even if the man apparently finds the drink offensive.

The man actually laughs at Aaron, as if he made some joke. Just like the last time he was in here, the man leans over the counter to talk to Aaron. “I bet you’re using a single origin coffee as your espresso, right? The flavor peaks are interrupting the smoothness of the milk.” The man nods to beans that sit behind the counter with a knowing look.

Aaron doesn’t want to admit it, but the man has an excellent point. He has been using his house blend as a blanket base for his drinks. It’s not because Aaron thinks that it’s the best way to make his drinks, but because of his limited resources as a new business owner.

Still, he’ll be damned before he lets the man have a victory. “Here’s a thought: if you don’t like it, don’t get it.” Aaron snidely smiles, handing the apparently repulsive latte.

“Maybe you should start giving me a discount on my lattes for this free advice.” The man takes the latte from Aaron’s hand with a wink. He strolls out of the shop and Aaron has never hated someone as much as he does that man.

3

What bothers Aaron the most about the man’s criticism is, Aaron is passionate about coffee. He’s not some bellend who doesn’t know the difference between a dark roast or a light roast. He understands the criticism, but it gets under his skin that this stranger is coming into Aaron’s shop and trying to parade his coffee expertise. There’s a difference between actually being the brewer of the coffee and being someone who just drinks it. Aaron becomes determined to find the right blend to prove that smug bastard wrong.

The evening the man criticizes his coffee, Aaron goes home to his flat and spends his time roasting different beans. He has a vast collection of different sourced beans that he experiments on and finally settles on blends of dark roasts. It’s well into the night when the aroma of the blend tells him it’s the right bean and roast.

He uses a moka pot to brew the espresso - favoring an old fashioned way of making the espresso - and froths the milk to make his latte. The first sip, he can detect a few hints of chocolate - the espresso bold enough to withstand the milk creating a smooth body. He is pleased with that first sip, feeling confident that this blend will satisfy the coffee snob.

It’s a couple of days of waiting before the arrogant man walks back into the coffeeshop. Aaron, in the meantime, has received many compliments on his new lattes, and it’s bolstered his confidence enough that he’s not annoyed with seeing the man. He’s ready to wipe the smug look off the man’s face.

“Hello, one small latte please.”

“Five pounds.” Aaron starts on the latte without a second glance to the man. He takes out his new blend - grounded to a fine texture for the espresso - and begins brewing it fresh for the man.

“Are you ever going to ask me what my name is?” The man petulantly asks, placing a fiver on the counter. He says nothing about trying to get a discounted coffee, instead settling on his whiny question.

“You always come when there’s no one here. Don’t need to ask your name.” Aaron finishes steaming the milk and makes a little leaf out of the milk. He’s been working on his latte art lately but sticks to a simple leaf for Mister Coffee Snob. He’d no doubt find another way to critique Aaron’s coffee if he attempted something more ambitious.

“That’s nice.” The man says when he sees the leaf. Aaron wrings his hands a little nervously while he watches the man take a sip of the latte. The man’s eyes widen a bit when he’s finished with the first sip. “You listened to me.” He says with the smugest of grins.

“Yeah, well…” Aaron trails off with a half shrug. The man surprisingly doesn’t gloat but takes another drink of the latte.

“This is fantastic.” The man says with a proud smile, “I knew you had it in you to make this better.”

Aaron gives the man a tight but genuine smile. Strangely enough, he wanted to make this man proud. At first it was wounded pride and spite that made Aaron stay as late as he did to make the perfect latte for this man. But it morphed into also trying to better himself and serve coffee that will make his customers happy and Aaron proud to serve.

“I reckon this means I get discounted lattes from now on. I am, after all, the reason you changed the blend.” The man says with the cheekiest of smiles.

“Piss off, you.” Aaron says with no heat in his voice. They share a smile before the man leaves the shop.

4

Aaron doesn’t want to admit it, but he is finding himself less and less annoyed by the man. There was something very genuine about him the last time he was in here, complimenting Aaron’s efforts on the changed latte. Aaron has embarrassingly replayed the moment the man had realized Aaron made a change to the espresso many times. It’s strange to suddenly feel some fondness for someone Aaron had been so hellbent to hate.

Matty has been making fun of him every time the man comes in. If Matty is the main barista and sees the man come in, he’ll pretend to get busy so that Aaron has to serve him. “I figured I need to keep playin’ cupid, since it was my brilliant sign that has caused him to come in every day.” Matty said waggling his eyebrows. Aaron threw a tea towel at his face to get him to shut up.

It’s another slow part of the day when the man comes into Has Beans. Aaron does not smile when he sees him, he doesn’t.

“Hello, one small latte, please.” The man says, actually smiling (unlike Aaron, thank you very much).

“Right. Can I get your name?” Aaron picks up a paper cup and his sharpie. For the first time ever, the man looks thrown by the conversation. He had already taken out a five pound note, and was holding it midair when he gapes stupidly at Aaron. He turns around to see only a few patrons milling around the shop, no one in the queue behind him. Finally, his face lights up and a triumphant smile grows.

The myriad of expressions that dance across the man’s face makes Aaron’s face flush in embarrassment. Finally, the man leans over the counter, smile still intact, “You want to know my name?”

“Well what else am I supposed to write on here? Coffee snob?”

The man laughs and laughs, eyes crinkling and making Aaron chuckle himself. When the laughter has ebbed away, he looks Aaron in the eye and finally tells him his name: “Robert. But I do prefer the title of coffee snob.”

Aaron, against his better judgement, smiles back as he writes ‘Robert’ on the blank papered cup. “Okay, Robert, that’d be five quid.”

Robert laughs and finally slides the five pound note towards Aaron but says nothing. Aaron makes the latte in silence, trying not to look at Robert while he makes it. He feels embarrassed enough, and doesn’t want to do anything else he might regret. He finishes the latte and hands the cup with Robert’s name on it. Robert takes the cup and turns the cup around, examining the blocky letters of Aaron’s penmanship. “Shame.” He says when he’s done looking at the cup.

“What?” Aaron picks at some of the coffee utensils nervously.

“Well, you know my name now, thought that might have meant you wrote on here that I get a mate’s rate next time I’m in here.” Robert says.

“You think my knowing your name means we’re mates now?” Aaron asks with the barest of smiles.

“I’ve never worked this hard for someone to know my name. Think we might be more than mates, wouldn’t you say?” The unapologetic confidence that Robert exudes would annoy Aaron in any other person. But with him, there’s something very attractive about how confident Robert holds himself. It makes Aaron sway a little on his feet, leaning over the counter himself, trying to get closer to Aaron.

Unfortunately, before Aaron has a chance to say something back, a customer interrupts their conversation to order themselves a mocha cappuccino. It takes Aaron a few moments of preparing the drink that by the time he’s done with it, he notices Robert is gone. Aaron is not disappointed.

Just like how he wasn’t smiling when Robert first came into the shop.

5

It’s been a few days since Robert has come into the shop. One Robert-less day becomes two, becomes three Robert-less days. Until it’s almost a Robert-less month. Aaron has been trying very hard not to show it’s bothering him. But after snapping at a few customers, Matty gently suggests he should be main barista until Aaron cools down.

Aaron takes out his disappointment by spending some time roasting and grinding beans. It’s oddly therapeutic. As he grinds different coarseness, Aaron imagines he’s grinding Robert’s stupid face. After a week of roasting and grinding, he’s back out front as main barista.

He’s busy with the lunch time rush, not paying much attention to his customer’s faces when he hears that distinguishable voice, “Hello, one small latte, please,” and Aaron snaps his head up to see a sheepish looking Robert.

Aaron is too slammed to say anything, he busies himself with getting the latte done while Matty takes the cash (five pounds, as usual). When Aaron is calling out the latte for Robert, he deliberately touches Aaron’s fingers when he takes the cup out of Aaron’s hand. Aaron doesn’t spare him much thought as he continues to fill the orders and appease impatient businessmen and women.

Robert lingers at the shop, seating himself at a table and drinking his latte thoughtfully. Aaron is distracted by sneaking over glances towards him. The lunch hour seems to be extra populated with people, the hour itself feeling longer than normal as well. Finally, when the crowd becomes manageable, Aaron leaves Matty in charge as he takes a well deserved break. Aaron makes his way to the table Robert has sat himself at, and sits across from him.

“Alright?” Aaron asks, feeling awkward. This is the first time he’s actually started a conversation with Robert without an order being the starter to their conversations.

“Hmm?” Robert looks at Aaron with a curious look on his face. “Oh yeah. Yeah, alright.”

“Only, I wasn’t sure I’d see you again.” Aaron says a little nervously.

Robert lifts an eyebrow, and a teasing smile graces his face. “Well you know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder. Thought I’d get you to miss me so much, you would have to give me a discounted latte in relief of seeing me again.”

Aaron can’t help but smile at the adamancy of Robert’s attempt for a discounted latte. He feels better talking to Robert again, not entirely sure why he was gone for so long, but happy his demeanor is exactly the same. Aaron gets up, ready to head back to the back of the bar, when Robert gently grasps his right wrist. “Hang on a second, Aaron.”

Aaron is still standing, but looks down at Robert in mild curiosity. Robert rarely has said Aaron’s name, but he likes the way it sounds coming from him. Robert looks at Aaron shly, before letting out a small sigh. “I have a confession to make.”

