#mr mushies chocolate

[mrmushiesmushroombars]

Discover the Magic of Galaxy Labs: Premium Psilocybin Chocolate and Mushrooms

The landscape of natural health remedies is constantly evolving, and psilocybin mushrooms have recently stepped into the limelight, recognized not only for their traditional uses but also for their potential in modern medicine and wellness. Among the innovators in this space, Galaxy Labs stands out with its unique product offerings that combine tradition with cutting-edge science.

The Unique Appeal of Psilocybin Products

The therapeutic potential of psilocybin, a psychoactive compound present in specific varieties of mushrooms, has been investigated in relation to a range of mental health conditions, including PTSD and depression. The challenge has always been to deliver this compound in a safe, enjoyable, and controlled manner. This is where Galaxy Labs excels, offering products that are not only effective but also cater to user experience.

The Rise of Galaxy Labs Chocolate Bar and Galaxy Labs Mushrooms

Innovative products like the Galaxy Labs Chocolate Bar and Galaxy Labs Mushrooms are perfect examples of how the company is revolutionizing the way people experience psilocybin. The Galaxy Labs Chocolate Bar integrates psilocybin into a delicious, easy-to-consume format, making it a preferable choice for those new to psychedelics or looking for a more familiar method of ingestion. Similarly, Galaxy Labs Mushrooms are cultivated with the utmost care to ensure quality and consistency, providing a more traditional approach to psilocybin use.

The Benefits of Psilocybin-Infused Chocolate and Mushrooms

Using Galaxy Labs Chocolate Bar offers a discreet and manageable way to explore the benefits of psilocybin, with each bar divided into doses that make it easy to control intake. On the other hand, Galaxy Labs Mushrooms appeal to purists who value the natural aspects of psilocybin consumption. Both products are designed to provide a transformative experience, whether you're seeking therapeutic benefits or personal insight.

Safety, Dosage, and Legal Considerations

As with any product containing psychoactive substances, users must understand the legal status and safety implications of psilocybin. Galaxy Labs is committed to education and transparency, providing extensive information on proper dosages and responsible use to ensure the best possible experience for its users.

Conclusion

As the conversation around psychedelic therapy continues to evolve, companies like Galaxy Labs are leading the charge, making psilocybin accessible in safe, enjoyable, and innovative forms. Whether you're drawn to the practicality of the Galaxy Labs Chocolate Bar or the authenticity of Galaxy Labs Mushrooms, there's no denying the potential these products have to revolutionize wellness. For more information and to explore their product range, visitmrmushiesmushroombars.com.

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[shrooms11]

Exploring the World of Mushroom Chocolate: A Fusion of Flavors and Wellness

In the ever-evolving landscape of gourmet and wellness foods, mushroom chocolate has emerged as a fascinating and delightful trend. Combining the rich, velvety taste of chocolate with the unique benefits of medicinal mushrooms, this innovative treat offers a blend of indulgence and health benefits that’s captivating the culinary world. Let’s dive into the intriguing world of mushroom chocolate and discover why it’s gaining popularity.

A Brief History of Mushroom Chocolate

Mushrooms have been valued for their medicinal properties for thousands of years, particularly in traditional Chinese and Ayurvedic medicine. Varieties like Reishi, Chaga, Lion’s Mane, and Cordyceps have been used to boost immunity, enhance cognitive function, and reduce stress. The idea of combining these powerful fungi with chocolate, however, is a more recent development.

Chocolate itself has a rich history, once considered a "food of the gods" by ancient civilizations such as the Mayans and Aztecs. Its appeal has only grown over the centuries, evolving from a bitter beverage to the sweet treat we know today. The fusion of mushrooms and chocolate marries the ancient wisdom of mushroom use with the modern love for chocolate, creating a product that is both delicious and potentially beneficial for health.

The Health Benefits of Mushroom Chocolate

One of the key reasons behind the rise of mushroom chocolate is its purported health benefits. Each type of mushroom used in these chocolates brings its own set of advantages:

Reishi: Known as the "mushroom of immortality," Reishi is believed to support the immune system, reduce stress, and promote relaxation. Incorporating Reishi into chocolate creates a soothing treat that can help you unwind.

Lion’s Mane: This mushroom is famous for its potential cognitive benefits. It may enhance memory, focus, and overall brain function, making Lion’s Mane-infused chocolate a popular choice for those seeking a mental boost.

Chaga: Packed with antioxidants, Chaga is often hailed for its ability to fight inflammation and support overall wellness. Chaga chocolate can be a tasty way to introduce more antioxidants into your diet.

Cordyceps: Known for its energy-boosting properties, Cordyceps is often used by athletes and those with active lifestyles. Cordyceps chocolate might be the perfect pick-me-up before a workout or during a midday slump.

While the benefits of medicinal mushrooms are still being studied, many enthusiasts swear by the positive effects of these fungi, particularly when combined with the comfort and indulgence of chocolate.

The Taste Experience

One might wonder how the earthy flavors of mushrooms pair with the sweet and sometimes bitter notes of chocolate. Surprisingly, the combination works exceptionally well. The subtle umami flavor of the mushrooms complements the richness of the chocolate, adding depth and complexity to the taste. Depending on the type of mushroom and chocolate used, the flavor profile can range from mildly earthy to richly decadent.

For those new to the concept, mushroom chocolate is typically crafted with dark chocolate, which tends to have a robust flavor that balances the earthiness of the mushrooms. However, variations with milk chocolate or even white chocolate are also available, catering to different taste preferences. Alice Mushroom

How to Enjoy Mushroom Chocolate

Mushroom chocolate can be enjoyed in many ways. Some prefer to savor it as a simple snack, letting the flavors melt in their mouth. Others incorporate it into their wellness routines, consuming it as a daily supplement or before activities requiring focus and energy.

It can also be a great addition to desserts. Imagine a mushroom chocolate fondue, a luxurious hot chocolate infused with medicinal mushrooms, or even mushroom chocolate brownies. The possibilities are endless, limited only by your culinary creativity.

Where to Find Mushroom Chocolate

As the trend grows, mushroom chocolate is becoming more widely available. Many health food stores and specialty chocolate shops now carry various mushroom chocolate products. Additionally, numerous online retailers offer a wide selection, often with detailed information about the specific mushrooms used and their potential benefits. Polkadot

For those interested in a more hands-on approach, making your own mushroom chocolate at home is an option. By purchasing high-quality mushroom powder and your favorite chocolate, you can experiment with creating your own custom blends tailored to your taste and wellness goals. Mr Mushies

The Future of Mushroom Chocolate

As awareness of both the benefits of medicinal mushrooms and the demand for functional foods increases, mushroom chocolate is poised to become a staple in the health-conscious consumer's diet. Its ability to combine pleasure with wellness makes it an exciting innovation in the world of gourmet foods.

In conclusion, mushroom chocolate is more than just a trend—it's a delightful fusion of ancient medicinal wisdom and modern culinary artistry. Whether you’re looking to boost your health, enjoy a new taste experience, or simply indulge in a unique treat, mushroom chocolate offers something for everyone. As it continues to grow in popularity, we can expect to see even more creative and delicious variations of this fascinating food. So, why not give it a try and discover the magic of mushroom chocolate for yourself?

[mrmushies]

The Best Dark Chocolate Bars Won't Contain These

There are a myriad of different kinds of chocolate bar made from dark for sale these days, how do choose the top chocolate bars? The most straightforward method is simply to turn the bar of dark chocolate over and look at the label as there are two primary indicators of a low quality chocolate. If there are any of them, they should be listed on the list of ingredients. The two components are trans fats/hydrogenated oils as well as vegetable oils. Although there are other variables which determine the quality of the chocolate it is important to verify the ingredients within the chocolate itself is an excellent guideline.

One of the first ingredients should be avoided when choosing the finest Mrmushies dark chocolate bar is hydrogenated oil, also called trans fats. Not only is it one of the worst kinds of substances for well-being, but is also detrimental to the flavor of the chocolate. Recent years have seen the increased demand for cocoa butter from the cosmetics industry has led the cost of cocoa butter climb. Therefore, in order to reduce costs, many businesses are now making use of hydrogenated vegetable oils in order in order to reduce their costs. But, since it is an ingredient naturally present in chocolate the cocoa butter is an essential ingredient of the texture and taste of chocolate and when it is removed, all the essential flavor of real chocolate is lost too.

