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|“𝐀 𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?”| scream |

[coffe shop au]

Billy loomis x fem reader


Y/n, is a worker at a simple coffe shop in Woodsboro, after the rumors of the murders of a girl name kacey and her boyfriend, y/n seemed on her toes to continue working so late at night, but something pulled her interest a boy by the name of billy, soon y/n finds herself falling for a boy she didn’t know much about, but will soon find out.


Originally posted by velvetmotel


Chapter one: horny customers

Bitter could easily be the word to describe the taste of coffee, something you never liked, as a child at least; you rember when your mother had offered you a taste of the dark brew every morning, you denied almost every time even though your childish curiosity wonder on about the taste, but the one time you had hesitantly said yes, you rember your face contorting into a disgusted look as the bitter taste washed over your taste buds. Now looking back, coffee mostly was what you lived on, like any sleep deprived teenager you drank a lot of it, over piles of homework and essays you had procrastinated over for weeks.

Your chin sat neatly across the palm of your hand as your eyes lulled over the endless rows of chairs that were placed somewhat neatly across the wooded tables. The clash of dark brown chairs along with the light wooded tables could easily show how lazy the designers were, you had asked multiple times to change it but was always turned down no matter how much you pestered with small notes after locking up, and bringing it up every small meeting you could, nothing changed.. your eyes darted towards the milky glass door as a small group of two walked through the door, god dammit first thing in the morning you already knew this was gonna be a bad day. The first person you noticed was a girl, her blond slightly curled hair, and brown eyes that were focused on the guy next to her, his lanky arm wrapped around her kneck, his brown curls and grin was mostly anything you observed.

Neither person triggered your interest, specifically the fact they seemed just like shy normal teen. They both made there way towards an empty booth, the guy sliding his arm off her clothed form. A sigh fell from your lips as you walked over towards the overly loving couple. “Welcome to woodsboro local coffee shop, what would you like?” Your tone echoed as uninterested and you clearly wanted it to be. The guy looked up towards you a smirk on his face, “oh will have the couples special” the girl interrupted, pushing a hand against her what you assumed boyfriends chest, you nodded spinning on your heels as you returned towards the small doors that lead to the dozen of coffee machines, your hands swiftly grabbed two plastic cups, the printed logo looking back at you. You slid the small cup beneath the opening of the coffee machine watching the liquid drip into the tall opening, and yet again another state of boredom lulling over your brain as you watched the liquid poor into the small cups.

You pressed the plastic top against the rim of the plastic cup, adding the pressure of your palm to at least help it fit. That was another complaint you had, it was horribly hard to even fit the lids on the cups and had caused proplems before, especially when a cute boy had walked in he had asked for the same thing; the couples special, at first a small bit of envy rain through you, until you realized no one was with him, out of curiosity you had given him the two drinks and watched as he walked out and spilled it everywhere, you remember the second hand embarrassment that radiates from you, complaining was all you could do. Your hand pressed against the doors opening to the couple now seeming a little to touchy, “oh god” you mumbled walking over towards them once again, sliding the coffee against the table and slowly returning to towards your spot against the counter, whatever you were doing it was not making contact with them. They were some horny customers defiantly gonna clean that bench after there little make out.

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The Coffee God

In times of hardship, many of us turn to faith, falling back on the whispered prayers of the damned, or the chanted mantra’s of the believer, ancient rituals leaving us muttering and swaying over candlelight and offerings as we appeal to a higher power. En masse, however, more people worshipped at his altar than in any church or temple, not knowing they were taking part in acts of veneration; instead of smoky incense filling the room with Oudh and jasmine, the air carried roasted arabica and soft vanilla fumes, sweet cinnamon pastries replacing the church wafers.

Were you to look at him, your first thought probably wouldn’t have been to kneel in veneration as he certainly didn’t look like much, let alone a God. In this iteration, he wore soft knit jumpers covered in coffee stains, dark aprons instead of ceremonial robes, crumpled pen and paper hastily stuffed into a pocket to take orders. His hair was dark, not quite the black of ink or onyx, but the rich warm brown of espresso, and he moved with a jittery energy that could never be fully suppressed, fidgeting hands and tapping feet ruining any notion of stillness. His face had the same qualities, shifting quickly from bored frowns to wry smiles as he welcomed regulars or hid distaste at the less than respectful customers he had to endure. For the slightly more discerning or intuitive, there was something about his eyes that suggested he was otherworldly; they seemed to flash a bright, shining gold if you made him laugh, switching to a soft honey as he stood thinking, or occasionally a dark and bitter grey when the ruder customers really went too far ( the air would shift in the coffee shop then, the smell of burnt coffee grounds and sour milk filling the air until placated by the clinking sound of coins falling into a tip jar as penance). Even then, that hint of the numinous didn’t tell you the full story of his past; of ancient cultures venerating him and leaving offering as he made crops grow, bitter beans growing from where bitter tears fell. As time passed, his gift grew in the world, monasteries in Yemen making the drink we love today, before it spread to the breakfast tables of Italy, or to the salons of Paris, into the mugs of America. Coffee became a gift that bolstered soldiers in the trenches, or restored the energy of nurses who gave all of their energy to those in their care. Cities grew and developed under his care, sipped cups smoothing over difficult meetings and helping to overcome hurdles. His gift was vigour, a boost when adversity was being faced and trials had to be passed, and he had circulated in the blood of armies as they marched; when you think of warlike gods, you might see Ares and Athena marching on the battlefield, or the valkyries collecting the fallen hero, but the always forget him as he walks with those who shared a final cup in solidarity and union before taking up arms. He was ancient and had seen the rise and development of civilisations, cradled in the hands of presidents and monarchs, a bitter reminder of the real world.