A slight trepidation fills Aaron, even though he really has nothing to be nervous about. Still, he waits patiently to see what Robert is going to say. “I have to admit that your lattes are good, but I’m not actually a huge fan of lattes in general.”

The relief that floods him that it’s something innocuous supersedes exactly what Robert said. Aaron lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “So all this time you’ve been trying to get a discount on your latte, and you’re not even a fan of them?” Aaron demands with a smile, Robert is the most incorrigible man he’s ever met.

Robert shrugs his shoulders and leans back in his chair, giving Aaron a lazy smile, “Well what can I say? I’m determined for me discounted coffee.”

Aaron flips him off before walking back to the counter, shaking his head.

+1

Ever since Robert’s confession to not really liking lattes, he has started coming in daily into Has Beans. Aaron tries every time to guess the type of drink that is actually Robert’s favorite. Robert finishes every drink Aaron brews him, but always says with a smirk, “Sorry, try again.” It’s honestly been entertaining for Aaron to experiment on different drinks and having Robert try them.

Aaron never thought he would like Robert as much as he does when he first met him. Aaron had actually hated him for a brief moment, and now, Robert’s visits to Has Beans are the highlight of his day. Lately, Aaron has been wanting more from their interactions. Robert has started staying longer at the shop, the entire time it takes for him to slowly sip at his drink. They’ve been flirting with each other, but neither one has done or tried anything else.

Robert comes in during a peak time - Aaron and Matty churning out orders quickly and efficiently as possible. He goes and sits down at one of the few empty seats. Aaron shoots him a few looks while he’s busy making drinks and sees Robert is occupying himself by reading a local newspaper. It makes Aaron smile fondly as he continues to make drinks.

When the rushtime crowd dissipates, Robert gets up from his chair and makes his way to the counter. “Hello, one small coffee, please,” he says when he gets to the counter. Robert has amended his usual greeting somehow still trying to get discounted coffee despite Aaron giving him different drinks not even on the menu.

Aaron just shakes his head with a smile, but looks at Robert consideringly. One thing Aaron remembers when Robert first criticized Aaron’s latte was the fact he knew Aaron was using a single origin bean for it. It makes Aaron consider for a few moments before deciding on the cup he’s going to brew for Robert.

He takes his fruity light roast beans and grinds them into the portafilter and tamps it down as compactly as possible. The espresso brews perfectly - beautiful light brown crema percolates down into a cup - the light and fruity aroma filling the air. When the espresso is done brewing, Aaron adds boiling water and makes a cafe americano. A simple americano for a coffee snob such as Robert actually makes perfect sense.

“One americano.” Aaron says with a barely contained smile. Robert’s eyes widen in amazement, and eagerly outstretches his hand when Aaron hands him the mug of coffee. He takes a small sip of the americano, and Robert’s face lights up when he swallows the coffee.

“This,” Robert says with admiration heavy in his voice, “is the best americano I’ve ever had. You hit it right on the nose”

Aaron ducks his head in both embarrassment and pride. He knew Robert would love this drink, and knew as he made it, that this was the drink of choice for Robert.

“How much do I owe you?” Robert asks, holding the americano in both his hands, cradling it like it’s the most important thing he’s held.

“Nowt.” Aaron mumbles, cleaning out the portafilter to occupy his hands. He can hear the intake of breath from Robert, making Aaron’s face heat up in embarrassment.

Aaron still hasn’t looked up to see Robert’s reaction, but his smugness is palpable in the air just by the silence that fills between them. Finally, he hears Robert shuffle closer to the edge of the counter, folding his arms on top of the corian surface. Aaron looks up to see Robert grinning at him.

“Is that so?” The triumph in Robert’s voice is unmistakable.

Aaron gives a noncommittal shrug, but sways a little on his feet. Robert continues grinning at Aaron, before taking another sip of his americano. Leaning a little further over the counter, Robert suggests, “How ‘bout this instead: I pay for my americano, and you pay for tea with me tonight?”

Now it’s Aaron’s turn to grin, feeling all the embarrassment from earlier evaporate. “Smooth. Has this been your ploy all along?” Aaron responds with a smile.

Robert shrugs, “Obviously. A fit bloke like you and you make brew a mean americano. It’s a win-win for me. So?”

Aaron laughs a little, and looks behind him. Matty is further behind the counter, wiping down a few of the instruments, pretending not to listen to their conversation, but there’s a small smile on his face. Aaron claps Matty’s shoulder as he passes by and walks around the counter. Robert meets up halfway with a hopeful look on his face. It’s endearing to Aaron in a way that he never thought would be possible the first time Robert walked into Has Beans. “I suppose I can do tea. Got nothing else going on.” Aaron sighs dramatically.

Robert’s face somehow lights up even brighter than when he first took a sip of the americano, and snakes his arms around Aaron’s waist, “You know…now that I’ve got a date with you, I expect discounted americanos from now on.”

Aaron can’t help the laugh that escapes his mouth and shuts Robert up by giving him a kiss.

“Yeah, keep dreaming.” Aaron says when he breaks away.

[joemuggs]

DO YOU SUFFER FROM SPYMANIA?

It’s the 25th anniversary of the Spymania label, and to celebrate it they have released a record of unreleased tracks. It’s brilliant, you should buy it. In 2016 I wrote a history of the messy, messed-up, but brilliant Brighton scene that they found their feet in. Sadly it got lost in the archiving of the Red Bull Music Academy site, but I’ve still got the text, so here it is. And to prove I was there, here is me, in an inexplicably bad shirt, with the Spymania crew and friends:

Some Spymanians - far left is Hardy Spymania, next to him in blue t-shirt is Paddington Breaks, third from right leaning forward is MDK and that’s me in the bad shirt on the right.

25th Anniversary EP by SONGBIRD & WAFTA

From the town's 18th century genesis as a playground for aristocrats, Brighton has always been a space for outrageous hedonism. Being the closest point to London on the English south coast makes it an obvious place for escape and misbehaviour. With that has always come something grittier and grottier though. It's no coincidence that the best known fictional depictions of Brighton feature razor-carrying petty gangsters (Brighton Rock) and running street battles and hurried back-alley knee-tremblers (Quadrophenia). The novelist Keith Waterhouse famously said “Brighton always looks like a town helping police with their enquiries” – and it still does. Behind its facade of homeopaths, holidaymakers, students and media folk, it hides rampant corruption and organised crime, a heroin economy to match any British city, and sprawling estates that are among the country's poorest.

In the heat of the 1990s rave fervour when the world and its dog came down to Brighton to party their way through untold seven-day weekends, all of this ambiguity was expressed via a rather different electronic scene. While the superclubs along the seafront pumped to the sounds of handbag house, trance and big beat, hidden away in the nooks and crannies a techno style formed that became known on the European underground simply as “the Brighton sound” – and around it sprouted odd rave and electronica mutations that, though they might have seemed pisstakey or bloody-minded at the time, would alter the course of electronic music for a long time to come. All of this was surrounded by a dense web of art, theory, satire, in-jokes and meat-flinging cabaret, that could be perplexing, even off-putting, but has left a huge creative legacy from a tiny scene that punched way, way above its weight.

This scene of malcontents and squarepegs was by definition loose-knit – but if there was a centre to it, it was Cristian Vogel. Originally from the south Midlands, he and his friend Si Begg already had experience putting out cassette releases and primitive music software hacks (with the Cabbage Head Collective) before he came to Sussex University to study 20th Century Music in 1992. With a head full of Stockhausen and rave tapes, he was boshing out the techno, and by the end of 1994 had two releases on Dave Clarke's Magnetic North label and was resident at the Acid Box club nights in a little sticky-floored upstairs venue in Brighton's North Lanes.

This was the period when techno and hardcore were still part-fused, and along with headliners like Carl Cox and Luke Slater you could expect to hear Belgian hoover noises full-pelt gabber rolled into the more “intelligent” beats, all with nothing but relentless strobes and smoke to intensify the experience. It's a sign of how intense it was that the “chillout” in the backroom consisted of Richie Hawtin tunes playing and Tetsuo: Iron Man being shown on a couple of TVs, and felt genuinely laid back in comparison to the dancefloor. It could be shoulder-to-shoulder packed, or have ten people raving away, but it was pretty much always guaranteed to deliver mental obliteration. It's precisely this delirium you can hear in key early releases like Vogel's “Ninjah” or Tobias Schmidt's “Minus One”.

Si Begg and friends

Cristian, together with Si Begg founded Mosquito Records around this point, around which a motley crew of producers of monstrously banging but sonically razor sharp techno gathered. Neil Landstrumm, Tobias Schmidt (an ingenious pseudonym for one Toby Smith), Ibrahim Alfa and Russ Gabriel, as well as Begg and Vogel themselves, all released in the first couple of years. They were closely allied with the Scottish techno scene, notably through Landstrum but also the Sativae label run by Dave Tarrida and Steve Glenncross, and played to seething crowds north of the border, as well as absolutely huge ones in Germany, Poland and further afield. Yet even though the audiences were tiny back on the south coast, the local brand was inescapable: indeed Si Begg, who lived in London right through the nineties, recalls with some bafflement seeing untold German flyers with “BRIGHTON TECHNO” in big letters under his name.

