#barista course

[lilywilson011]

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[beanscoffee]

Brew Like A Pro: Exploring The Details Of A Home Barista Course

A home barista course offers a comprehensive and immersive learning experience for coffee enthusiasts eager to elevate their brewing skills to the next level. From understanding coffee basics and mastering espresso extraction to perfecting milk steaming and latte art, participants gain the knowledge, techniques, and confidence needed to brew cafe-quality beverages at home. Whether you're a novice coffee enthusiast or a seasoned home barista, a home barista course provides invaluable insights and hands-on training that will transform your coffee brewing experience and inspire a newfound passion for the art of coffee.

[cryptid-cave]

Currently thinking about a reader who, while having a full-time job and playing the part of a “real adult” pretty well for the most part, is still kind of lost and pathetic. It feels less like they’re living and more like they’re surviving, getting by on their own with just a cat for company.

Enter John Price, who’s currently on medical leave and just itching for a project. Maybe reader works at a store near his home that he shops at almost every other day, or works at the library where he goes when he needs to get out of the house. Either way, he spots this pretty little thing who clearly needs some love and guidance, preferably from a strong, gentle hand - and who better to do that than him?

Anyways, save me bossy and demanding Price with a savior complex, save me

[syoddeye]

consequence / shopping

price x f!reader | 1.5k words series directory tags: stalking mention, white lies, jp fears no 'friend zone', entitled cats a/n: john price vs. his feelings. john price vs. old man allegations. john price vs. his barista . ☕

john’s grip tightens on the wheel as he turns onto her street. he’s imagined this moment since he set her in his sight. possessing the patience of a sniper comes in handy with endeavors such as this, and it’s good to pull a trigger that isn’t lethal for once.

she’s waiting outside. good girl.

nose-deep in her phone, she doesn’t notice him until he’s a building away. his heart jumps into his throat when her eyes lift, and her face follows. she squints, then shades her eyes with a hand. a smile breaks the mild confusion, and she rises to her feet from the steps outside her door.

he forces himself to relax, painfully aware of the intensity of his gaze. he can’t risk running her off, but he has to see it—the moment of realization.

~~

it cannot be the same car. calm down, you order yourself, plastering a small smile on your face as john rolls to a stop, grinning back through the window. it’s statistically impossible. there are thousands of cars in town, plenty of the same make and model. this is just the universe’s idea of a cruel joke: giving your favorite customer the same car you smashed your face and arm into. your good hand shakes as you open the door and sink into the passenger seat.

coincidences happen.

~~

“hey.”

“afternoon. you look nice.”

“yeah? i was worried you wouldn’t recognize me without the apron.” she says wryly, draping her bags over her lap.

i’ve memorized your face and more. which one would think would help decipher the minutiae of her expressions. does she recognize the car? remember it? she was drunk and crashed hard enough to break bone—fuck, he hadn’t thought of the effects of the impact. too caught up.

he watches her buckle, eyes falling to her cast. it’s filling with signatures fast. the space that held his number is covered in a drawing of a cat. all that remains is ‘john’. 

“did you draw over my number?”

“i didn’t think you’d want the free advertising.”

smart girl. the number isn’t traceable further than falsified records, but it's best to avoid nuisance. he lets the doodle eclipse his grand scheme and pretends to adjust the mirror. he’ll wait until the time is right. “that i don’t.”

the drive to her preferred market is ten minutes by car. she might’ve managed alone, but he’s done some of his best work in ten minutes. performed miracles and misdeeds. he spends this bit on recon.

he susses out a little more information about her life: she’s worked, on and off, as a barista for nearly a decade. she recently took in a kitten, the very one depicted on her arm, and named her chicken cutlet a tortoiseshell.

“it's all i had for food. now cece’s a snob.”

“points for uniqueness.” he grins and gestures at the doodle on her arm. though he doesn’t have much of an eye for art, it’s obviously stylized. “and creativity. bet you did her justice, like a regular artist.”

the comment, meant as a compliment, makes her wince. she ducks her head in poorly concealed shame, pretending to check something in her wallet. it comes out casually, like a weather report—she dropped out of an mfa program to move here, for the ex, a year ago.

the details resurrect his anger. 

the tremble in her hand tells him to leave it. he will. for now.

the car park is packed, and it’s all he can do to not celebrate when he finds a space on the first go. he cannot be much older than her, but he’d rather avoid feeding the ‘old man’ reputation his sergeants encourage.

she separates her reusable bags as they climb out of the car. “do you have any pets?”

he circles to her side and takes them without asking, “no. afraid my schedule doesn’t allow for it.”