The next step is to be wary of using vegetable oils while looking for the finest dark chocolate bar. Even though they are natural, they're not the only natural ingredient in chocolate. So, chocolate has to undergo an extensive amount of processing in order to eliminate the cocoa butter that is naturally present and substitute it with another substance. The more processing takes away a lot of chocolat's taste, texture, as well as nutritional significance. Thus, the most nutritious chocolate don't have vegetable oils as a component in the list of ingredient list. Furthermore, if a company removes all natural cocoa butter using vegetable oil or a alternative, the FDA won't allow chocolate to be labeled as chocolate. What you'll end up having is a confection which is labelled "chocolate candy," "chocolaty," or "made with chocolate."

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Twelve

A collection of fun and fluffy one shots set in the same bakery. Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stories, twelve recipes.

Series Master List

The final Pedro boy is coming to the bakery. Twelve weeks, twelve Pedro Pascal characters and one very lucky baker girl!

Thank you all so much for your comments, reblogs and love for this slightly unusual series of short stories. I've loved writing them and I've loved reading all your comments on the chapters. The love you've shown these boys, especially some of the ones that don't always get that much attention (I'm looking at you Pero...) is heart warming and really makes me as mushy as Marcus's chocolate fondant.

So...I think you can guess who the twelfth and final boy is 🥰🥰🥰

Your Sunday morning rush is just dying down as you see Mrs Levinson come through the door. As you watch, she turns and waves someone into the shop, and you catch a glimpse of a tall man in a baseball cap and aviators, before your next customer steps up and you turn to greet them.  

You glance over at Mrs Levinson at intervals, she’s chatting to the man while waiting her turn and he’s got his back to you. As you watch, he shrugs, making an apologetic gesture with his hands and starts walking towards the front door. You can’t help but giggle under your breath as Mrs Levinson’s frail old lady hand comes out at viper speed and grabs his arm, making him stop in his tracks. Even though he looks big enough to just shake her off with another shrug, he stops and turns back to her. She gives him a smug smile, and even from behind the counter, you can see the sigh that escapes him, his shoulders lifting and dropping as his hand comes up and scratches at the back of his neck. 

You’re intrigued when it’s finally their turn, Mrs Levinson stepping up to the counter and giving you a delighted smile. The man with her follows just behind and glances up at you from under the peak of his cap. He looks uncomfortable to say the least, and you can see his fingers twitching by his side, nervously tapping his thigh.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Mrs Levinson coos, her smile bright enough to rival the sun, mischief in her eyes, “I’m so glad we caught you in the shop today.” 

“Hi, Mrs Levinson, what can I get you?” you smile back at her with slight apprehension, there is something decidedly unusual in her manner today. Plus, she was in yesterday for her weekly order, you didn’t expect to see her for at least another few days.

“Oh, I think it’s about what I can get you, my dear,” she twinkles, turning and ushering forward the man behind her, the neck visible above his gray t-shirt a deep shade of pink, “This is the boy I was telling you about, Mrs Morales’s son, Francisco.”

“Frankie”, the man says immediately, quickly pulling the aviators from his eyes and looking as if he’s just waiting for you to put him out of his misery at being coerced into this by an old lady about a third of his size. 

“She works too much, Francisco,” Mrs Levinson says, “I thought maybe you could do something about that,” she smiles at Frankie, who briefly closes his eyes and seems to send up silent a prayer. 

Mrs Levinson pats his arm, “There now, dear boy, buy something nice for your mother. This girl really bakes the most delicious cakes, I’ll let you two get acquainted.” 

With that she gives you another beaming smile, and leaves the shop, leaving you and Frankie staring at each other. You crack first, a nervous giggle erupting from inside as you realize the ridiculousness of the situation. Frankie’s eyes widen for a moment, before he cracks too, a deep wheezing laugh making his shoulders shake as he grabs hold of the counter for support. 

“I’m really sorry about that,” he finally says, drawing a deep breath as you both fight back the bubbling laughter, “She’s been talking about you for weeks and when I ran into her down the block, she wouldn’t let me leave.” 

“It’s fine, I’m used to her meddling, I swear she’s tried to set me up with everyone of her friend’s sons,” you smile. The man across the counter, in the thankfully empty shop, gives you a nervous smile back. He really is cute, you realize, as you look closer at him. A deep dimple in his cheek as he smiles, smile lines around his eyes and wild curls escaping the ball cap to wrap around his neck and ears. 

“Well, I’ll buy something and then leave, I hope this wasn’t too weird,” he says, still looking a little nervous as he rubs the back of his neck again. 

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it, she’s a menace,” you say, rolling your eyes and smiling at him, “And you seem like a perfectly nice man, I was expecting much worse from her to be honest.” 

Frankie chuckles at that, a pleasant sound, and his dark brown eyes are warm as he tugs at his cap, the pink creeping back up his neck. 

“I’m glad I've exceeded your expectations,” he says, shifting his weight on his feet, crossing his arms before he uncrosses them again and stuffs his hands in his jeans pockets, glancing up at you, one side of his mouth pulled in a crooked smile, “And to be honest, I wasn’t expecting much either, but I’m…uuh…you’re even prettier than she said.” 

Your cheeks feel like someone lit a furnace as Frankie tilts his head, his smile widening as he sees you nervously swallow, your tongue suddenly feels too thick. 

“Thanks,” you squeak, “that’s…really sweet of you to say,” a shy smile creeping across your face as you hastily rearrange the order forms on the counter before you look up at Frankie again. He’s still looking at you, a bit more confidence in his smile now, and for what feels like several minutes, but is probably only a few heartbeats, you look at each other across the counter, something starting to bubble under the surface. 

Eventually Frankie clears his throat, “I should probably buy something now right? Before you think I’m even weirder than getting dragged in here by a little old lady.” 

It makes you laugh, and Frankie smiles back at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling again as he looks at you with something that loosens a delighted little flutter in your belly. 

“She’s a very convincing little old lady,” you chuckle, “but what can I get you?”

“Uuh…I have no idea,” he fumbles, glancing across the display case and then looking up at you with a slightly desperate look, “What would you recommend?” 

“For your mother?” you ask and he nods. 

“Yeah, I think I should get her something, she always saying how good your place is,” he replies, giving you another smile, “She loves your lemon meringue pie.” 

“I don't have any left today I’m afraid,” you say, “I sold them all, but I made canelés this morning. She probably hasn’t had them before, I only just started making them,” you point to the small golden brown cakes and Frankie bends his tall frame to look closer at them. 

“What’s in them?” he asks, glancing up at you again and you grab one from the tray, handing it over to him. 

“Vanilla and rum, try it, see if you think she’ll like it.” 

“Thanks,” he says, taking the cake from your tongs and you can’t help but notice how his large hand seems to dwarf it before he takes a bite. 

“Oh yeah…” he hums, nodding as his eyes widen, “these are amazing, I think she’d love ‘em, they’re really good,” he puts the other half in his mouth and chews with a smile. The pink tip of his tongue comes out and licks his lips as he swallows the last bite down. 

“Sold,” he says with a grin, “give me eight of those, four for her, four for me.” 

“Thanks, I’m so glad you like them,” you beam as you start packing his order, “they’re my new favorite and if people like them I’ll keep making them.” 

“I hope you do, they’re really good,” Frankie replies, discreetly wiping his thumb over his bottom lip, catching some crumbs that have fallen into his scruffy beard, as he watches you.

“Alright, there you go,” you say and Frankie pulls his wallet from the pocket of his tan jacket, and taps his card on the machine, “And…I hope you come back, Frankie,” you give him a shy smile, “If Mrs Levinson didn’t scare you off.”  

“No chance,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your skin tingle, “I’m happy she made me come.”

“You’re welcome back any day,” you reply, your cheeks burning under his soft eyes. You’re both caught staring at each other for a few seconds again, Frankie swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing as he seems to search for a reason to stay, and you’re quietly hoping he’ll find one. 

“I…I should maybe get going,” he stutters eventually, taking a tentative step towards the front door, glancing down at boots, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. You’re quickly starting to love the small gesture, especially when he looks back up again from under the peak of his cap and gives you another small smile, the dimple deepening in his cheek as he sees you smile in return. 