All of this was great, but taken alone could simply have been another local flavour on the international techno scene. The four-to-the-floor certainly remained the heartbeat of the scene as The Acid Box became The Box, which became Defunkt, which became Freekin' The Frame, and the techno dons kept coming through: Blake Baxter, Shake Shakir, Claude Young, Beltram, Weatherall, Surgeon, Bandulu... but very quickly, things became about more than just that. There was a strongly disruptive element from the beginning in the form of a close alliance with the Brighton “clench” of the Church Of The SubGenius. If you don't know about the Church, that's a whole other rabbit hole to fall down, but for our purposes it's enough to know that the local bunch existed on the fringes of freeparty soundsystem culture and subverted its tendencies to crypto-mystical bollocks, and were big on collage and stencil graffiti, heavy punning streams of consciousness (“Bulldada” in the SubGenius parlance), mischief disguised as culture and vice versa.

Heavily influenced by this SubGenius mischief was Mat Consume, in-house designer, computer animator and frequent back-room DJ for the Vogel-related axis. His art, brain-bent ranting and noisily experimental sets became a vital part of the identity of the scene, helping coalesce obsessions with punk and Situationism and ambivalent embrace of digital progress among Vogel and compadres to the point where when they formed an umbrella organisation for their activities it was natural to call it No Future. Held loosely together by Vogel's partner and manager Emma Sola this acted as a booking agency for various acts, but just as much felt like a chaotic but fiercely independent joint art project between Vogel, Sola and Consume, throwing ideas and aesthetic forms out into the underground and forging alliances with equally bloody-minded creators.

Emma Sola

These included the likes of Canadian filmmaker and stencil artist Pablo Fiasco; animators and sound artists Ruth Jarman and Joe Gerhardt aka Semiconductor; non-techno eclecticist club collectives Mufflewuffle and Slack; the combative cabaret night That Stupid Club which would feature subcultural saboteurs like Stewart Home, Dennis Cooper and The Divine David; and another more rave-influenced cabaret night called Monkey's Lounge full of spoken word, off-colour comedy, offal-flinging and pints-of-piss-drinking, run and compered by... um... me (under the names Rimmington Snuffporn Esq and DJ Dead, with help from my music production and DJ partner Jeffrey Disastronaut). It was at a Monkey's Lounge session that Consume physically pushed Jamie Lidell – already widely known as a wildly innovative techno producer via the Subhead collective and their Growth parties – on stage with the house band Balzac, immediately kickstarting a long running residency as their singer and marking the beginning of a performing career that still continues.

Tom “Squarepusher” Jenkinson and Hardy Spymania

Possibly the most important alliance of all, though, was with the Spymania crew. Their social circle was a motley bunch of Londoners, Midlanders and most notably a large contingent from Chelmsford, Essex. Many of the latter had been to school with Tom Jenkinson, a musician known originally as Stereotype and then, when the Spymania label itself was formed by Paul Fowler and brighton-based Hardy Finn, as Squarepusher. Their ethos was preposterous in all ways, fuelled by unstable fusions of questing intellects and Essex swagger. As teenagers they first congregated around a Chelmsford club night called Club Trout, run by future scene mainstay Jane Mitchell (and later exported to Brighton as Smooth But Halibut); they smoked themselves sarcastic to early tapes made by their friends Cassetteboy; everything they did was shot through with skater-stoner-hardcore-raver pisstake attitude. Their rickety old website, which remains live today, still gives a hint of all this. http://www.spymania.com/pgs/hardcore.html

Yet these were musical connoisseurs too, assiduously collecting hip hop, acid, Detroit techno, British electronica, and especially in the case of Martin “MDK” Wood, death metal, gindcore and anarcho punk. This pile-up of musical expertise and sarky dicking about was there from the first release, Squarepusher's Conumber EP – which featured everything from a track that was nothing more than a timestretched Jenkinson asking “can anyone lend me a fiver” to the jungle-acid fusions that would literally redefine how electronica was made from the Aphex Twin on down for the rest of the 1990s. The Spymania records that followed touched on illbient mismatched time signatures, Drexciyan electro-funk, Deicide samples, eerily blissed out atmospherics, Cassetteboy's peurile genius (via offshoot label Barry's Bootlegs), and a dozen more awkward twists and turns besides, always brain-frying, always funny, never settling on any sound that offered the casual listener an easy handle on what was going on.

A standardly Dada Spymania cover

This added up to a refreshing antidote to the chin-fondling seriousness and purism of much of the electronica scene. And when Finn, Wood and friends went raving at the Acid Box, they naturally found a kindred spirit in Mat Consume who would design almost all the Spymania sleeves, their grainy photocopy style a counterpoint to the garish clashing computer images and animated dancing baby skeletons of his No Future work. They in turn helped inspire Consume, with the urbane Lynton Million (a university friend of Jamie Lidell's), to set up Trash Records.

Trash was a label that would take the horrible and confrontational side of the scene to extremes, with anger and ugliness from label mainstays including DJ Paedofile, Chuck Shite and Shit & Cheap (aka Consume & Landstrumm – sample track name: “SuckingCocksForFishheads”), as well as impossibly intricate turns from the likes of Liddell and another Chelmsfordian Squarepusher contemporary and Rephlex recording artist, Matt Yee-King. Si Begg, too, was close to the Spymania team, and launched the rather more good-natured but equally ridiculous Noodles family of labels, featuring a slew of collaborations and AKAs (including Hardy Spymania's pleasingly literal Barry Pseudonym) from the No Future and Spymania families.

It was a messy and disparate little scene. The bulk of the rave action took place in the big clubs of Germany and the rest of Europe, but the creative processes were at least as much about what happened in smoky shared flats and workshops in Brighton's tatty backstreets as they were about big dancefloors. Vogel once described his metier as “the drug pub rant”, and a lot of work sprung from precisely these. Continually, though, the bulk of Brighton club culture, from the seafront clubs to the free parties on the beaches and Downs, tended to look askance at the belligerence and deliberate obfuscations of the No Future axis, or more often simply ignore it all. Perhaps the glorious cresting of the first wave of activity, and probably this scene's peak visibility in Brighton full stop, was at the Brighton Dance Parade of 1997. This attempt to replicate Berlin's Love Parade was never to be repeated – hippie mismanagement and Brighton's endemic corruption saw to that – but for one day only the ravers had their literal day in the sun.

The Trash crew: top - Consume, Hunter & Million / middle - Million & Consume / bottom - Cristian Vogel & Million

There, among floats pumping out free party trance and funky house, the No Future bus – stencilled all over by Pablo Fiasco with pictures of dead rock stars, and with a stunningly crsip rig playing weaponised techno whose angles and curves were a thousand times sharper and more present than any other music on the day – stood out like a septic thumb. This was also the year that Vogel's musical partnership with Lidell began in earnest – with Lidell's furious remix of Vogel's “(Don't) Take More”, which remains a brain-damage anthem to this day in some quarters, and their first release as the mutant electronic funk duo Super_Collider, “Darn (Cold Way O Loving)”. The latter track, amazingly, emerged on a major label, thanks to it being signed by Skint parent label Loaded, in turn licensed through Sony. It was a year to wave the freak flag high.

Despite untold hard drugs, fights and the incestuous nature of a town as small as Brighton, the scene and the various record labels involved remained vigorous and continued to diversify right through the last years of the nineties and into the new millennium. Super_Collider released one album on Loaded, and another on Rise Robots Rise, the label created by Vogel and Sola for ever more varied output including Catalan girl-punk and German dancehall. Lidell's ultra-experimental first solo album, Muddlin Gear, came out as a joint venture between Spymania and WARP in 2000, accompanied by deranged artwork and live films by Pablo Fiasco. Bands increasingly became part of the mix: whispering neo-Krautrockers Fujiya & Miyagi (on Paul Spymania's Massive Advance imprint), the terrifying Wevie Stonder (who he managed) and space-pop group Chungking (which I was in for a couple of years, and whose multi-instrumentalist James Stephenson played bass for Super_Collider live, creating a Chelmsford rhythm section with Matt Yee-King on drums - both of these two had also been in the aforementioned Balzac too).

No Future’s logo, designed with typical aggression by Consume

There were prominent fans too. John Peel asked the Trash collective to open Meltdown Festival in 1998. Thom Yorke and Radiohead's resident artist Stanley Donwood designed t-shirts for No Future. Vogel is namechecked on the Sabres Of Paradise Haunted Dancehall album, and Andrew Weatherall would frequently call him up, dumbfounded at his latest sonic advances. One memorable 1999 awayday for the Freekin' The Frame club to The End in London saw Róisín Murphy jumping on stage after the live Super_Collider show to duet with Lidell on an impromptu version of “Once in a Lifetime”, a very young Kieran Hebden repping UK garage, Chicks On Speed shouting their hearts out, and Chris Cunningham playing long segments of white noise to puzzled ravers, as well as sets from various No Future / Spymania stalwarts.

