#the lock shop

[lazylittledragon]

some domestic shadowlachs <33

[andrewminyardslawyer]

PSA for those writing coffee shop AUs, bakery AUs, etc.

I have worked in the food service industry for 20 years and I just wanted to make an informational list of common mistakes or misconceptions I see in writing about said industry. Not trying to be a jerk, just thought I would try to make a helpful list! I will add more if I think of any and please feel free to ask any questions you may have!

- it's cookie dough, not cookie batter. Doughs are for thicker stuff, typically something you can pick up in your hand (cookies, bread). Batters are more liquid and pourable (cakes, brownies, muffins)

- one person cannot make all the products from scratch and bake everything themselves unless they are a very slow business. Most of the time someone has a specific thing they do weather it's focused on specific products or split up like one person does the batters/doughs, one person preps and bakes, one person decorates. Sometimes one person does multiple things but generally not every single thing every day by themselves

- Front of House = people interacting with customers like barista, waiter, person at the register. Back of House = people making the food (line cook, baker, etc), dish washer (the worst job in the world, I salute all dishwashers everywhere)

- if they're doing stuff like bagels, doughnuts, breakfast pastries, cinnamon rolls, bread, etc they are there EARLY. Depending on the product some people start working at 2 in the morning. I saw a published book that had someone making dozens and dozens of cinnamon rolls from scratch in like one hour. Not possible even though I wish it was

- frosting, icing, and glaze are all different things. Frosting is the thicker stuff you see on cakes and cupcakes. Icing is typically for cookies, especially the decorated cut out sugar cookies. Glaze is thin, like what you get on doughnuts

- 99% of people who work in the food service industry will immediately go home and shower. I've seen lots stories where the character gets done at work and goes out. You are covered in various substances with powdered sugar in places you didn't know it could get, a shower before Literally Anything is a must

[mayasaura]

Realistically speaking, I don't think black coffee would kill Harrow. She drinks wine more than once, and I think it's even specified once that it's red; the more tannin rich and strongly flavored of the wines. Evidence suggests that, while she would in no way enjoy it, she could theoretically survive a cup of black coffee.

Therefore the question becomes: Would she? What would she do if she had to choose between keeping her tastebuds or impressing a hot barista? Could lean taut muscle dewy with sweat and steam compel her to do what God could not—finish a hot beverage?

[penelopeluna99]

There is a good chance that a broken ignition switch is to blame when your automobile doesn't start. When a car doesn't start, many people end up buying new batteries, but that won't fix the ignition switch problem. The car won't start if the electricity is cut off where the key is turned. This is especially true if there is a problem with the ignition switch.

For More Visit - https://canberralocksmiths.com.au/automotive/

[xxplastic-cubexx]

oh noooo or whatever

bonus aka The Real Motive Behind This:

SURPRISE double bonus. textless ver of the first pic under the cut

[c-rowlesdraws]

If what you feel is new, That's just first bloom (Who are you? Where are you growing to?) As you inch towards the clues Bless whatever brings you here and to...

this started off as a quick companion sketch for my Nona (& Friends) playlist, but of course became something much more involved. If she'd had a portable tape player, I feel like Nona might have taken some moments to relax like this.

(fanart for the book Nona the Ninth, from Tamsyn Muir's The Locked Tomb series)

[mindfogs]

giving harrow the coffee shop fantasy she deserves

[frenchphobe]

griddlehark modern pen pal au where they don’t know each other but are assigned as pen pals for those pen pal projects you get in middle school and it just turns into them sending each other hate mail and somehow they just keep going for several years, even though they dont rly have to

[moonssnail]

Can’t believe I had never drawn the canon griddlehark coffee shop au please forgive me

[augustinewrites]

your little flower stall is strategically set up a few feet from one of the trendiest restaurants in this area of tokyo. 

it’s a smart spot, one that men like reo can appreciate when he’s already ten minutes late for his date. he’d quite literally just left work, a last minute meeting having forced him to get ready in the back of his car in his haste to arrive somewhat on time. his shirt is untucked and his pants are wrinkled from being left in the trunk for so long.

he winces when he catches his reflection in a window, running a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. he definitely can’t show up empty handed when he’s late and looking like this. 