Coffee shops became the new temples, as people welcomed the sun over a latte and a tired smile, that first sip warming the soul. Quiet and unassuming, he had helped to build the modern world, one demitasse at a time. Now, of course, he was much tamer than his wild youth, offerings and rituals becoming coins exchanged for a smile and a flat white, little rituals that still held their own potency. The cafe we find him in now lacked the grandeur of a cathedral, but held its own appeal; cosy and intimate, there were shelves of beaten books where you could usually find good advice hidden between autobiographies and old romance novels. The tables and chairs were eclectic and old, worn in by centuries of use so that nothing matched but made pockets of warmth and familiarity. He decorated with potted arabica plants on each table, a nod to his origins, and odd trinkets and statues from each of the countries he had spread to, relocating with a different face and different story every hundred years or so. There were blankets ( some of which resembled rather frayed tapestries from lost cities) stacked up in every corner, cushions piled on every chair, and soft lamps to be lit as the sun set, to draw in the stragglers and the lost from cold streets. Aside from some truly delicious coffee, he served his worshippers in other ways, offering innocuous words of advice as he steamed the milk for a woman racked with difficult choices, spying the future in the dark mirror of the coffee he poured, or as it spiralled up in steam. He offered fresh cakes that tasted like something from a pleasant childhood memory, uncanny in their similarity and the tranquility they brought, or tarts with fruit so fresh that you tasted the sunlight in their skin. There were macarons in every colour, each igniting a particular emotion, just asking for a bite to be taken, mingling rich pistachio and the feeling of security, or rose to help ease a broken heart. He had become the confessional and the priest, leading customers in their daily rituals and offering a kind ear for when someone had to get something off their chest. Customers usually left smiling, maybe a little more whole and restored than when they went in to that unassuming, cosy, quirky little cafe

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How to Improve Organization in Your Small Coffee Shop

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Running a coffee shop means juggling between different issues such as bringing in enough customers and making sure that you always have employees on-time. However, another important issue is understanding how to organize a coffee shop correctly. Consider these steps to take when looking to

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23 November 2020 | I have to sit for my Bahasa Malaysia midterm last Thursday, and theres my note hehe. Did I do well? Frankly, I don’t know.

I sit for my Malaysian-Singaporean Literature mid semester exam on Friday. I don’t know what to expect since I always got low marks from that one lecturer tsk blame on me tho 🌚

Regardless, I deserved a treat after a long 6 weeks. So I decided to get an iced matcha with whipped cream 🤡 I look forward for their Eggyolk croissant tho, might as well get it tomorrow 🌚

Oh, and its been two weeks since I started small exercise — I either jump rope or walk around campus (3km only hehe). But it helps me a lot in terms of relaxing and relieving stress 🥰💞

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Alma, Grafton

Drinks pictured: Flat white ($4.5) and cappuccino ($4.5).

My friend invited me to this newly opened cafe in Grafton called Alma. They serve coffee from Anastasis Coffee Roasters (and this was the first time I tried them) and have 4 blends (and a decaf blend) for you to choose from! The cafe has one bench outside and is medium sized inside, and has a nice red & black colour scheme! They have free WiFi, and I also really liked the mural on the wall inside!

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It’s November, but another November.

The rain is wind-whipped, cold, making tendrils of your hair.

You walk through town in a warm red coat, hands deep in pockets, heavy boots sure on slick cobblestones.

The coffee shop door is wooden, heavy – you push it open, setting a tiny bell tinkling, and although the shop is busy you spot your friend immediately.

You kiss them on the cheek, remove several layers of clothing, and sink into a tatty leather chair. Your hands sting as they warm up.

The air is thick with steam and chatter and sweet cinnamon scent. You have nowhere to be.

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