Inevitably, like all but the very biggest musical scenes, the micro-one in Brighton dissipated as people grew up, fucked up, or moved on – but its echoes continue. Vogel and Landstrumm continue to be significant forces in electronic music, both as influences on the post-Blawan generation and as musicians in their own right. Si Begg is a respected sound designer and composer. Matt Yee-King runs the computer music course at Goldsmiths college, and is a big noise on the “Algorave” scene. Paul Spymania is an artist manager and agent, and along with Scuba, brought dubstep to Berlin in the legendary Sub:Stance sessions. Semiconductor became artists in residence for NASA, among many other extraordinary commissions. Jamie Lidell supported Elton John. Consume is in Bristol, currently working on a giant mural of DJ Derek. Lynton Million lives on a small island, selling whisky. Ibrahim Alfa took several sharp diversions that are an epic tale in their own right, and is only now picking up where he left off with a Workshop issue of his “lost” album Once Upon a Time in Brighton. And so it goes on...

Unlike some electronic scenes, the one in Brighton was never particularly chic (although it certainly had massive cultural cachet in a few countries if not at home), and its records don't necessarily fetch silly money on discogs (like that's a measure of value, right?). But out of a tiny techno club and its committed few regulars grew something that filled an entire decade with utterly extraordinary art, music, humour and ideas, and which still has relevance and resonance for smart creative minds many years on. Those messy, aggro, awkward bunch of ravers and jokers somehow managed to hold it together just enough to build a creative world entirely of their own, with its own rules and its own distinctive identity: what more can artists hope for?

This history is dedicated to James Phillips, a vital part of this scene and always 100% one of the good guys. RIP

Some tunes:

Cristian Vogel: Ninjah https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ydOFHo9JtI

Tobias Schmidt: Minus One https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YjozNVF7_I

MDK: Sound of Saturday https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FV3KQHGxmcg

Subhead: Ruction (produced by Jamie Lidell) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b5vNX_ylRQM

Squarepusher: Sarcacid https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_IY6cvGnVCA

Cristian Vogel: Bite & Scratch (Blake Baxter Detroit Mix) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PXIB7I3D7ss

DJ Paedofile: I was Rise in Clouds https://youtu.be/WcyrrAwqaQY

Buckfunk 3000 (Si Begg): Future Shock Planet Rock https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lp4b6PE0FkY

Cristian Vogel: Sarcastically Tempered Powers http://youtu.be/Q2G3204pfkY

Yee King: Goodnight Toby https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbnZuv3xHog

Super_Collider: Darn https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dh2kauFcGpw

No Future at Brighton Love Parade: https://vimeo.com/119001501

[helloalycia]

late // alycia debnam-carey

summary: a bump in with a certain Australian woman almost gets you late for work, but may have been worth it...

warning/s: none.

masterlist

          "I'm totally gonna get fired," I mumbled to myself as I speed-walked down the busy streets of L.A. "I'm gonna be poor and homeless and jobless and I'm gonna die alone. That's it."

         I had slept in by ten minutes this morning, and I didn't think it would make the difference. I mean, ten minutes, barely anything. Right?

         Wrong.

         Now I found myself speed-walking down the high street, trying not to trip over my own two feet as I aimed to reach the restaurant I worked at. I had five minutes before my shift officially started, but I'd been late three times this week and I couldn't risk pissing off my boss again.

         I was too lost in my own thoughts as I was on the verge of jogging to pay attention to where I was going, causing me to bump into someone. Unfortunately, this person was holding a cup of hot coffee as they went right into my front.

         I squealed as the hot liquid soaked through my maroon-coloured blouse. It was certainly an obvious mishap on my shirt and the smell of coffee surrounded the stranger and I.

         "Oh my god, I'm so sorry," the stranger apologised, her green eyes wide with surprise. I noticed her lack of American accent instantly... Australian, maybe?

         I cursed in my head at the situation and still felt rushed because I was afraid of being late.

         "It's fine," I reassured the polite woman with a small smile. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have been racing around without looking where I was going."

         She chewed on her lower lip which made her look kind of cute, but now certainly wasn't the time to be admiring cute strangers.

         "I can buy you a new shirt, if you want," she offered, but before she could continue, someone she obviously knew stepped out from the coffee store she previously exited and saw our encounter.

         "Alycia, what have you done now?" the other woman asked rhetorically, amusement on her face. She was also Australian, which was funny in itself, but once again, I didn't have the time to stay and chat.

         I checked the time on my watch and saw I had two minutes left before my shift would begin. This brought me back to reality and I met eyes with the flustered Australian before me.

         "That's alright, I'm kind of in a rush," I rambled awkwardly, before pulling a fiver out of my back pocket and handing it to her. "Here, buy a new coffee." I began jogging down the street before she could decline, and yelled a quick "Sorry!" one last time.

         It was when I reached work on time and managed to settle in when I realised I definitely just missed my chance with a cute girl.

         "At least you have the coffee stain to remember her by," I joked to myself as I glanced down at my stained shirt.

         My manager certainly wasn't impressed to see a dark spot on my blouse when I arrived at work, seeing as it was my uniform, and the matching coffee scent that emanated from it didn't exactly help my case. But there was nothing either of us could do, so he sent me to work and I served customers like the waitress I was.

         Admittedly, a few customers pointed out the incident I'd had during the lunch rush hour, but after turning it into the butt of the joke, it had landed me a few tips by the end of the hour. Apparently people enjoyed laughing at my expense enough to tip me for it. I definitely wasn't complaining.

         I was cleaning up one of the tables after the lunch rush had ended when one of my colleagues patted me on the back.

         "Table two needs serving," was all I heard before I could see which colleague it was.

         I sighed and finished cleaning the table before going into the back to wash my hands and drop the cloth off in the sink. On the way out of the kitchen, I sniffed myself to see if I still smelled strongly of coffee – I did. I was used to it now though, and so continued my route to table two.

         As I approached the table, I recognised the two girls sat there as the two Australians I bumped into this morning. It wasn't hard to forget a face like theirs, let's be honest. They were beautiful.

         "Good afternoon," I greeted upon arrival, offering my usual customer greeting smile. "My name is Y/N and I'll be your server today."

         The two girls looked up and I tried to dry my sweaty palms on the back of my jeans. I didn't even know why I felt awkward.

         The green-eyed girl recognised me instantly and smiled as if I was an old friend she'd just bumped into.

         "Hey," she finally spoke, her eyes taking in my appearance, specifically my stained blouse. A chuckle flew from her lips as she smiled sheepishly. "Sorry again for this morning... I wish I could've bought you that shirt now... have you had to wear that all day?"

         I waved my hand dismissively. "Yeah, but it's fine, honestly. I'm sorry about your coffee... did you get your new one?"

         She nodded. "Thanks for the money. You kind of ran off, I didn't even have the chance to decline your offer."

         I hoped my cheeks weren't visibly heating up as my eyes flickered to the table. "Yeah, sorry, I was late for work..."

         The girl chuckled again. "Ah, I see. Did you make it on time then?"

         I snickered and nodded my head. "Just about..."

         "Alycia," she filled in the gap, offering a toothy smile that reached her eyes.

         "Alycia," I repeated with a smile as I pulled my notepad and pen from my back pocket. "So, Alycia, are you ready to order? I'm sure you guys are hungry."

         Alycia smiled politely before looking over at her friend. "Maia, you ready?"

         The Maia girl quirked an eyebrow and looked between the two of us before settling her gaze on her friend. "Oh, sorry, have you finished flirting now?"

         A blush dusted Alycia's cheeks as I felt my own growing red from Maia's comment. I chose not to say anything as the green-eyed girl avoided my gaze and instead glared at her friend.

         "Maia, are you gonna order?" she repeated, purposely ignoring her friend's previous comment.

         Maia smirked teasingly before looking down at her menu and then up at me. "Please can I have the soup of the day with a glass of lemonade?"

         I nodded as I noted down her order, before looking to Alycia. I ignored the awkwardness in the air that her friend created and asked, "And for you?"

         Alycia cleared her throat and kept her eyes glued to her menu. "Please can I get a lemonade, too? With a steak sandwich?"

         I hummed in response and noted down her order. "Two lemonades, one steak sandwich and a soup of the day. Is that everything?"

         They both nodded their heads so I took their menus and tucked them under my arm.

         "Your food will be ready soon and your drinks will be with you," I told them, but avoiding Alycia's eyes.

         The two Australians smiled in response, so I walked away to deliver their order to the kitchen. I could feel eyes on me as I did, but I didn't turn around to check because I knew I'd probably just embarrass myself.

         Nothing memorable really happened after taking their order. I served them their food and drinks and then focused on other customers as they ate. Few times, admittedly, I spared a glance their way to see them chatting away. There was one time when I awkwardly made direct eye contact with Alycia. I played it off easily but ended up screaming internally when I looked away. I would never see her again, so I didn't understand why I was being so awkward.

         I was laying cutlery out on an empty table when I heard someone calling my name. I furrowed my eyebrows as I turned around, wondering who it was. But then I saw Alycia waving her hand in the air with a grin on her lips. I was surprised she remember my name to be honest. But the fact that she did made my stomach do that weird somersault thing. Ugh. Curse my fault of liking every pretty girl that ever spoke to me.

          I swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in my throat and approached their table. Plastering a smile on my lips, I looked between the two girls.

         "Please can we have the bill?" Alycia asked politely.

         I nodded and began to stack their plates up. "Did you guys enjoy your meal?"

         They both nodded with satisfaction.

         I smiled at the two of them as I picked up their plates and cutlery. "Will you be paying by card or cash?"