“oh.” 

he beats her to the baskets, tossing her bags into the bottom, and she strolls past him. he traipses behind, head on a subtle swivel, inwardly tickled at how normal it feels. it’s not often he shops, let alone in the company of a bird. it makes him puff up. go a bit softer in the face, especially when a woman roughly his mother’s age gives them a long, wistful look in produce.

it’s nice playing house, even in the middle of a bustling supermarket, dodging the less spatially aware and rogue children. it strokes his ego to flex an arm over her head to reach the shelves she can’t and carry a bag of cat litter in the other. he cracks a joke about tinned fish, and though she doesn’t laugh, he can tell she wants to. how she ignores his suggestions and color commentary on other shoppers. it’s fascinating to watch her, all business, as if she were behind the coffee bar. tapping items off the list on her phone, triple-checking a recipe.

while she’s distracted, slowly loading the conveyor belt one item at a time, john pushes his luck. he slips his card and pays.

her focus breaks when she sidles up, reaching for her wallet, only for the cashier to offer the receipt. she takes it, confusion turning to understanding, and her jaw clenches. her thanks are muttered, and she promptly joins him in bagging what’s left.

he knows she’s upset before she speaks, practically punching items into the bag.

“please don’t do that again.” she whispers. “my wrist is broken. i am not broke.”

angry as she is, she sails out the doors without waiting. clearly expecting him to tote her bags like a porter and follow.

which he does, of course. it’s what he signed on for.

good view, at least.

the ride back to her place is quiet, but he feels the tension burning away with the light. it’s damn distracting how the sun plays off her skin and hair. ten minutes fly by. she turns to him as the car idles, a storm of thoughts in her eyes. severe, tempestuous, and pretty.

“park. you’re not off the clock.”

“yes, ma’am.”

the bag handles loop into one fist, and the litter rests on his shoulder. he beams, and with the complete confidence he usually carries himself, he starts up the steps of her building.

“uh…john?” 

he glances over his shoulder and sees her fidgeting at the bottom of the stairs.

“that’s…not actually my address.”

his brows raise, fall, and pinch in rapid succession. the minx. a fake address. smart.

she sheepishly apologizes on the walk to one street over and explains. 

“i mean, this part’s weird.” 

“what part?”

“befriending regulars,” she shrugs. “the counter’s there for a reason—to sling espresso, yeah, but it’s also a social barrier.”

“do you often befriend regulars?” he hopes not.

“god, no.”

thank christ. he’ll start memorizing faces on his next trip, just in case.

“but being polite to people is part of my job.”

he cracks a careful grin. “do you get reprimanded for that?”

her eyes roll. “ha. ha. no. my manager’s a coward and afraid of me. what i mean is, it’s a tightrope. be nice, but don’t be too nice to the wrong people, else they’ll stalk you or something.”

john’s gut tightens. what was his plan again? expose her? he manages a chuckle. “and am i one of those…wrong people?” effortless.

“well, you’re a minute from my kitchen with an invitation. so.” she smirks after a second. “are you fishing for a compliment? for me to say you’re special?”

heat shoots up his neck and colors his cheeks. “i am not–”

“relax. i’m joking. but you are the first customer i’ve brought back to my place.”

the phrasing instantly sets him on high alert. it could mean nothing. it could mean anything.

her place is markedly worse than her fake one. he does not like the look of the neighbors, but the exterior light reaches the walk. he bites his tongue when she veers to the side, cutting down a set of steep stairs to the basement. it won’t do, not long-term.

but the interior of her flat—it’s everything he did and did not expect. 

it’s sensibly furnished and lit to compensate for its floor plan and limited windows. it’s cozy and colorful, with artwork fixed to the walls and littering various surfaces. some pieces are more notable than others: tiny statuettes of women, a diptych of a cow, and a collage of what looks like found notes. in the living area, there is a console and a headset, a small collection of games and dvds, and ten too many knickknacks. a stuffed backpack occupies a seat at the table.

he moves mechanically behind her, toeing off his shoes and treading straight into the surprisingly decently sized kitchen. he sets the bags and litter down, rolling his shoulder as he soaks it all in.

might be his only chance, after all.

something bumps his shin. two big amber-colored eyes stare up at him, unblinking.

“you must be the famous cece.” 

“the one and only.”

the young cat weaves through his legs, then jumps, immediately sticking her pointy head into the bag containing the chicken. she meows, indignant, when her human automatically hooks her around the middle without looking and returns her to the floor.

“bad.” she murmurs, unpacking. “would you mind setting the litter next to the door down the hall?”  

john obeys, though he lingers outside of said door, staring through a crack into the dark of her room. she has a big, comfortable-looking bed. a shudder passes over him. an unhelpful throb. christ. feels like a fucking teenager. he pulls himself together, retreating toward the door to leave. probably overstayed his welcome.

just as he turns to say his goodbyes, she glares from the kitchen. around her neck, untied, hangs an apron—don’t be afraid to take whisks.

“where are you going? i’m making dinner.”

it’s not an invitation. it’s an order.

he slips his shoe off.

“yes, ma’am.”