“Bye, then,” he raises his hand in a wave, reaching the door and pulling it open, still smiling at you.

“Bye, Frankie,” you smile, mentally trying to stop yourself from twirling, “See you soon.” 

You don’t expect him to turn up as soon as he does, but on Tuesday afternoon, when you’re busy kneading dough for cinnamon rolls, you hear the doorbell jingle. Stepping out of the kitchen you can’t help the smile that creeps up when you see him standing by the door, looking around the shop. He’s foregone the cap today, his dark chocolate curls a bit tidier around the ears but still fighting to escape whatever he’s attempted to do to contain them. 

He smiles when he spots you by the kitchen door, his hand flying up to tug at his cap, forgetting it’s not there as he grabs at nothing. Fumbling he pushes his hand through his hair instead, the curls immediately escaping and creating a halo around his head. 

“Hi,” he says, walking over as you take in his long legs in dark jeans, the untucked blue shirt crinkled as if he’s just tugged it out of his pants. 

“Hi Frankie,” you smile back at him, wiping your hands on your apron, wondering how much of a mess you are, the kitchen is hot and the dough has been fighting you for the past ten minutes. He comes to a stop just in front of you and you can smell his cologne, the warm scent mixing with the cinnamon from behind you. 

“Whatever you’re baking, it smells really good,” he says, looking over your shoulder and then back at you. 

“Thanks, cinnamon rolls, the ultimate ‘good for business’ scent,” you grin, “people always buy extra when I bake them.” 

“Sneaky marketing,” he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles and shifts his weight, “You’ve got something on your cheek, can I?” he asks, lifting his hand and you nod, wondering what the hell you managed to smear on yourself this time, “You’ve got flour right…here,” he says, his thumb gently swiping across your cheek, dusting away the smudge and leaving a warm imprint on your skin. 

“Thanks, I’m always getting stuff on my face or in my hair,” you say, attempting to wipe off your apron, covered in more flour to hide your nerves at his close proximity, “I’m a messy baker.”

“It’s cute,” he replies, swiping his thumb over the spot again, slower this time, “I think I got it all.” 

The oven timer beeps in the kitchen, interrupting the moment, “First batch,” you say, thumbing behind you, “I need to get them out.” 

Frankie nods and leans on the door frame as you hurry back into the kitchen. The warm smell of cinnamon hits you both as you open the door and you hear Frankie inhale deeply. 

“That smells incredible,” he sighs, inhaling again, “you’re clever to use that as marketing.” 

You laugh and set the trays down on one of the stainless steel counters, “I need to get a fan with an exhaust out onto the street, spread this scent across the block.” 

“You’d sell out in a heartbeat,” he chuckles as you go back to the dough and start rolling it out on the workbench. 

“I’m not disturbing you, am I?” he asks as he watches you, “I just wanted to stop by and say that my mom loved those little cakes and wanted me to ask what they’re called. I totally forgot…” he gives you an embarrassed grin as you glance over at him with a smile. 

“Canelés. And I’m glad she loved them, I’ve only got a few left but I’m making more tomorrow.” 

“Canelés, I’ll try to remember that,” Frankie says, “And I’ll tell her you’ve got a fresh batch tomorrow.” 

“You seem close with your mom,” you say, still working on the dough and Frankie smiles fondly.

“Yeah, we’re close. Wasn’t always like that though, I had some messy years after I got out of the army, I tried keeping everyone away. But she didn’t give up on me, hauled me back to town, helped me out a lot more than she should’ve needed too. I’m trying to pay her back for saving my life.” 

You look over at him, he’s leaned his head on the door frame and gives you a little embarrassed shrug, “I’m a mama’s boy.” 

“As you should be, Francisco,” you tease him, “She’s a very nice lady and one of my best customers.” 

“Even before I moved back here she was telling me about your bakery,” Frankie grins, “can’t believe it took me so long to visit,” He pushes himself off from the door frame and comes over to the workbench, “Can I help out with anything, feels weird standing there doing nothing while you’re working.” 

“You don’t have to do anything, Frankie, you’re just nice company,” you smile at him and he smiles back as the tips of his ears go slightly pink, his hand drifting down to the small of your back as he stands next to you. The warmth of his large hand radiates through the thin cotton of your t-shirt and sends a tingling up and down your spine. 

“Come on, put me to work,” he says and your mind goes blank as he slowly moves his hand up and down your back while he waits for your reply. The small motion is so unremarkable, so ordinary, but it feels like all you need to do is turn to him and let him lead, let the comfort of his solid frame standing next to you, wrap around you like the warmth from his hand. You look up at him, letting go of the rolling pin and turning into his arms, his hand on your back sliding around your waist, curling gently to hold you.   

He smiles again, tilting his head to the side as if he’s getting ready to say something, but the doorbell jingles out in the shop. Frankie leans back and peaks out, whipping his head right back in with a low curse. 

“It’s my mom!” he whispers, his eyes widening as he tries to stifle his giggles, “if she sees me back here I’ll never hear the end of it!” 

“Fridge,” you whisper back, matching his giggle under your breath, “stay close to the wall and she can’t see you.” 

Frankie nods, his grin wide and mischievous as he hugs the wall, sliding towards the fridge as quietly as he can. You wipe your hands on the apron as you make your way out to the shop, smiling at Mrs Morales. 

“Hello, Mrs Morales,” you say a bit too loudly, to hide the sound of her son opening the walk-in fridge in the kitchen, “How are things?” 

“Just fine, thank you,” the gray haired lady smiles at you and you’re hit by how much Frankie looks like her, the same warm smile and deep dimple in her cheeks. “How are you, busy as ever?” 

“I’m good, thanks. Business is a bit quieter after the holidays but I’m keeping busy, preparing for Valentine’s Day and then Easter,” you reply, strategically leaning on the counter so that she can’t see straight into the kitchen. 

“Oh, of course, Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” she says, giving you a sly smile, “Anyone special to take you out?” 

“No, no one special,” you say, trying to keep the giggle that’s bubbling up inside contained at the thought of her son hiding just a few feet away, “I’m too busy for that, especially coming up to Valentine’s Day.” 

“Well…” she says, an air of false indifference to her tone, “if I run into any handsome single men, I’ll send them your way.” 

“That’s really nice, Mrs Morales, but you don’t need to,” you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the grin that wants to split your face, “I’m sure someone will come by the shop and ask me out.” You hope Frankie heard that, you’re sure he’s eavesdropping with the fridge door cracked open. 

“I’ll make sure they do,” his mother replies, a mischievous smile on her face so reminiscent of the one her son just gave you, before she schools her features. 

“So what can I get you today?” you ask, steering the conversation away from potential dates and she scans the selection on display. 

“My son Francisco brought me the most delicious little cakes on Sunday,” she smiles innocently, glancing up at you, “he said you sold them to him, he got some for himself too.” 

“I remember,” you say, “I have four left but I’m making fresh ones tomorrow if you want to come by then instead?” 

“Oh, you know what, that’s a great idea,” Mrs Morales beams, “I’ll send Francisco to pick them up, can I reserve ten? I’m having some friends over that I know will love them.” 

You grab your order pad and nod, not trusting yourself to not giggle madly, and write down her order, carefully folding it up and placing it next to the till before you dare look up at her again. 

“I’ll make sure to put aside ten canelés for you, Mrs Morales,” you smile, biting the inside of your cheek, “Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again.” 

A metallic clunk is heard from the kitchen and you quickly clear your throat, “Sorry about the noise, I’ve got a repair man taking care of the fridge.”

“Such a talented girl,” Mrs Morales smiles brightly at you, “you bake all these lovely things and run your own business,” she gives you a wave and opens the front door, “I’ll be sure to send Francisco tomorrow.” 

“Bye, Mrs Morales,” you wave, turning back to the kitchen as soon as the door closes behind her. 

Frankie is just closing the fridge door behind himself as you come in and he looks up at you. His neck is flushed beet red, his ears the most violent shade of pink and he’s pointing an accusing finger at you as he tries to stop the grin that’s splitting his rosy face. 

“She…she is bad enough,” he says, “but you, egging her on!”