         Alycia glanced at Maia, who answered with "Cash, please."

         I nodded and left with their plates and cutlery. Moments later, I returned with the bill and left it in the middle, unsure of who was paying.

         "Just call me over when you're ready," I said, looking between them with a final smile before leaving to check on my other customers.

         Not long later, I was called back and saw the bill with cash laying on top.

         "Thanks," I said as I grabbed the money and bill.

         The two girls were putting on their coats and preparing to leave as I began to count their money. It didn't take long, but I noticed they'd left ten dollars more than necessary.

         "Is everything alright?" Maia asked, noticing my confused expression.

         I cleared my throat and looked up at her. "Yeah, sorry, it's just, you've left too much money here." I moved the ten dollar bill towards her and picked up the rest of the money, along with the bill. "You're all good now."

         Alycia let out a small laugh as she picked up the ten dollars. Holding it out, she said, "That was our tip for you, silly."

         I widened my eyes. "Wow, really? Are you sure?"

         Alycia nodded and shook her hand as a signal for me to take the bill. I did and smiled at the brunette.

         "For the excellent service and also as a thanks for the coffee," she clarified with a wink, which made my face heat up second by second. "It was lovely meeting you, Y/N."

         I suppressed my urge to grin at the pretty stranger and replied with, "Thank you. You too, Alycia." Her eyes were staring right through me and I momentarily forgot what I was saying. She had the most beautiful eyes.

         It was only when Maia cleared her throat did our staring contest break and I was brought back to reality.

         "Yeah, erm," I cleared my throat, "it was lovely meeting you both," I clarified, looking between the two of them. "Hope to see you again soon."

         Maia pursed her lips to stop herself from laughing. "Yeah, I'm 99 percent sure you'll see us within the week," she said, looking between Alycia and I. With a chuckle, she mumbled, "Maybe tomorrow at this rate..."

         I was definitely blushing now if I wasn't before. Alycia's cheeks were growing pink as she rolled her eyes at her friend.

         "We should get going," she said, directing it at me. With a final smile, she grabbed Maia's hand and dragged her to the door. "Thanks again, Y/N."

         I couldn't help but smile as I waved goodbye to the cute Australian and her friend. Something told me this wouldn't be the last time I'd be seeing her...

[tea-and-toblerones]

Loose Change Chapter Two- I'd Love To Pop Some Tags But I've Only Got A Fiver In My Pocket

After much anticipation, chapter two is now complete! As always feedback is appreciated! I thrive off it. So, with out further ado... 

I sat at my designated table, furiously scribbling notes as a way to past the time until I closed up shop. My books spread out across the surface, highlighters of every color littered between my books and notebooks. I chewed on the top of the pen as I read, something I did when I was super focused, unaware of it until the cram sessions was over. I put my pen down, rubbing my eyes as the words on the page began to blur. There was a couple patrons scattered amongst the shop, most in the same situation I was. I didn't notice how late it had gotten until they apologised for staying over closing hours as they paid for their drinks. I waved them off, bidding them a good rest of their night. I flip the open light off, before making myself a fresh cup of coffee before plopping back down at my table. I took a sip of my coffee before picking up my pen  and I trudged along, deciding to finish the chapter before heading home. I heard the door creak open timidly, my eyes dragging away from the page to see Ed's face peering in.

"Er...can I come in?" His face the definition of uncertainty as he lingered, half in half out. "I know the sign says closed but...I thought I'd stop in and see how you were doing."

"Hey stranger!" My bright tone echoing through the quiet shop, "Sure, you can come in. Just do me a favor and lock the door behind you." My eyes dropping back to the page picking up where I left off, "You know you can come in while we're open right? You don't have to wait until we're closed or people leave."

I heard the door open and close again, the soft clunk of metal on wood told me he had brought his guitar case in. My eyes leaving the page again to see him stripping off his hoodie, one of the tshirts I had gave him was underneath. He scooped up his bag and case as he made his way across the room, grimacing every time his case brushed against a chair, a muttered sorry after every one. As silly as it sounded I couldn't tell if they were towards me or the chairs.

"I can't really buy anything, isn't that just loitering at that point?" Setting his stuff down beside my table.

"All you'd have to do is order water." I tell him, shuffling through the notes I made during the lecture, "Either way I wouldn't kick you out. Loads of people come in here just to study." Switching my pen out for the highlighter, dragging it across a couple choice phrases.

"Oh...I didn't realise you were busy..." His tone caused me to look up, soft and almost regretful, "I could go so you can finish studying." His hand resting on the back of the chair, caught between pulling it out.

"No, stay." I brought my foot up, giving the chair a slight push outwards, "I haven't talked to you for a while. I want to catch up. I'll be done real soon."

He slowly sat down, taking extra care to keep his hand off the table, resting them in his lap. I wonder if he was a fidgeter? Or was he worried he's mess up my clearly organized stack? Either way, his hands remained off the table, moving from his knees to under his armpits as he crossed his arms. We hadn't physically sat down and had a full conversation in a couple weeks. Our main form of communication had been notes passed between one another when I stopped by to drop off some form of food and a a buck or two. At least enough to cover his bus fare. Most of the time his notes consisted of  just some sort of ridiculous commentary on the meal and what sort of interesting stuff happened during the day. For example yesterday's drop off was two pb and jelly sandwiches. The note I had today, scribbled on a piece of a brown paper sack ' I butter thank for the sandwich, they really got me out of a jam' then went on to talk about how Americans were an odd bunch, holding conversations with complete strangers.

  At first I left notes asking if he needed specific things, mostly in the apparel department since we were still in the middle of quite a cold snap. He conveniently ignored that part of the note, just thanked me for the meals and proceeded to tell me about how he shared his fries with an angry looking pigeon that he was pretty sure would actually fight him over them and he wasn't sure he'd win. 'Best to stay on their good side. I don't need to piss off the birds. There's too many to fight, innit? Think you could put a good word in for me?' If I hadn't gotten a slight glimpse at his off the wall oddball humor, I'd think he was raving. I came to the conclusion he would never out right ask for certain things, it would be up to me to just guess what he would need.

He craned his neck, skimming over the upside down text, "This system you got here is really something." I could hear the wonder in his voice, I didn't need to look up to know his expression matched,  "Don't most people type everything digitally now? This seems complicated and kinda unnecessary."

"Mhmm? Oh, no, it helps the info stick in my brain better than typing it all out. Call me old fashioned I guess but nothing beats the feeling of a pen gliding over the paper, your hand creating the words. Plus the feel of paper under your fingertips. Sorry, having it on a computer just doesn't work for me."

There was a smile that crossed his face. "I completely agree with you. Nothing will replace handwriting everything. Things just seem to flow easier when you use a pen. Which is why I write everything instead of type." He paused, his smile turning sheepish, "Well that and the fact I can't really afford a computer. Which is a good thing, really. Means I'm not likely to get targeted for a mugging."

I feel my eyebrows draw together as I tear my eyes away from the page. He seemed completely relaxed, his head bobbing around to some beat trapped in his head as he looked around the room. When his eyes settled on me he seemed slightly surprised at my gaze.

"Ed, be straight with me. Have you been mugged?" My concern ringing true as I stared him down. There's almost no way he's be able to handle himself in a fight. He just seemed so fragile.

"Look at me Cassidy. Does it look like I'm that well off? Do I look like I'd have anything of value?" His arms spreading wide to emphasize his point. " No. I look fairly second hand. Not worth a second glance."

He had a point. He did look pretty down on his luck. Everything he had was noticeably second hand and heavily worn. He was right, he didn't look like someone that would have anything of value. Nothing worth fighting over. Even his pack had seen better days. It was this frayed army green canvas pack, the leather straps that held it closed shown obvious wear, the holes were stretched out from the use. The whole thing looked like it was one good tug away from coming apart. The guitar case however was still in pretty good condition, apart from a couple scratches and scuff marks. It appeared that he took better care of it than he did himself.

"Well, you've got that fancy guitar. That's worth something to a strung out junkie looking for something to sell for his next fix." I point out, causing his mouth to come down in a frown.

"That is true." He pondered, his hand rubbing his chin, "But Cyril is pretty battered. You're not gonna get much out of him. He's about as broken down as I am." His fingers opening the clasps with fluidity that comes from the repetitive act. He pulled it free from its felt nest, giving it an almost loving strum, "I'm afraid he's only priceless to me."

I hadn't noticed as he played, my gaze was usually drawing to his fingers or just him in general has he bounced around. I never focused on the guitar itself. The finish had began to chip away, from the use. There were scratches covering the face of it and the back of it was a disaster zone of criss crossed scratches, most likely caused from the zipper of his jacket grinding into it. The tuning keys had lost their luster, dulled by the constant turning. He was right, It had seen better days.

"Still...just be careful okay? Some will scope you out for days, waiting for a really good haul  then make their move." I could hear my tone slipping into lecture mode, the same I used with the kids I worked with.

"Aw, geez, you make it seem like I walk around with my head in the clouds." I could see that mischievous glint in his eye as he leaned forward, "You forget, I've been doing this for years now. I've gots some streets smarts by now."

I closed my book, deciding then and there nothing else was going to get done. "Don't take this the wrong way Ed but...you sorta come off as naive..."