“good evening,” he greets, a little breathless as he approaches your stall. his eyes scan the bouquets available, looking for any safe picks and frowning when he realizes you’re out of roses. so he shrugs and picks up whatever’s closest. some kind of yellow flower.

“yellow carnations?” you murmur as he digs into his pocket for his wallet, prompting him to glance up at you. “an odd choice.”

“how do you mean?”

“it’s an unusual choice for a date, is all.” 

he raises his brows. “how do you know they’re for a date?”

“oh, come on,” you grin, leaning against the counter. “a handsome guy like you doesn’t have someone to buy flowers for?”

he knows it’s probably just a marketing pitch, but his ego swells nonetheless. “handsome, huh?” 

you simply shrug - tease - and place the carnations back into their bucket to grab a different bouquet. you cut a strip of white ribbon from its spool, winding it around the stems. “go with these instead. if your date knows anything about flowers, these will definitely get you laid.”

reo actually laughs at that, as he strongly doubts the wannabe influencer he’d been set up with knows much about the meanings of flowers, but he’ll take your word for it. he hands you his card, not-so-secretly hoping that you’d caught a glimpse of his name on its surface before you swiped it through your machine.

when you return it to him, he pulls a handful of bills out of his wallet and stuffs them into your tip jar.

“oh,” you start. “that’s too much–” 

he flashes you a smile that’s been called ‘swoon-worthy’ before, waving you off as he tucks his wallet back into his pocket. “don’t worry about it! you’re saving my life here.” 

“your sex life, you mean?” you quip, but your eyes sparkle at his praise as you hand him the bouquet. “well, thank you for your patronage, sir.” 

he quickly dips his head in thanks, a little reluctant as he heads towards the restaurant. 

_____

monday mornings aren’t especially busy for you, as bleary eyed office workers don’t have much need for flowers. 

which is why you’re surprised when the man from last friday starts approaching your stall, holding a cup of what you assume must be coffee. he doesn’t quite look like you remember, from the impeccable cut of his suit to the way his hair is neatly pulled back. he’s even wearing aviators that you’re sure would look ridiculous on anyone else, but for some reason make him look like a movie star. 

he pulls them off with his free hand and hangs them off the pocket of his bag, waving at you like you’re old friends. he looks so earnest and excited that you can’t do much else than blush and raise your hand in response. 

“morning,” he greets once you’re close enough to hear. “this is for you. for last friday. i wasn’t sure what you’d like so i just got their special.” 

he holds out the cup, whose logo you now recognize from the overpriced cafe down the street. you take it, smiling. “i take it your date went well then?”

he tucks his hands into the pockets of his trousers, shrugging. “sure.” 

“did you come to buy her more flowers?”

“ah…i don’t think i’ll see her again.” 

you perk up at that. just a little. “oh?” 

“yeah,” he sighs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “i, uh, kinda wanna see where things go with someone else.” 

oh, of course there’s someone else. a guy like him probably never has a shortage of options. (and who are you not to capitalise on that?) “maybe some flowers will help.” 

you think there’s something mischievous in his smile. “definitely. what do you recommend?”