“What, I was just being polite to one of my regulars,” you grin at him as he shakes his head, the same bright smile as his mom’s. 

“‘Tell Francisco I look forward to seeing him again,’“ he says, mimicking your cheerful customer service voice as you giggle, “You know, she’ll call me the second she’s in the car, I’ll never hear the end of this until I marr- “ he coughs, cutting himself off and impossibly turning an even deeper shade of beet. 

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, Frankie, I was only telling the truth,” you smile at him and go back to the workbench and the cinnamon roll dough, “I am looking forward to you coming by tomorrow.” 

Frankie lets a low chuckle escape as he scuffs his boots on the floor, coming to lean his back against the workbench. 

“That’s so?” His ears are still a beautiful shade of pink, and his small smile while he looks at you with those deep brown eyes, makes your insides fill with excited little bubbles.  

“That’s so,” you tell him as his phone starts to ring and he pulls it out of his back pocket. 

“Told you she’d call me,” he laughs, showing you his phone, “I’ll sneak out the back if that’s ok?” 

“Sure, avoid your mom, Francisco,” you tease him, but he just steps closer, drops a soft kiss to your cheek, and steps back with a smile. 

“See you tomorrow, cariño.” 

Before you can compose yourself, he’s out through the back door, giving you a final wave. 

The canelés spread their vanilla and rum scent throughout the bakery the next evening, and you’ve packed up a box of ten for Mrs Morales. The only thing missing is her handsome son to pick them up. If you had to, you’d admit to yourself that you’re really, really looking forward to him coming by. As it draws near to closing time you keep checking yourself in the small mirror, glancing out at the street. Slowly you clear out the display cases and bring things into the dishwasher, and then you hear the front door bell jingle out in the shop. 

You attempt a casual stroll out from the kitchen, and Frankie is by the door, giving you a warm smile. He’s just swiped the ball cap off his head, running his fingers through the unruly curls with one hand as he stuffs the cap into his back pocket with the other. 

“Hey,” he says, coming over as you reach the counter, “you look really nice.” 

“Thanks,” you smile back at him, glancing down at your new blouse that’s really far too nice to wear in the kitchen, “you look good too.”

Frankie’s eyebrows shoot up into his curly hairline and then he glances down at himself like he has to check what he’s wearing. 

“I do?” he asks and the disbelief in his voice makes you laugh. The faded denim shirt hugs his shoulders and he’s folded the sleeves up over his forearms, a smattering of freckles visible under the shop’s overhead lights. As he runs his palms over his chest, smoothing out the fabric you smile at him. 

“Yeah, you do, that’s a really nice color on you.” 

“Thanks,” he gives you a crooked smile, his ears turning pink. Watching Frankie blush is quickly becoming one of your favorite things and you’re glad to see that even the slightest compliment will get him there. His nervous little shuffle and the way the tip of his tongue comes out to lick at his lips before he glances up at you again, makes you feel giddy as you feign a need to wipe the tables and step out from behind the counter. 

“I just need to finish up so that I can close, but I’ve got your mom’s order ready to go,” you say and walk around him to the first table. 

“No rush,” he says, “can I help you with anything?” 

“Thanks, Frankie, do you think you could bring in the sign from the street?,” you reply, pointing to the chalkboard sign, “it’s so heavy, I always hit my shins on the damn thing.” 

“I could probably put some wheels on it for you.” Frankie says, pushing open the door, holding it open with one hand as he grabs the heavy sign with the other, effortlessly picking it up and moving it into the shop while you look at his casual display of strength with raised eyebrows.

 “What?” he says, his forehead furrowing with worry, “Did I do it wrong?” 

“It takes me two hands and a lot of grunting trying to get that thing inside without scratching the floor, and you’re acting like it weighs nothing,” you give him a mock scowl as his worried look disappears. He’s chuckling as he leans the heavy sign against the wall. 

“Sorry, I’ve handled a lot of heavy backpacks in my days, this really wasn’t that much in comparison.” 

“Show off,” you grumble and he dusts off his hands, still chuckling. 

“You’ve got other skills, like being an incredibly talented baker,” he smiles, “I bet you can make anything, no limits.” 

“As long as I’ve got a recipe, I guess,” you admit, “it’s just chemistry in the end.” 

“Have you ever made alfajores?” he asks, leaning his back against the counter and crossing his arms as you start wiping down the last table, “They’re my favorites.” 

“No, I’ve never made them, but I’ve tried them once, they’re really good.” 

“My mom doesn’t really bake, but I know she’s got my abuela’s recipe,” he says, “if you wanna try something new. The recipe is in Spanish so you know it’s authentic,” he gives you a quick grin. 

“I don’t speak Spanish, I wouldn’t be able to read it,” you say, twisting the kitchen towel in your hands as Frankie smiles at you. You’ve wiped down the last table and now you’re leaned against it, mimicking Frankie’s stance across the room. 

“Didn’t you take Spanish in high school?” he asks, his dimpled cheek making your heart flutter for a few seconds before you find your voice again. 

“Yeah, sure, but I remember like three or four things,” you can’t help but smile back at him, especially when you recall what phrases you remember. You can feel your cheeks heat up and he definitely picks up on it. 

“You only remember the dirty words?” he winks, and you have to turn away and busy yourself with wiping down the table again as you giggle. 

“No, they’re not dirty words,” you laugh, shaking out the cloth and tossing it in the back. 

“So tell me then,” he grins, “I wanna hear your Spanish!”

You feel the smile on your face, threatening to take over as your cheeks heat up even more, and he looks at you expectantly, eyebrows raised up towards his unruly brown curls. 

“Fine…” you say finally, drawing a deep breath and recalling your high school Spanish and the lines you’d learnt from a cute exchange student in college. 

“Cállate,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up even more, before he mimics zipping his lips shut and throwing away an imaginary key. 

“Ven aqui,” you continue with a smile at him and he smiles back, immediately stepping across the floor and standing obediently right in front of you.  

You pause and exhale slowly, he’s so close now, you can see the rich dark brown color of his eyes so clear, the woodsy smell of his body wash, or maybe it’s his aftershave, lingering in your nose, and his lips quirk up in a smile. He knows the effect he’s having on you, and he loves it. 

You smile back at him, working up the courage to say the next phrase.

“Bésame.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as his smile widens. He steps a little bit closer, leaning into you, and you feel the tickle of his scruffy beard as he softly touches his lips to your cheek. He lingers for a few seconds, and you dare hardly move, you can feel his warm breath on your skin. And then he pulls back, his smile softer now, his eyes darker. 

“Any more phrases?” he asks, his voice low, and you nod slowly. 

“Un beso más.”

“Un beso más?” he whispers, his lips already so close, and you nod again as they brush against yours. 

His kiss is gentle and soft, his hands carefully coming up to curl around your waist as he bends his head to yours. The short scruff of the mustache tickles delicately against your skin as he deepens the kiss, and when you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your hands finding the silky soft curls at his neck, he hums into your mouth. His hands, so warm and large, tighten their grip and pull you a little bit closer, making you curve yourself into him. He’s solid, firm, under your arms, but his mouth is soft, warm and wet when he gently nips on your bottom lip, making you open up for him. With a small moan you let him lick into your mouth, making him groan in response and pull you tight against his chest. His hand slides up from your waist, cupping your cheek, his large hand easily spanning around your neck as his thumb caresses your skin. 

Minutes pass, the only sounds your combined breaths mingling, soft moans and wet lips pressed together. 

After what feels like an eternity, but also not long enough by far, Frankie pulls back a little, his thumb gently brushing over your kiss swollen lips, letting you chase the pad of his thumb with a small chuckle. 

“Better than I even dreamed of,” he mumbles, removing his thumb and pressing one more kiss to your lips. You hum in agreement as his tongue tangles with yours again, the need to feel more of him rising, making you curl your fingers tighter into his hair, standing on your tiptoes. 

Suddenly Frankie bends his knees, dropping his hands and grabbing the back of your thighs, picking you up. You quickly wrap your legs around his narrow waist and giggle. He continues to press kisses to your lips between the bouts of laughter that bubbles up between you as he walks back to the kitchen with you hanging on like a koala. 

“To many people walking past outside,” he mumbles as he puts you down on the counter, kissing you again, “with my luck Mrs Levinson will come into the shop.” 