"Yeah? So? What's wrong with that? Coming off as naive and being naive are two different things you know." I had expected him to be angry or at least annoyed, yet he seemed like he was enjoying himself, that smile still on his face, "There's nothing wrong with seeing the good in people."

"Yeah, but, aren't you worried that someone's going to come along and take advantage of your good nature?"

"If they do, it'll be a lesson learnt won't it? Even if it was the hard way, I'd've learnt something." That easy smile still across his face. It seemed nothing I threw at him was phasing him. Suddenly he straightened up from his relaxed pose, "I almost forgot, I came in for a reason!" His words tumbling out in an excited rush.

"Oh, so it wasn't just to talk philosophical views?" I tease as I cram books into my bag, "What's up?"

"I've got a gig." He was positively beaming now

"And you lead with questions about my study techniques?!" I squealed, as I knocked my bag to the floor, "That's great! When?! Where?!"

"An open mic night at...shit what was the name again..." He began rummaging through his bag, pulling out a wrinkled flyer, "The City?"

He passed the flyer over to me with a shrug. My eyes skimmed over it, nodding as I read it. I passed it back to him, watching as he crammed it back into his pack. "I've heard of a lot about City. Never been, but it pretty popular on campus."

"You know what type of vibe it has? So I know what I'm getting into?" I could see a bit of worry starting to settle behind those eyes.

"How 'bout this. We'll go drop in and get a feel of the crowd. That way when the night comes, you won't be worried about what songs you should choose."

"Okay...yeah...that's not a bad idea." He perked up at this, his smile quickly returning, "Okay, yeah. We'll think of it as recon." His transparent eyebrows wiggling. "God, you make it seem so sinister." I couldn't help but laugh as his lopsided grin as he waved me off, "All we're doing is checking it out. It's not like we're doing anything bad."

"The music industry is tough." His voice had lost all of the playfulness it had, replaced with a more sober tone, "Honestly, a tiny little thing like reading a crowd wrong could make or break me. This could be what gets my name out there and it could either be, 'Oh yeah, that Ed Sheeran, he's a real wanker playing that coffee house music at night club or Hey, That Ed kid, he's pretty good. Got a couple songs that really grab ya."

I could tell he was getting up in his head, planting seeds of doubt already. He had found one of my pens, twirling it between his fingers as he thought. I knew had to feel like he was balancing on the edge of a sword, one mistake would be all it would take to send him tumbling down. I needed to get him out of that mindset and fast. Nothing good would come from it.

"Hey, we've got a week. One week to get you prepared." My attempt at cheering him up seemed to fall a bit flat, earning me a half nod, "Look, we'll meet here tomorrow and go check it out."

"I would feel better about it if I knew what I was getting into." He may not have been smiling but he seemed in better spirits. "Tomorrow it is."

He had hung around a bit longer, turning down my offer to  come back to my place for a shower and proper dinner. I did however, convince him to take a couple sandwiches, which he thanked me for and added that I really did spoil him. If this was spoiled I shudder to think of how bad off he was before I stepped in. He gave me an awkward sort of wave before turning away, adjusting his pack and heading in the opposite direction. It wasn't until I got home that I realised the busses had stopped running and he most likely walked all the way back to wherever it was he was sleeping. It couldn't have been too far since he was always at his spot by 7:45. All I could hope was that wherever he was staying was at least sheltered and he wasn't too terribly hungry. *********************************************** After a long and frustrating day I gladly flicked the open sign off, turning back towards Ed, who had settled in the corner, scribbling furiously in a small brown leather bound notebook. I remember spotting it when he was pulling his clothes out, it tumbled out, flopping out on my floor open for the world to read. He didn't snatch it up quickly, which lead me to believe that it didn't hold anything particularly personal. Once I asked him if he was ready, it snapped closed and returned to the depths of his belongings. We stopped by the apartment to drop of his guitar and bag, deciding that it would just be too much of a hassle to carry around. There was a definite reluctance, even when I assured him that if Lucca did swing by, she wouldn't touch it. I couldn't say I blamed him for his wariness. That was literally everything he owned. I would probably be just as worried as he seemed to be, leaving it a fairly unfamiliar place. He seemed satisfied with them tucked away in my closet.

If it wasn't for the group of people that had gathered outside planning that night's bar crawl, I would have thought we were at the wrong place. The outside of the building gave off an abandoned factory vibe. Really, this is the place that people keep raving about? Ed must have sensed my hesitation since he grabbed onto my sleeve, pulling me toward him and away from the door.

"I know this is the address he gave me but...are you positive this is the right place?" He sounded a bit worried, that little crease forming on his forehead.

I glanced at the building, completely understanding his doubt. It definitely didn't give off the new hip bar on the scene vibe, more of a hey this is where cows come to be turned into burgers and steak. I know you should never judge a book by its cover but come on, they could have spruced up the place a bit. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth.

"Yeah, this is the address that both you gave and google gave me..." I turned my eyes away from the building and back to him, his expression mirroring my own, "Okay, what exactly did he tell you?"

"That Thursday was like a trial run and if he likes me, most likely if the crowd likes me, he'll pay me to come in regularly a perform." He let a breath out through his nose, "Sorry I can't be more help, I couldn't wait around any longer to see if he replied again with anything extra..."

"Hold up, wait around any longer?" I could feel my face scrunch up in confusion, "Why didn't you just call him?"

"I don't really have that kinda change lying about y'know..." His eyes dropping to the ground as he shuffled a bit. Then it clicked.

"You don't have a phone do you?"

"Nope."

Of course he doesn't have a phone. How would he pay for it. I felt like an idiot, I was so used to phones being almost a necessity nowadays that it didn't even cross my mind that some people don't have them. Still, one thing about that bothered me.

"How do you talk to your family then?"

"Oh, emails. I use email for practically everything. The library lets you use their computers as long as you have a card. Which was a handy thing I learnt at the shelter." He cleared his throat, ready to change the subject off of him, "Alright, well, you ready to see if we we're being pranked or not?"

"Lead the way."

We weaved our wave through the crowd, finally spotting the sign above the door that read The City. He pushed the door open and I followed him inside, almost running into when he stopped suddenly in his tracks. With good reason. It was quick to see why it was called The City, the walls were comprised of graffiti covered brick, bright and in your face. There was actual stop lights hanging from the ceiling, the floor made to look like a road. The furniture was chic and the bar was lit with bright rope lights of reds and blues. There was so much going on, it was chaotic, it was alive, it was insane. There was only one problem.

"Cassidy...there is no way I'll be able to perform in these clothes...I want to stick out but not in this way..." People weren't exactly dressed to the nines but they were definitely not a hoodie and frayed jeans type. He turned to me, a worried look back on his face, "What are we going to do?"

"Well, first, we're gonna go find ourselves a table. Oh, they have food..." My eyes zeroing in on a girl chowing down on a huge slice of pizza, "Alright we're gonna get a table and we're gonna get us some food and we'll go on from there."

To be honest, I really didn't have much of a plan. I figured once we got here, it would all fall into place but all I was feeling right now was uncomfortable, like I didn't exactly belong here. They had the hustle and bustle down. I couldn't help but wonder if it was because it was new or because they had something special that others didn't. I spotted a table close to the stage, which was quite a bit bigger than I had initially anticipated. It must have been bigger than Ed thought to since I heard him whistle.

"That's a stage, I wasn't expecting ...jesus..." he said, full of awe. His eyes held a wistful look. "A proper stage...wow..."

After a good bit of people watching and some surprisingly fantastic food we had finally settled on a game plan. There was a bit of doubt, no, a lot of doubt on his end, especially the longer we stayed. When he discovered that they had had some pretty well known bands grace the stage all his confidence had went out the window.

"How am I supposed to compete with acts like that? Christ, I'm fucked before I've even had a chance." He moaned, stabbing a  couple fries in the mountain of ketchup dismalily

"Are you kidding? Ed, you've hit gold here." I glance around to make sure nobody was within ear shot, just to be safe I leaned in, "You've got a bunch of pretentious people who thrive on up and coming musicians. They're going to eat you up."

"Yeah and probably spit me out. Come on Cassidy, I'm not ready for something like this."

"Stop with the negatives and what could go wrong and focus on what could go right. You're worried about your clothes? We'll get you new clothes. That's no issue."

"How? I've got-" He dug in his pockets, before realising they were empty. His eyes screwed shut as he thought,  "A fiver and whatever change is in my rucksack."

"Well then, it's time to introduce you one of my favorite places. Thrift shops. They're insanely cheap and you can store them in my closet." I could see the hesitation in his eyes and I already knew that he view that more as a luxury. Perhaps he was right. "Look, I can get them for you. I'm positive I can get you a good looking outfit for under 15 bucks."

"I couldn't, that's too much, you've already done too much."

"If you're that worried about it, pay me back when you're rich and famous."

We wrapped things up and headed out once it hit one in the morning. I was shocked I had actually stayed up that late and Ed looked like he could go on for hours more. I wondered if he was used to getting little sleep, always sleeping on the edge, prepared for the worst. After a lot of persistence, I had finally persuaded him to stay on my couch again, planning to hit the thrift shops in the morning. I had half expected him to complain about not performing but he surprised me with his ready acceptance. It wasn't until I was in half asleep did I think that his quick agreement could have been a farce and that, like last time, he'd sneak out before I woke up. Yet, when I woke up, there he was, curled in a tight ball, the blanket pulled tight across his body, his mouth slightly open as a light snore filled the silence. ********************************************* "Oh mah GAWD, look at this!"