_____

reo is running out of places to put his flowers. 

they’re all over his office. they line the entirety of his windowsill and take over the free space on his desk. a small clump of white daisies in an old coffee mug. a single rose in his pen cup. his assistant has to crane her head around a vase of lilies to deliver her reports at the end of each day. 

what can he say? you’re one hell of a salesperson. if anyone had asked him what his favourite flower was before, he’d have no idea what to tell them. in truth, he’d never given much thought to something so impermanent as flowers.  

but you easily become a permanent part of his routine. each day he stops at your stall, utilising the information he’d gathered from the internet just moments before to impress you with an educated floral choice. 

you always smile when you hand him the bouquet, and he wonders how your product isn’t sold out at the end of each day, with a smile as enamouring as yours. 

when his office is overrun by floral accents, he starts bringing them home instead. his neighbours gush about what a great boyfriend he is each time they catch him returning with a new arrangement. they say that whoever he’s coming home to must be a ‘very special someone.’

they don’t know that it’s just nagi, who barely looks up from whatever game he’s playing but comments mildly that he didn’t think reo was a flower guy. 

“everyone’s a flower guy,” he’d quipped as he unwrapped the brand new vase he’d bought to accompany the bouquet of peonies and anemones you’d given him. 

and if nagi noticed he’d come home blushing the day you called him your most important customer, he didn’t say anything.

_____

“hey,” he asks on a particularly slow sunday afternoon. you’re in the process of wrapping - by his request - a bundle of lilacs, which happen to be your favourite flower. “come to lunch with me. i can get us a table—” he points to the restaurant behind you. “—there.” 

you don’t answer right away, allowing yourself a moment to make sure you’ve heard him right. “what would your girlfriend think?”

he looks confused as you hold the lilacs out to him. “girlfriend?”

“yeah…isn’t she the one you’ve been buying all these flowers for?”

he blinks a few times before hanging his head with a chuckle. “no i— i don’t have a girlfriend.”

he doesn’t have a girlfriend. so that would mean…

“you’re asking me out,” you realize, averting your gaze to the counter with all the awkwardness of a kid receiving their first valentine. “i’d love to, but i can’t just close—”

“what would you make in a day?” he blurts. “ideally.” 

“well, ideally i’d be sold out—”

he flips his wallet open and hands you his card. “i’ll take everything then.”

“everything?” you echo. 

he shrugs, shooting you a wink. “what can i say? i’m a flower guy.”

“reo,” you laugh, pushing his card back towards him. “i’m not going to let you pay me to go out with you. just go grab some takeout and come back here. a pretty face like yours is bound to sell.” 

“you’re whoring me out for business?” 

“i’m just being entrepreneurial,” you counter. 

he crosses his arms over his chest, a handsome grin on his face. “alright, but i’ll need to be compensated for my efforts. maybe even with a kiss…”

you roll your eyes (albeit with a smile) as you point at the restaurant. “at least buy me lunch first.”

[doubleca5t]

THE TOXIC YURI AND SILLY LITTLE GUY BUTTONS ARE BACK IN STOCK AT DA FRENZY STORE

We've also got some other favorites in stock like these cute little locked tomb charms

Support your local problematic lesbian today

[unreachedgalaxy]

ohhhhh I just realized the point of the fucking coffee shop AU. like, there's many points to the coffee shop AU. but...harrow in the coffee shop AU proves definitively that she would fall for gideon in any life, regardless of their relationship. no matter the circumstance - harrow would love gideon if she were nobody, if she was nothing more than a cute barista with a flirty smile. gideon, on the other hand, is quite clearly under the impression that harrow only loves her because she is her cavalier. she places being harrow's cavalier as evidence of her importance to harrow. as long as harrow accepts her as her cavalier, then she can never be nothing to harrow, because one flesh, one end.

even as kiriona, she's just waiting for the day she can swear to be harrow's cavalier again (get in line, thou big slut!). but harrow doesn't care if gideon is her cavalier at all - she loves gideon, just gideon.

[vaguely-concerned]

harrow's dark and twisted mind........ wellspring of such sinister contemplations as 'I believe in the co-existence of soup and murder' and 'what if griddle worked at a coffee shop and it was -- and I cannot stress this enough -- SO fucking sexy'

[suntoru]

─ ✰ BREWING AFFECTION.

✧˚ · . NAGI SEISHIRO loves sleeping, soccer, and gaming. he also doesn’t mind you coffee too.