“I’d say she’d be scandalized,” you giggle, “but something tells me she was a menace when she was younger.”

“Definitely, I’d say she’s done her fair share of making out,” Frankie chuckles, taking your chin between his thumb and finger, capturing your bottom lip between his own, his nose bumping against yours as he gently nibbles on your lip, making you pull him closer with a moan. 

Frankie’s hand slides up and down your back and you tangle your fingers in his hair again while he cups your cheek with the other. Several more minutes disappear as he explores every way he can pull soft moans from you with his lips close to yours. 

Eventually you pull back a little and Frankie opens his eyes. His pupils are blown wide but he’s smiling as he sneaks a final kiss from you. 

“You make me lose track of time, Francisco Morales,” you mumble as he tries to pull you in closer, making you giggle when he pouts, his plush bottom lip pink and shiny from the past few minutes. 

“Your kisses are distracting,” he smiles, “I guess I’m keeping you from important baking chores?” 

“I just need to order some things for later in the week,” you say as he steps back and pulls you off the counter. 

“Don’t let me distract you any more then,” he replies, his hands sliding down over your hips, lightly grabbing at the softness, “just let me come back soon.” 

“Come back anytime you want and I’ll make those alfajores for you,” you tell him, “just bring the recipe.” 

He smiles at that, his hands never seizing their movements up and down your curves, “I’ll bring it and we can make it together if you want,” he replies, “My abuela used to let me help her make them.” 

“I’d love that, Frankie,” you beam, “just tell me what to order,” you make him walk backwards, pushing at his wide shoulders as he chuckles, glancing behind him as you walk him towards the small office set up and your laptop. 

“Well, you need manjar, that’s what she calls dulce de leche,” he says, letting go of you as you sit down. He stands next to you, one large hand splayed on the desk for support as he leans in to look at the screen, “Fuck, I’m getting old, I need reading glasses,” he grumbles, making you giggle as you stroke your finger over the gray in his beard. 

“I bet you look really good in glasses, Frankie,” you smile up at him and he chuckles. 

“Thanks, I need to hear that often or I’ll never wear them,” he replies and you shake your head. 

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” you laugh, turning back to the laptop, “So, dulce de leche, anything else I might not have?”

“Corn flour?” he says, “That’s the only ingredient my abuela would have to buy specially for them, the rest is normal baking stuff.” 

“Good to know,” you say, adding the extras to your order, “We’re all set.”

“When can I come by,” Frankie asks as you stand up, following you back out to the shop. 

“I’ll have the order tomorrow, so any day after closing this week works for me,” you grab Mrs Morales’s canelés and give them to Frankie. 

“Does Friday work?” he asks, looking a bit shy all of a sudden, especially for a man who’s just spent the past half an hour kissing you breathless, “Only, I’d like to, I mean if you want to, I’d like to take you out for dinner afterwards. On a date, I mean, if you want too?” His ears go pink as he fumbles through the question and you take a step forward, putting both your hands on his cheeks and pulling his face down to yours, kissing the tip of his nose as he begins to smile. 

“I’ll love to, Frankie, dinner on Friday sounds perfect.” 

Halfway through closing on Friday afternoon you hear a knock on your backdoor. You’re already serving a customer so you ignore it, you’ve left the door unlocked for the delivery guy and he knows what to do. Mrs Levinson is next in line, ready to pick up her usual weekend order, and she’s looking very eager and chipper as she steps up to the counter. 

“Hello, dear!” she exclaims, a bright smile on her face as she winks at you, “How’s Francisco? His mother told me she sent him here the other day for a special order.” She winks at the last word, making you blush as you try to keep your composure.

“He picked it up just fine, thanks, Mrs Levinson”, you say, praying your voice is neutral. Internally you’re picturing how the little old lady’s head would likely pop with excitement if she knew how his last visit had gone. 

“Such a good looking boy, don’t you think?” she asks, and it’s very much a rhetorical question, but you nod along anyway, “Those brown eyes,” she sighs, “I tell you, if I was forty years younger….” She titters, delighted at her own joke, and you can’t help but laugh with her. 

“He does have very nice eyes, Mrs Levinson,” you smile, “I’ve got your order in the back, I’ll just get it for you.” 

You step into the kitchen, expecting to see the delivery guy, but instead you’re met by Frankie’s pink cheeks and big grin. He’s leaning on the doorway into your small back storage that leads to the backdoor, having clearly heard Mrs Levinson’s comments. He mouths a silent “Hi,” to you and you smile back at him, trying to stop the giggles that are threatening to bubble up. You have to pass him to get to where the orders are kept, and he quickly snakes an arm around your waist as you step into the storage room. His red plaid shirt is soft against your skin and the t-shirt underneath smells like him when you wrap your arm around him and return his hug. 

“Hi,” he whispers again, his mouth close to your ear, his ever present cap bumping against your cheek, as you reach up and caress his curls at his neck quickly, before grabbing the order. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, “I’ll be right back, let me just get rid of Mrs Levinson.” 

He nods and presses a warm kiss to your cheek before he lets you go. 

“Here you are, Mrs Levinson, your usual order,” you say as you step back into the shop, leaving Frankie hiding in the back room, “Anything else today?” 

“Four canelés, dear,” she smiles sweetly, “Mrs Morales was praising them, said her son just loved them.” 

“They are very nice, I’m sure you’ll love them too,” you reply, boxing four of the small cakes and ringing up her total, “There you go then, have a nice weekend now, Mrs Levinson.” 

“Speaking of Mrs Morales,” the old lady continues, ignoring your attempt to wrap up the conversation, “She said you don’t have a date for Valentine’s Day, I’m sure Francisco would love to take you out, you’d make such a handsome couple.” 

“I won’t have time for a date, really, it’s one of our busiest days,” you say, starting to wipe down the counter, praying she’ll get the hint, but no such luck. 

“Oh, nonsense, dear, you need to have some fun. I’ll tell Francisco to ask you out the next time I see him.”

“Really, Mrs Levinson, please don’t do that, I’m sure- “

You’re interrupted by the beeping of the oven timer, which is odd, the oven shouldn’t be on, but right now you’re very grateful for the beeping. 

“I’d better get that, Mrs Levinson,” you rush out, giving her a quick wave as you turn towards the kitchen, “Have a nice weekend!” 

“Always so busy, dear,” she smiles, waving back at you and leaves the bakery. With a deep sigh of relief you go back into the kitchen. Frankie is standing by the oven, fiddling with the knobs and you walk over and push the right one to turn off the alarm. 

“So I guess that was you,” you smile at him as he grins. 

“Yeah, it was either that or knock something over. Mrs Levinson was getting a bit too meddlesome,” he chuckles, glancing out through the kitchen door to make sure that she’s gone before he wraps both arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest, “Is it true you’re too busy for a date on Valentine’s Day?” he asks, “Because if you are, I’d like to ask you out for the fifteenth instead.” 

“I’m busy during the day, in the evening I’m free,” you smile up at him, “But any evening works for a date with you, Frankie.”

The tips of his ears go pink at that, and he gives you a wide, dimpled smile, bending his head to yours, his nose brushing over your cheek before he lets his lips capture yours in a soft kiss. 

“Good,” he mumbles, “because I want to take you out every night.” 

“I don’t want to go out every night,” you smile between his kisses, “Some nights I’d like to stay on the couch with pizza and a tub of ice cream.”

“Sounds like a nice night too, is there room for me on that couch?” he asks and you nod. 

“There might be, it’s not a very big couch, but I’m sure I can squeeze you in.” 

“Sounds even better,” Frankie mumbles and you can feel him smile against your lips, “How about we do some baking and then I take you out on that date I promised for tonight?”

“Let me just lock up the shop,” you kiss his warm lips one more time, before pulling away, “and we’ll get right to it.” 

“Let me grab the street sign for you, cariño,” he says, following you into the shop.

With everything locked up and the lights off in the shop, you set up in the kitchen and Frankie pulls out an envelope from his pocket. Inside is an old handwritten note in Spanish with the alfajores recipe from his grandmother. He gently smooths it out on the bench and joins you in the fridge where you’re getting the butter and eggs. 

You hear him come in and stand behind you, taking the butter from your hand as you balance three eggs in the other. 