[monakisu]

10-year age-gap akeshu AU in which, after an especially bad night, 16-year-old akira’s family situation has degraded so irreparably that he finally runs away to tokyo, like he’s always planned to. still in bad shape from his escape, he gets reluctantly picked up by a woman not that much older than him and recuperates at her apartment, where he meets her very hostile, very overprotective son.

it takes a while for 6-year-old goro to realize that akira isn’t one of his mother’s usual “clients”. despite akira’s flight-or-fight instinct button-mashing RUN out of fear of stagnating in one location for too long, in typical joker fashion, he stays with the akechi family to help them through hard times—praising and pampering goro when his mother is too tired to acknowledge him, and pulling mamakechi back to reality when she teeters between picking her poison: a rope hung from the rickety ceiling fan, a long, cold bath, a step off the balcony… he’d barged into their life a year before things would have broken permanently, and patiently patched up the cracks that would have deepened into permanent fissures. 

goro in particular takes a liking to the new addition in their household. akira is the only other person he has met who treats him so nicely and gently and attentively—even more so than his own mother. he always seems genuinely happy to see goro come home from school, and frequently offers to take goro out on “adventures” to tour museums, visit aquariums, pet the alley cats, and so on. with him around, goro doesn’t have to wait at the bathhouse anymore. he grows to revere akira as the darling guardian angel his mother had brought home just for him. 

in the end, having satisfied the selfless side of his nature, the selfish side has akira running away once again. he thinks his role has been fulfilled, and that he shouldn’t keep disrupting a family that isn’t his. he couldn’t have been more wrong.

and so, goro grows up with a doting mother and an awful, gaping hole where half of his heart should be. that is, until he meets a familiar stranger in Mementos—then again, in an innocuous coffee shop halfway across tokyo. 

[arikihalloween]

Some wh oc and au doodles because yes

Royalty Nyxie because I missed her

Nyxie's day of work at Howdy's ! Funfact, Nyxie is a licenced barista, and she'll make special drinks for every neighbors :3

And here's some doodles of my friend's @finstel AU ! You should def check Fin out, they have cool AUs :3

Next time I'm posting the Breton AU ! The page is finally finished

Art will come much slower from now on because I have to switch to krita ( i was on photoshop before since it was provided by my art school)

So yeah I have to get used to it ig

[hsslilly-blog]

shirt with a heart and child of divorce written on top but then there’s a picture of huntclaire. you wouldnt get it. i do

[i-will-cry-you-a-river]

NHS would be the type of barista who knows it very well how each and every one of his customer is called, and yet he still messes up their names on the cups just for funsies. Also, he draws cutsie drawings with glittering pink pen on the cups of the rude customers. It stains.

[note-boom]

Lowkey obsessed with the idea of Cafe Uzumaki being a hotbed for former ability user criminals. Like sure so far it's only Lucy who's decided to get a job in the cafe....

But it would be SO FUNNY to me if all the sorta-redeemed antagonists also just started ending up at the cafe if ONLY for the fact that if anything like Episode 30 happens again, the former murder-repressed ability users would just....grab their guns and go feral on the attackers.

[iguessitsjustme]

Will this vanilla latte save me?

[yukinyaminyato]

i got a part-time job and my mood is split between "let's go" and "filled with dread"

[kradogsrats]

plot twist: in order to get established in Xadia and travel openly without suspicion, Claudia set up a hot brown morning potion cart and she and Terry had a literal coffee shop meet-cute

[mangostar]

had way too much coffee today i wanna die

[lambentplume]

yapping aimlessly tonight

[scrapimmortal]

save me dianxia

[burnnbrcw]

Hi, self love means so much on this account! Nova's done hating herself! She's a person, so of course there will be times where she's not the most confident, but she is in love with herself first and foremost in every decision she makes and every dream that she has.

If you're interested in seeing more about her while she was alive, I strongly encourage you to read the about section on her other blog's carrd ( @thcmcnstcr ) but she was extremely stunted in terms of her relationship with herself, and she was kind of pathetic ( affectionate ) because of that. She had the power to protect herself all along, she had the drive to do it, but she hated herself so much that she thought that the people who were trying to kill her had a point. She thought that she was inherently evil, inherently broken, for a long time. But she lived even longer than that, and after letting everything she thought she needed to have go, she realized how much better off she was. She became everything she was ever afraid of when she killed her mom, and realized that that person was who she'd needed all along.

And that's why she vowed she would never be a victim again. SHE came first, before how anyone else might feel about her.

Which is one of the reasons her mourning period for her life was so long. As lonely as she could get in her life, she treasured the fact that she was alive enough to kill to keep it that way. When she died and went to Hell, she was angry! ( she still is! ) She was devastated! She deserved more than this, and she knew it!

So once she stops being a whiny baby, she goes after the more that she deserves. It takes her dying to really nail in that she is the only one who's going to make sure she's safe and happy!

Everything she does is full to the brim with love for herself! And she deserves it!