I heard Ed's voice calling out from a couple racks down, his head popping up, grinning from ear to ear. He was holding up the most atrocious looking bright blue paisley plaid button up that would surely haunt my dreams for weeks to come. I could only stare at him in silence, my mouth trying to form the words why and what, most likely leaving me looking like a gaping fish. He chuckled as he placed it back on the rack, satisfied with my reaction. For a split second I wasn't sure if he was seriously contemplating it or not. We had been browsing for about an hour now and in that hour I had gathered that this boy had absolutely no fashion sense at all. I decided to take up the role of personal shopper, which he said made him feel like a toff and a bit of a wanker. He had made it his mission to find every ridiculous article of clothing he could get his hands on and proudly show them off. The bigger the reaction, the bigger the smile was.

"Hey, Cass, do you mind if I call you Cass?" I shrugged, "Wicked. Look at these trainers. They're nicer than what I've got and they're cheap."

He was clutching a new looking pair of shoes, orange with three white stripes. I glanced down as his ragged, brown but not originally brown shoes. The soles had started to peel away from the material and I could remember seeing every pair of his socks having brown stains where water had leaked in. I nod my head to the cart.

"Alright, put em in. You can't keep walking around with those dead fishing smelling things you call shoes. I'm shocked your feet haven't fell off your body, to be honest with you."

His lip pulled pout in a pout as he placed them in the cart. "That's mean, my feet don't smell that bad." "I said your shoes smelled bad." I clarified as I held out a plain black sweater to his chest, eyeballing the fit before throwing it in the cart.

"I'll get hot in that on stage. Those lights put out a lot of heat."

"Who said it was for just stage? It's cold. A sweater or two wouldn't kill you. Neither would a coat."

He stopped in the middle of the racks and I didn't notice until I had turned around to ask him his opinion on a shirt. He just stared down at the floor, the most pathetic look across his face. Even his hair seemed  to lose a bit of its spunk, wilting a bit.

"This was just supposed to be for performances. One or two outfits so I wouldn't look like a tramp on stage...You've got almost a cartful...Cass...I can't take-"

"Yes, yes you can." I said simply, cutting off the rest of his sentence, "Stop thinking you don't deserve things because you live on the street." I threw a pair of jeans into the cart with a bit more force than I anticipated, "I'm sick of you thinking you're less than a person.  I don't know who made you think that, but I'm sorry. You're a human being. You deserve to have things like coats and warm clothes. Those aren't luxuries Ed. They're things that most people take for granted. So stop thinking you don't deserve the basic necessities."

"Why me though? They're are plenty of people on the streets."  He sounded less broken, but still dejected. I breath heavily out my nose. "Every person out there with their battered sign all tell the same story. It may be worded different, but its still the same story. Hungry, homeless, give me money. Some sob story to tug on the heart strings of others. It could be true and that money could go towards a hot meal. Or it could go straight into their veins or up their nose. You though...you don't ask for money. You stand out there, with your signs that say such positive things, playing your music, making that corner of the city a brighter place. You could sing about your troubles and really hit people with a well crafted sob story in the form of a song. But you don't."

He sat in silence for a moment, mulling over everything I said. "Thanks for that...I needed to hear it. Sorry for being a downer..."

He seemed to perk up a bit, finding this flannel looking hoodie, tossing it into the cart. After another half an hour we had made not one but two complete laps around the store. There was a few more ridiculous finds, we had decided to wrap it up and head home. As I was pulling out my card to pay and Ed placed the bags in the cart, I heard the lady behind us make a snide comment to her shopping partner about how he should feel like less of a man for a woman buying his clothes. I had seen them throwing looks our way as we browsed, muttering under their breath and I had had enough.

I slapped my card down on the counter, whirling around to see, yet again, a hurt looking Ed, his hand hovering over one of the bags. "Excuse me," I smiled the biggest, falsest smile I could muster, "but I think I found your nose in our business. So how this. Why don't you collect it and your bad attitude, shove it in your designer bag and move right on along." I spun on my heel, thanking the cashier for my card, bidding them a good day, snatching the bags out of the cart, brushing past the ladies, "May Karma bless you three fold."

I walked out, Ed almost having to jog to keep up with me as I made my way across the lot. "The nerve of them." I tug my trunk lid up and start throwing bags in, "Just who do they think they are? Seriously."

"Cass, it's okay, really."  I could tell he was just trying to calm me down, although it was having the opposite effect.

"No, it's not okay. Nothing gives a person the right to say such ridiculous things for the sole purpose of hurting someone."

"But it is pathetic Cass.” He shrugged, seemly undefeated, “I should be able to pay for my own clothes. It is what it is. I'm grateful and I really don't care what a couple of strange old women, who we'll never see again, think. It shows their character, not ours." His eyebrow cocked upwards, "Though I will say, you handled that quite well."

"I have to deal with a lot of angry parents. And kids. It's a skill i've developed over the years of working at the summer camp." I slam my trunk closed, "Pushing that aside, we can get these back to my place, throw them in the wash, Yes, I'm washing them," I saw his mouth fly open, in protest, "After that, all you'll need to focus on is what you'll play."

"Oh, all I'll need to do. That's only the hardest part." A smirk creeping across his face, "We've got a little less than a week to prepare. Plenty of time to come up with some sort of set list." His hands rubbing together, "Now the real work begins."

[philipronans]

something tangerines (2/7)

it’s sunday, which means it’s something tangerines day!!

this was meant to be a fun, happy fic and for the most part i think it still is but just be warned that there are mentions of homophobic language via snape bc he’s a grade a citizen.

as per usual there’s james/sirius in this part, although it’s mostly done to piss snape off, so it doesn’t have to be read that way??? idk if you wanna go on believing they weren’t at least 90% In Love that’s your prerogative

part one | part three

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2007 The classroom they decide to use for the Christmas party is an old one, tucked away on the bottom floor of the art block. The building itself is a relic of a time long passed, looking like it belongs in a BBC period drama more than as a functioning art block. But no matter how pretty the outside might be, the inside always smells musty; hundreds of years of recycled air packed into tight hallways and tighter classrooms. James’ nose wrinkles as they step into the room. It’s usually used for Drama classes, and the combined stink of age and teenager sweat invades his personal space pretty much immediately. Two years of secondary school should mean he’s used to it, but it still sucker punches him every time. Sirius coughs behind a cupped palm as he toes off his shoes. He kicks at them in a futile effort to make them line up straight, but all he gets for his trouble is untied laces and mud on his socks. James watches him for a few moments, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. He looks away when Sirius glances at him, pretending to be interested in Benjy Fenwick making rude gestures at Bertha Jorkins. The huff Sirius lets out suggests that he hasn’t bought it, but James is already strolling across the room, hands tucked in his pockets.