“Anything else we need from here?” you ask and he shakes his head.

“No, just the eggs and butter, we need three egg yolks.” 

“Ok, let's get the rest in the pantry then.” 

“Lead the way,” Frankie replies, smiling as you turn to face him, and you can’t help stepping closer and reaching up so that you can kiss him. He comes willingly, bending his head to your lips, and parting them for your tongue. 

“I really like kissing you,” you mumble against his lips and you hear the low rumble of his chuckle. 

“Good,” he mutters, “because I don’t want to stop kissing you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners as you look up at him, his smile making you feel liquid inside, like jelly legs and too much fizzy drinks, bubbling over as you smile back at him. 

“Alfajores,” you finally say, after he’s kissed you a few extra times, and he chuckles again. 

“We keep getting distracted.” 

“I blame you, Francisco.” 

“I’m innocent, your lips are too kissable,” he grins and you giggle, cheeks heating up and it makes him laugh, taking your free hand in his own, “C’mon, baker girl, at this rate I’ll never get to take you out to dinner.” 

He leads you over to the pantry, listing the ingredients you need and letting you pile them high in his arms. Back at the workbench you weigh them out while Frankie translates his grandmother’s handwriting on the note. 

The ingredients come together to a loose dough and Frankie takes over, showing you how his grandmother would push the dough together without kneading. He’s shrugged out of his red plaid flannel shirt, the gray t-shirt stretching tight over his biceps as you watch his large hands gently push the dough around the bench, transfixed by how they move. 

“She always told me not to knead the dough,” he says, pressing a few more bits of dough into the circular mound taking shape, “Just push it together so that it holds its shape and then wrap it in cling film and chill in the fridge.” 

He pats the dough a few more times while you tear off a piece of plastic wrap and lay it down on the bench. 

“There,” Frankie says, gently lifting the dough onto it and wrapping it up, “thirty minutes in the fridge, then we can bake them.” 

You open the fridge door and he puts it on a shelf before coming back out and closing the door again. 

“Now how do we spend thirty minutes in a kitchen?” you ask, tilting your head with a smile, “waiting for the dough to chill?” 

Frankie raises one eyebrow, leaning back against the fridge door, giving you an amused look. 

“What did you have in mind, hermosa?” he replies as he reaches out and takes hold of your hand, pulling you towards him. 

“I was thinking…deep cleaning the oven,” you grin up at him as he wrinkles his nose, lips curling down in disappointment, “Maybe wiping out the shelves in the fridge? Or you can help me fix the blockage in the drain under the sink?” 

Frankie rolls his eyes so far back you think they’ll get stuck, but he’s grinning at the same time.

“Not really what I had in mind,” he says, both his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his body and you bring your own arms up, cupping his cheeks and letting your thumbs caress his scruffy beard. 

“I love the little patches in your beard,” you say and lean closer, smelling the warm cotton of his t-shirt and a faint whiff of his body wash, “I especially like this one under your chin.” You make him tilt his head up as he chuckles, showing the smooth underside of his neck, freckles dotting the pebbled skin. His throat bobs as he swallows. 

“I’m glad you like ‘em,” he smiles, a small shiver running through him when you press your lips to the bare patch under his chin, “Because that’s as much beard as you’ll get from me.” 

It makes you giggle against the soft skin, the longer parts of his beard tickling your nose as you press more kisses along the underside of his jaw, keeping his head tilted back. His hands around your waist are starting to wander, slowly caressing up your back and down over your hips. A small, low sigh escapes him as you stand on your tiptoes, your mouth reaching the spot under his ear where you can feel his pulse beat. 

“Is this what you had in mind?” you ask, your voice low against the shell of his ear, his hands tightening around you. He gives you a small nod in response, lowering his head so that he can meet your eyes. He’s not smiling anymore, instead his look makes you wobble, curling your fingers around his shoulders for support. The peak of his cap nudges your forehead, closing both of you in under it, and as he moves closer, he reaches up and pulls it off. You hear it land softly on the floor next to you somewhere, but you’ve already closed your eyes as Frankie’s warm lips find yours. 

When you break apart your lips are hot to the touch, the soft scratches of Frankie’s beard tickling your skin, and the evidence of his growing need impossible to hide between your bodies. You can’t help but press closer against him, feel him jerk as your hip moves, a stifled groan caught in the back of his throat. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “let’s make those damn cookies so we can get out of here,” he’s tangled his fingers in your hair, holding you close to his mouth, his breath warm against your skin when he speaks, “Can we make it through dinner?” 

“I’m really not that hungry for food,” you whisper back, his lips trailing over your jaw as you speak, nibbling a wet path down your throat as his fingers gently pull at your hair, giving him more room to taste your skin. 

Another chunk of time is lost to his kisses. Every time he nips and licks at your throat, a moan escapes your open mouth, breathing heavily while you curl your fingers into his shoulders, moving down to his thick arms. 

“Frankie…” you mumble as his hands begin to slide up under your shirt, leaving warm trails across your torso, his kisses starting to move down over your clavicles as he pushes your collar to the side, “don’t start something you can’t finish here…” you warn him, but you do nothing to stop him. His rough palms grab at your flesh, pulling you closer, one last hot kiss, a mark on your skin, before lifting his head, his hands slipping down to your hips again. 

“You’re right, I don’t want to do this here,” he says, looking up at you with dark eyes, his lips rosy and pink, “Grab the dough, we making these fucking cookies now and then I’m taking you home.” 

You nod and reluctantly pull away from him as he moves to the side, letting you open the fridge door and retrieve the dough while Frankie gets a rolling pin. You watch him as he begins to roll out the dough, the muscles of his arm flexing as he presses down on the firm dough, forcing it to flatten onto the workbench. He’s focused as he works to roll it out to an even thickness, the tip of his tongue coming out in concentration as he gauges the dough with this hand.

“That’s enough, not too thin,” he says when he’s satisfied, “or the dough will break.” 

Together you use a cookie cutter on the dough and soon two trays of cookies slide into the oven under Frankie’s watchful eye. 

“We don’t want them to overbake, they should still be a pale color,” he says, closing the oven door and setting a timer on his phone. 

“Much as I’d like to get back to kissing you,” you smile at Frankie as he winks, “we should clean up so that  we can leave once they’re done.” 

“I’ll clean up, cariño,” he smiles back, “get the manjar and a piping bag and get us set up for the cookies.” 

You nod and do as he says, watching him as he efficiently wipes down the workbench and the counters, removing the leftover dough and putting away the ingredients. You fill the piping bag with the soft manjar and lean on the workbench while Frankie rinses the cloth and hangs it to dry. 

“Do you need a job, Frankie?” you ask, “I’d hire you in a heartbeat with those cleaning skills.” 

“One of the few good habits I picked up in the military,” he gives you a crooked smile as the timer goes off on his phone and he pulls out the cookies, “That and making beds with sharp corners. Nothing else good came out of those years.” 

A brief shadow passes his eyes as he puts the tray down, turning back to hand the oven mitts on their hook without meeting your eyes. When he comes back to the bench you put your arm around his waist and pull him into your side, pressing your lips to his cheek. He leans into it, his eyes briefly closing with a small contented sigh. 

“I’ll tell you about it someday,” he says, “I don’t want to ruin this moment.” 

“Ok, Frankie,” you reply, your lips still close to his cheek, another kiss to his small bare patch there, and you see his smile return, his warm brown eyes finding yours again. 

“You’re on manjar duty, I don’t trust my piping skills. I’ll sandwich the cookies.” 

“Did your granny say anything about how much manjar each cookie should have?” you ask, picking up the piping bag. 

“About the same thickness as the cookie,” he replies, holding the first cookie steady for you, “There you go, perfect!” He grabs the cookie you’ve just piped the filling on and presses a second down on top before rolling it in desiccated coconut and holding it up proudly. 

“Our first alfajores cookie,” he chuckles, “I’m so proud of us.” 

“Couldn’t have done it without you or your grandmother, Frankie” you smile at him, getting to work on the rest of the cookies. Frankie puts down the first one and starts assembling the rest.

“We make a good team,” he says, “and I can’t wait for you to try these, her’s are the best ones I’ve ever had.” 