— warnings: coffee shop! au, fluff, crackfic, reo hating on readers barista skills, downbad nagi (hes oblivious af), maybe ooc?

— author’s note: NOT TUMBLR BUTCHERING THE QUALITY OF MY HEADER. THIS IS NOT OK.

"…so… this was the coffee shop you were talking about?” reo probes nagi tentatively, face crinkled in slight confusion. the small café nestled in the hidden corner of some obscure street— nothing extravagant, and certainly not what he expected. it’s a quiet sanction, only a few patrons savoring the quiet ambience of the modest establishment.

"mhm," nagi hums in affirmation. his eyes are glued to his screen, fingers violently tapping his phone as he skillfully maneuvers through the critical attack from the boss battle. reo doubts he was listening to a word he was saying. he raises his eyebrows skeptically, surveying the surroundings of the quaint little shop. he’s well aware nagi sacrifices fifteen whole minutes of his precious sleep on wednesdays and saturdays to walk all the way here— there must, has to be something special about this place. yet all he can spot are a couple of worn-down couches, cute decorations, and the smell of grinding beans in the air; nothing particularly stands out.

'is the coffee just that good?' reo wonders to himself, his thoughts interrupted when you hastily set a tray down at their table. your hair is tied in a messy bun, name tag displayed largely at the side of your stained apron. "i'm so sorry— morning rush! two triple foam lattes, half a shot of espresso with a dash of cinnamon, right?" the words tumble out, an apology and a question all in one, accompanied by a warm aura that absolutely nobody else in customer service seemed to carry.

…that’s… not…. even close… he deadpans. “um, actually—” he starts, but is quickly interrupted by nagi cutting him off. “t’s good. thanks.” he mutters, hazy half-lidded grey eyes boring into your oblivious, starry-eyed ones. the tips of his ears turn the slightest bit pink as he blows a tuft of his hair out of his eyes. his phone is completely discarded, ‘GAME OVER.’ pixelated largely on his screen as reo’s eyes widen slightly. …did he… die on purpose? no way. but… he was just about to beat the whole game…?

you smile giddily. finally, you got an order right!! “really? i’m so glad! enjoy your drink!” you eagerly exclaim as you walk away, feeling encouraged to pump out the other orders.

“…we ordered two large macchiatos.” nagi shrugs lazily, fiddling with the plastic straw in his drink. “tastes the same. ‘t’s too much of a hassle to correct them.”

“whatever,” reo sighs, “we’ve been waiting thirty minutes for this— it better make my mouth orgasm.” thirstily taking a huge slurp of the drink, he lets the coffee settle for a moment before not so subtly gagging at the aftertaste. how can someone possibly screw up this badly? it tastes like… tepid brown water. this should be a war crime. no offense, but who thought it was a good idea to hire you? “uhm… it’s *retches* certainly an acquired flavour…” he represses another gag as the fluffy white haired male tunes him out once again.

as reo contemplates the questionable quality of his latte, nagi remains blissfully unaware of his own feelings, doing what he does every wednesday and saturday morning— unconsciously admire you from a distance, his attention shifting from reo to you. his fingers idly trace the ridges on the rim of the cup, distractedly watching as you struggle to get the coffee to start brewing.

and he can’t exactly understand why his heart is beating out of his chest (perhaps he’s having a stroke), why his face is tinted red (is it the cold nipping at his cheeks?), or why he only seems to want coffee when you’re there (it simply tastes different). it all doesn’t make sense to nagi’s simple little life, a simple repetition every day; sleep, soccer, game.

nagi seishiro finds the easiest of tasks to be a hassle. yet for some strange reason, waking up early on wednesdays and saturdays isn’t one of them.

©kaeffeinee 2023. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[zooombrasil]

[arithmonym]

modernAU!gideon wrote this post. to me. (cloth barista is corona, wire barista is harrow.)