Sirius follows him, because Sirius always follows him. They’re like magnets, drawn together regardless of anything standing between them. Or so Remus says. Remus, who is already sat in their usual place by the fire door, his gangly legs stretched out in front of him. There’s a book in his lap, long, thin fingers playing with the corners of the pages as he reads. He looks up at their approach, frown morphing into a small smile when he sees who it is. Befriending Remus had been an endurance test in every virtue James knows. Just when he’d thought he knew every vital thing there was to know, something else had revealed itself and knocked him off kilter. He hadn’t been above using the onion line from Shrek to prove his point on multiple, separate occasions.  “You’re late.” Remus says, pragmatic as almost always. He closes his book, top corner folded neatly when he slips it back into his bag. He raises an eyebrow when neither of them answer, and James shrugs noncommittally.  “Got held up.” Is all he offers, because there’s no way he’s telling Remus that Flitwick kept them back for flicking elastic bands at the back of Lucius Malfoy’s head. Again.  “‘Course you did.” Remus says, eyeing them as dubiously as a thirteen year old can manage. Which, James figures as he shifts around uncomfortably, is a lot. Sirius flops down next to Remus, shrugging out of his coat and scrunching it up for a pillow. There’s a tiny Christmas tree in the corner, half of the lights are either broken or missing, and the ones that aren’t are barely functioning. Sirius looks at it disdainfully, eyes narrowed as if the sight of it personally offends him.  “What are we even here for?” He grumbles half-heartedly. He lays down properly when James lowers himself to the floor, and barely complains when James rests his head on his stomach. “No one wants this stupid party; we could have just finished for the holidays yesterday.”  “There’s that Christmas spirit.” James says, voice muffled by the arm he has thrown over his face. He shifts slightly as his glasses dig into the bridge of his nose, and yelps when Sirius pokes him.  “Christmas can bite me.” Sirius says. There’s an edge to it, soft and subtle as it might be, and James lowers his arm to his chest.  “You still going to France for the holidays then?” He tries not to sound disappointed, because the sense of loss he feels at the idea of not seeing Sirius for three weeks is stupid. It’s not even like three weeks is that long, in the grand scheme of things. But being without Sirius is what he imagines waking up to find yourself missing a limb would feel like; he can function (regardless of what his mother says, he’s not completely hopeless), but it’s difficult, the world feels more oppressive, more hemmed in.  “Yeah.” Sirius grunts. He doesn’t seem to notice the hand that works its way into James’ hair, fingers gently combing through the tangled mess. “I don’t even know why; they hate it. I hate it. Reg hates it. It’s just three weeks of us being pissed off at each other.”  “Misery loves company.” Remus murmurs. He’s leaning on his hands, head tipped up to the ceiling as he studies the cracks in the plaster. “At least you’ll get to go outside.”  “At least you’ll have people to talk to.” Sirius counters, but he looks sheepish, and he pats Remus’ knee sympathetically. Remus’ proposed stint in hospital for testing is a black cloud on the horizon, creeping ever closer no matter the three of them try and pretend it isn’t happening.  “I can’t wait for three weeks of being asked the same questions four times a day.” Remus smiles, as much as Remus ever smiles anyway, lips twitching at the corners but never quite pulling up.  “Hey,” James says, reaching over Sirius’ skinny chest to nudge at Remus’ hip, “at least you’ll have me coming to see you.”  “The biggest gift of all.” Sirius can’t avoid the fingers jammed into his side because James’ head is pinning him place, so he lets out a bark of laughter.  “Shut up, you’re just jealous you have to wait until January for your present.”  “If you’ve bought me another Terry’s chocolate orange, I swear to God, James.” Remus says warningly. James tilts his head so he’s looking at Remus upside down, and frowns.  “One time. You try and be nice one time and see what it gets you. Two years of bullying. See if I bother this year.”  “You left it lying on the radiator.” Sirius says, body shifting under James’ head as he shrugs. “And were surprised that it had melted?”  “I wasn’t a smart eleven year old, alright?” James says defensively. “But never fear, Lupin, it’s not a chocolate orange.”  “Because that fills me with confidence.”  “It should. I’m great at presents.” Sirius snorts, the sound completely undignified, and it sends the three of them into giggles.  “When d’you reckon Slughorn’s lot are gonna show up?” Sirius asks when they’ve finally calmed down.  “Buggered if I know.” James answers around a yawn. “Wish they’d hurry up though, I’m hungry and they’re the ones bringing food.”  “Classy.” Remus says, lifting an arm to cushion the back of his head.  “Well, we all know you want them here for the dancing.” Sirius grins. James’ hand lands on his wrist, in a pathetic attempt at a high five. Instead of trying again, he just leaves it there with his fingers measuring the fluttering of Sirius’ pulse under his fingers. Sirius keeps very still, as if scared that moving will alert James to what he’s doing and stop.  “Remus,” James says thoughtfully, fingers tracing patterns into Sirius’ wrist, “if I gave you a fiver would you ask Dorcas to dance?”  “Not a chance.” Remus’ reply is rapid-fire quick. It comes out of him like a shot, rocking his body with the force of it, and they all stop for a moment to stare at each other.  “I mean, only if you’re sure, Lupin.” Sirius says with an almost straight face. It takes him mere seconds to break, face cracking into a smile despite the obvious effort to contain it. Remus laughs, a quiet huff of a thing that fills James’ chest with satisfaction. “If you buy me a coke, I’ll think about it.”  “Just one? You cheap bastard.” James sniggers. Remus hums, not really bothering to deny it. Even if he were, the door opens not long after and in trail the unhappy looking faces of 9HS. James isn’t sure… anyone… likes 9HS. They’re a form group made of thugs and liars, each and every one of them guilty of at least one case of bullying. They’re all growing up to be the worst kind of bigot, and James hates them more than he’s hated anything. Why 9MM is forced to spend time with them is anyone’s guess, but the faculty of Hogwarts Secondary School seem determined to make their students suffer at any and all opportunities. The air in the room seems to disappear when they enter, the atmosphere tense and uncomfortable even as they kick off their shoes and settle down on the other side of the room. Lily Evans bounds across the room, from where she was standing with her friends Marlene and Dorcas, to stand in front of one of them. Severus Snape is, in James’ opinion, one of the worst of the lot. He has a way of twisting his way out of trouble; feigning ignorance and innocence to the things he does, even when there are witnesses.  “I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Lily says, smiling. James wishes he could block this conversation out of both his retinas and his eardrums, but they’re standing right there, so there’s not much he can do besides grit his teeth and ignore the way his blood is boiling.  “Slughorn let us out earlier than he said he would.” Snape answers, and if the look he shoots over his shoulder at Mulciber and Lestrange is uneasy then Lily doesn’t appear to notice.  “Well, you’re here now, I s’pose.” The smile remains but it becomes a little strained at the edges when Snape does nothing but stare at her for a few moments. “Or you can. Stay. With your friends.”  “No, I.” Snape’s words seem to trip over themselves, and he has to stop for a second before trying again. “No, I’ll be over in a minute. Promise.”  “Okay.” Lily says. She turns on her heel, shoulders slumping slightly when she meets Marlene’s eye. She catches sight of James and Sirius still tangled around each other and snorts, completely inelegant. “Comfy?”  “Quite.” Sirius says, grinning cheekily up at her. “Wanna join?”  “As tempting as that is,” Lily’s lips twitch, eyes creasing at the corners, “if I get down there I’m not getting back up.”  “A shame.” Sirius lets out a mournful sigh, stroking a hair through James’ hair and huffing when said hand is batted away. “It’s nice.”  “Poof.” It’s not loud, is the thing. It’s quiet, clearly not meant to be heard, but whilst James’ eyes might be shit, his hearing is not, and he freezes. He clambers to his feet, joints popping as he stretches and he levels an unimpressed look at the boy in front of him.  “Something wrong, Snape?” He asks, voice quiet and stern. It means trouble, and Sirius stands up immediately, ready for wherever this might go. Lily hasn’t moved either, has turned back to watch them with her arms crossed tight across her chest.  “Nothing.” Snape sneers, and it’s an ugly look. One full of hate and scorn. “But if you’re going to be gross, take it somewhere else.”  “You’re still here, so why should we?” Sirius says, shifting so he’s shoulder-to-shoulder with James. James still hasn’t let go of his hand, and it’s only because he can feel how sweaty his palms are that he can tell James is nervous. Snape narrows his eyes into a glare, which would have a lot more effect if he weren’t so scrawny.  “Now I know you don’t know what it’s like to feel love, Sniv, but that’s no reason to take it out on other people.” James says, voice managing to sound almost kind, even as his knuckles tighten around Sirius’ fingers.  “Potter,” Lily begins, stepping forward, ready to intervene when and if necessary, but Snape cuts her off.  “At least I don’t repulse girls to the point I have to turn to boys.” Snape says, sneer still in place even as his face pales.  “No, you just repulse everyone. Equal opportunities, and all that.” Sirius snaps back, voice tight. James snorts and squeezes his hand. Sirius squeezes back and stares at Snape in annoyed defiance.  “You’re disgusting.” Snape eventually settles on, lips pressed into a thin line. “People like you are disgusting.”  “That’s rich coming from you, Sniv.” James clears his throat, very much aware that Lily is standing not too far away and that he must be careful in how he says things, for her sake if nothing else. “Heard you said some nasty things about Ameena Patil the other day.”  “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” Lily shoots him a disapproving look, and steps back a little. It means she’s closer to James, and he is sorry for this, but attempts at comfort wouldn’t be welcome right now, so he keeps his hands to himself.  “Heard you made her cry. Making an eleven year old cry; that’s real big of you.”  “Gentlemen, I trust that there aren’t any problems over there.” McGonagall’s voice floats across the room, and James turns his head to see her standing in the doorway. She has her hands on her hips, a ceramic mug filled with tea hanging precariously from two fingers, and how she’s not spilling it is honestly magic.  “None at all.” Sirius says smoothly, angling himself so his arm’s around James’ waist, and he’s placed himself in front of Snape. “Just a difference of opinion.”  “Undifferentiate.” McGonagall says, voice brooking no argument, and it almost makes James smile.  “Of course.” He meets Sirius’ eye, sees the mischief in them and nods. It doesn’t matter what Sirius plans to do, he trusts him enough to go with it. Sirius leans forward, eyes boring straight into Snape’s, and presses his lips to James’. It’s not that James had been expecting it, exactly, but he isn’t surprised. So it doesn’t take him long to lift a hand to the back of Sirius’ head and lean into it, noses bumping and glasses scratching as he moves. There are no butterflies, and no fireworks. There’s just warmth, and hot air, and the brush of Sirius’ eyelashes against his cheek. But it’s good. It’s enough.  “Thank you, gentlemen.” McGonagall says, and it makes James pull back enough to look at her. She’s got an eyebrow raised, but there’s a tilt to the edge of her mouth that makes him think she’s fighting a smile. Benjy wolf whistles, sending those from 9MM into amused titters. The other side of the room looks on in varying levels of disgust, and Sirius smiles at them. James’ gaze flits to Lily, and she’s watching them, her brow furrowed. She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth, and then meets his eye. She seems surprised to find him looking at her for she flushes lightly and ducks her head, before shaking herself and stepping back.  “I’ll be over in a minute.” Snape promises, and Lily offers him an aborted attempt at smile. It looks far more like a grimace than anything, and she shakes her head.  “It’s okay, you can stay with your friends.” With that she calmly walks back over to her own friends, head high as she goes. James watches her go and can’t help but feel that he’s let her down somehow.