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to put the rest of the cookies together, with a flourish Frankie rolls the edges of the last cookie in the coconut and holds it out to you. 

“Go on, try it,” he says with a smile, picking up a second one for himself. The light and airy cookie crumbles as you bite into it, the manjar coating your mouth as you hum around the flavors. The hint of lemon in the cookie blends with the filling and it makes your mouth water. 

“So good, Frankie,” you mumble, your mouth still full and he chuckles, biting into his own a bit too eagerly. Manjar squeezes out around the sides and he quickly catches a blob with his tongue, his fingers coated in the sticky filling. 

“Damn, I should’ve remembered, I always make a mess eating these,” he laughs, tilting his head back to stop the cookie from falling out of his hand as he stuffs the whole thing into his mouth. With puffed out cheeks he grins down at you, chewing the cookie with a happy face. 

“As good as you remember?” you ask and he nods. 

“Even better,” he says, his voice garbled from the mouthful of alfajores and it makes you giggle as he swallows the whole thing down. His fingers are covered in manjar and he tries to lick it off, the sight of his pink tongue sliding over his index finger temporarily shutting down your brain as you stare at his mouth. Frankie’s eyes flick up to your face, seeing your expression, and slowly pulls his finger from his mouth. Holding it out to you, he gives you a mischievous smirk. 

“Here, try it.” 

There’s a challenge to his tone, daring you to step up to him and cross a very weak line in where this new relationship is. The sight of his thick fingers, smudges of manjar stil clinging to them, and his brown eyes going dark as they lock on to you, makes it an easy step to take. 

Your own hand wraps around his wrist as you pull his fingers towards your lips, Frankie’s jaw falling open of its own accord and his eyes drop to your mouth. His thumb has a dark streak of caramelized filling near the top and as you take it between your lips, your tongue tasting sugar and salt, he groans, louder than he intended in the quiet kitchen. From the corner of your eye you can see the hand hanging idly by his side twitching, the fingers opening and closing as another, lower, groan slips from him. Your tongue is wrapping around his thumb, closing your lips around it and sucking it deeper into your mouth. Frankie’s eyelids are heavy, threatening to close, but he fights to keep them open, starting at the way your mouth takes his thumb, images of other things disappearing between your lips making arousal thrum through his body. 

“Fuck…” he mumbles, “fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

With a soft pop you pull off his thumb, gently wiping the corner of your mouth with tongue as Frankie inhales sharply. 

Three long steps and he’s got you pinned against the fridge, his hands suddenly on your waist and behind your neck. He bends his head, finding you eagerly waiting for his mouth as his tongue pushes past your lips. He’s not hiding the way he’s grinding his hard on against your hips, your moans mixing with his breathy groans as you grab hold of his waist and pull him closer. With a growl he buries his face against your shoulder, his mouth hot against your neck. 

“Fuck….” he groans again, “You feel so fucking good, just put the damn alfajores away, we’re leaving now.” 

He pulls away a little, you can feel your face flushed as you press your legs together, heat shooting through every nerve ending. He’s caging you in now, his eyes dark under his furrowed brow, pressing a final heated kiss to your lips before he steps back, pulling you with him. 

“I’ll get a box for them,” you mumble, reluctantly moving away from him to the work bench. He bends to swipe his cap from the floor and shrugs back into his flannel shirt and watches you fold one of the take away boxes and pack the alfajores. 

“Grab leftover manjar too,” he suddenly says, pointing to the piping bag, still half full with the sticky filling, “I know other uses for it.” 

You look over your shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow and he winks at you, snaking his arms around your waist from behind before he bends his head to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he nips at your earlobe. 

“I’m thinking I’ve got other places that you might need to lick it from.”

Part Thirteen

Series Master List

A/N: I hope you enjoyed Frankie's visit to the bakery, I know I loved going back and writing my favourite Pedro boy.

But this is not the end because, as some of you have pointed out; a baker's dozen is thirteen, not twelve. So as this post goes up, I'll also put up a poll where everyone can vote for what Pedro boy they'd like to see return to the bakery, a second part to their story. Vote for your favourite to return!

The Poll!

In the meanwhile, thank you all for reading, commenting and sharing!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

[schmergo]

My mom gave me this chocolate London kit for Christmas and I finally decided to use it as sort of a tongue-in-cheek Fourth of July activity. I love my mom and I don’t think she meant to psychologically torture me, but this experience lowkey led me down a true long dark night of the soul and then utterly broke me. Follow my slow mental unraveling below.

I should add that I am bad at crafts and once got gorilla glue all over my hands while fixing a child’s display-only gingerbread house and spent Christmas break with a hard translucent shell on both hands gradually flaking off over the course of a week, so a fair amount of this may be user error. But also the box says this is for ages 6+ and I’m over 5 times that, so maybe they could have done a wee bit more handholding.

Anyway, here’s my journey, which should absolutely be read in the tone of Jonathan Harker’s letters in the beginning of Dracula.

The first hint that something was wrong happened when I melted the chocolate according to instructions and the next step said to pour it into the molds. The chocolate was not really the “pouring” kind. It was a chunky sort of paste that I had to spoon in. The molds filled unevenly and clumpily and at this point, I asked my husband if he’d let me try to assemble the rest of this on my own because I think I can tolerate my failure better if nobody else witnesses it.

The instructions also cavalierly said to save a “handful” to use as mortar for the chocolate tower.

How much is a handful? A Schmergo-sized hand or a husband-sized hand or what? I have very small hands for an adult, but this is for ages 6+ after all. I opted for a Schmergo-sized handful. I would live to regret that.

I chilled the pieces in the fridge for 20 minutes as directed, then popped them out of their mold. To my surprise, they actually didn’t look THAT bad.

Looking at the pieces of Big Ben that I had to assemble, I became acutely aware that there weren’t detailed instructions on how to fit them together other than just “put them together” and no actual photographs of a real person doing it. The wall pieces were still unnervingly floppy and I decided to freeze them in hopes of hardening them while I focused on the clock itself.

In addition to Big Ben, the kit came with a chocolate taxi and a chocolate double-decker bus. The taxi popped out slightly distorted but in a way I liked, with playful Toontown vibes. But the double-decker bus was still mushy and fudgelike, warping and rippling alarmingly as I tried to push it out of the mold. I opted to put it in the freezer, too, along with the walls of Big Ben.

The instructions said to use the melted remaining chocolate to stick the pieces together and to apply it by sticking my finger in it and rubbing it on. It did not mention that, even after letting the chocolate cool, the warm melted chocolate would make the details of the pieces of the chocolate you’re sticking together start to melt, too.

I began to wonder if this kit had ever been formally tested by anyone and if the instructions were written by AI, like that Google search result that suggests adding Elmer’s glue to your shredded cheese when making pizza to keep it from sliding off.

Nothing can prepare you for how bad the clock part looked, so I’m just going to let you deal with it cold turkey. Et voila.

As I cemented my terrible melted clock together, it occurred to me that I’d have a lot more fun if I really leaned into the ominous post-apocalyptic energy of the abomination before me.

What if this was the result of some kind of whimsical Doctor Who villain— or maybe The Unknown from that infamously bad immersive Willy Wonka experience— transforming major London landmarks into chocolate… during a heat wave?

How will will the new Prime Minister Keir Starmer deal with this on his first day in office?

I yelled to my husband in the adjacent room, “Maybe I’m just turning into the Joker, but this is starting to feel more funny than depressing!”

“Mr. Starmer, a second chocolate vehicle has hit Big Ben.”

The bus actually came out pretty well!

Trying to fit together the pieces of the walls would have been maddening if I hadn’t already been driven mad by the clock portion. The pieces didn’t actually fit together quite right, they were still slightly floppy, and the instructions said— after I was in blood stepped so far that should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er— that I was supposed to use ELASTIC BANDS to hold together the tower walls while the chocolate was cooling.

The kit didn’t come with elastic bands and I don’t have any in my house except for scrunchies with my gross hair stuck to them, and I’d already come this far, so I decided to forge onward. Then a piece snapped off.

Honestly, this rules, no notes:

I did it, but at what cost? I don’t know much about British politics, but this feels like a poignant commentary on the current state of affairs or something. Should I submit this to the Tate Modern?

[berenwrites]

Tag ten people you wanna get to know better!

I was tagged by the lovely @numinosmoon, so here we go...

relationship status: married, very happily thank you, m husband is a jewel

song stuck in my head: Gasoline by Måneskin - it was the last song I boxed to in my PT session this morning and it always gets stuck in my head. The chorus is such a banger.

last song I listened to: Mrs Robinson by Simon and Garfunkle, because I had their playlist open on Youtube (from where I was researching which song I wanted Eddie to play to Steve in my currently posting Stranger Things fanfic) and it just started playing

three favourite foods: chocolate (I try to only eat it sparingly and only the dark posh stuff, but Cadburys is my downfall), eggs (at the moment I am on a boiled egg kick, but my fav is poached - Eggs Royale is amazing - Eggs Benedict with smoked salmon instead of ham in case anyone calls it something different), cauliflower cheese (I like it when the cauli is cooked until it is mushy in the cheese sauce)

last thing I googled: this is so boring - how to have Gmail as a stand alone window rather than popping up in Chrome, because an update buggered it up and I couldn't remember how to do it.

dream trip: Canada - I love BC (honeymooned there, second honeymooned there and been there twice more too), and I would love to go back again to visit friends and then see more of the lovely country as well, because I've been to Toronto too, but nothing in between.

anything I want right now: a nice glass of wine, but I can't because my darling hubby is out with some old work friends on a boys night and I told him if he needs a lift home to just ring. He didn't ask, but he went by train and the trains are not the most reliable, so I offered. He always drives when we go out, so I decided turnabout was fair play.💖

I am going with the same strategy as @numinosmoon in that I am no-pressure tagging my latest 10 mutuals. Apologies if you've been tagged more than once.

@melkene @morganski-19 @metalfreaks86 @onirislanding @mentallyundone @emeraldzephyr @imhonestlyjustsoconfused @theangryhat @novelnovella @thatonespacek1d

[salieri27]

some Arthur spy AU RatPat headcannons for @chocolatecak3

they met at the park Nigel was a part time sub for P.S 38 and Patrick was a chocolate shop owner

One of their favorite pastimes is reading by the fireplace

After his fight with Patty,Nigel promesd if he wins,he will marry Patrick on the rubble of the Agency

They act all mushy to each other when no one is looking Mr Haney teases Nigel about it

[sakuramidnight15]

-HSA OC Information-

Character Bio

Name: Riyon Gushiken

(Japanese: 具志堅りよん)

Romaji: Gushiken Riyon

Quote: "Patience before you act, otherwise curiosity gets the best of you."

V/A: Kengo Kawanishi (Japanese)

Gender: Male

Age: 17

Birthday: April 19

Star Sign: Aries

Eye Color: Crystal Teal (His Normal Eye Color)

Garnet Red (Second Eye Color and Half-Myth power activation)

Hair Color: Pastel Lilac

Height: 182 cm

Race: Half Human, Half Myth/Hybrid

Species: Bubak

Homeland: Wintergreen Village (The fourth country in the Island of Enchantment)

Family: William Gushiken (Father)

Fanwan Gilligan (Father)

Yuuan Gilligan (Younger Sister)

_____________________________________

School Status and Fun Facts

Dorm: Kowainyan (@silent-dragon​)

School Year: Second

Class: 2-E

Student no. 13 (A transfer student)

Occupation: Student

Helper of the Family's Inn

Part-time Delivery Boy

Official Sniper Inventor of the SIDC (Meaning: Supernaturals Investigation Department Center)

Club: Basketball Club

Best Subject: Social Media, Mental Artes, and Science

Dominant Hand: Ambidextrous (Mostly his left hand)

Favorite Color: Lavender, Pastel Blue, and Black

Favorite Food: Chao Fan Rice (From Lynette's Family Restaurant), White Glazed Donuts, Dark Chocolate Milkshake, Sushi (Various, but mostly Raw Fish), Chili Flavored Food (Mostly), Earl Grey Candy

Least Favorite Food: Burnt Food (Mostly), Steamed Shrimp, Sour Candies, Kiwi Juice, Too Salt-ness, Mushy Rice, and Thick Frosting (From Cakes),

Likes: Relaxing in whichever areas (Mostly but indoor locations), Making Sushi, Poetic Writing, Saying wise choices (Mostly), Training with Heavy Lifts, Asian Styled Writing, Listening to Wind Chime Music, Sleep (Mostly),

Dislikes: Chaos Shenanigans, Noisy Places (Mostly), Losing Sleep, Ruffled Clothes (Not folded), Grammer Mistakes, Too much sunlight (Of course, Heatstroke), Getting Annoyed at,

Hobbies: Self-care remedies, Training with Heavy Weights (Mostly), Asian Styled Writing (Mostly), Poetry (Mostly), Making Sushi, Napping, Reading Ancient Languages, Wise Choice Speaking (Mostly, but it might be confusing sometimes),

Talents: Transforming into his half-myth form, Ghost-sight Ability, Dark Magic, Solo Sleuth, Silent Third-eye, Shadow Blender, Shadow Hunter, Sleeping Ability,

Nicknames: Rion or Rio (From her family and friends)

Riyon-senpai or Gushiken-senpai (From the freshmen students and mostly for Lynn and her friends)

Mr. Gushiken (From the SIDC workers and trainers)

Rino (From Fursat and Freya)

Mr. Ro-Ro (From Kaytlinn - @kurov3sochouse)

Other Nicknames:

N/A

_____________________________________

Appearance and Personality

Appearance: Riyon has a semi-tall and slender male body figure, however underneath that slenderize figure is a muscular up-put underneath his clothes that he wears on a daily basis, eventually it isn't noticed every time. He has long pastel lilac-colored hair which he ultimately ties into a half-cut ponytail. He has crystal teal-colored eyes which can turn garnet red whenever he uses his half-myth abilities. Riyon has a calming aura demeanor though he tends to be poetic with his choices.

Appearance: Riyon was born as the oldest child and son in his family lineage, eventually his family runs one of the few relaxing inns within one of the high mountain-top skirts of Wintergreen Village, a popular location where tourists can relax during their stays in the solid cold lasting winter within the Island of Enchantment. During his childhood, he was eventually young to help his parents and workers despite his appearance as a child. Still, his nature had somewhat appreciated his family and workers during their busy days.

By the time his younger sister is born, he's often seen with his parents raising the infant but mostly watches her over. Apparently, as a child, he had tiny bits of a child role as the eldest but it slowly turned into a calm and slightly wise demeanor in the present.

Riyon's personality in the present eventually holds a personality of being the typical silent kid but when being interacted with one another, he then responds in a calmer tone, eventually sounding as if there isn't a slight emotion in there, eventually he seems to know how to read the mood often sometimes, especially when handling most of his half-myth companions' chaos tendencies.

Not much of his main personality breaks that much in his daily life just to remember, especially when chaos at whatever time or day is upfront. He's more fully the kind to see how things get going more than stopping it though, but there are days that he ended up being dragged along at whatever time but mostly it doesn't bother him much with his friends.

On his normal basis of interactions, it's whether he talks normally mostly however the description of advice talking, which mostly sounds poetic and calm and is mostly relaxing to hear, eventually he rarely raises his voice and whenever he talks often is loud and audible to be heard for others such as his co-workers to hear him. And eventually, he's sometimes supportive and often chilled out on a daily basis.

His main personality may not falter, however, his aura will change depending on his interaction without expressing it. However, as a ghost-myth, his aura eventually darkens depending on its mood and atmosphere within the room. He may now show it however many can feel for the fact that he's either pissed or in fact moody, but to not pressured it further or the last thing you'll witness and feel that it is the air running cold his presence in your last minute slumber.

Understanding and very poetic sometimes, but his friends might agree that he needs to express himself a bit more.

_____________________________________

Trivia

-The name 'Riyon' means in Indian origin, means an immense beauty of Heaven. While his surname 'Gushiken' means Often taken to mean "strong-willed" or "of firm determination".

-He's based on Hyakki-hime/Damona from the series (Both Yokai-Watch and Shadow Side).

-He is mostly neutral with his chosen dormitory and his dorm mates.

-Is often seen with his fellow ghost-myth or his co-workers around the campus but inside of the halls.

-He mostly stays indoors, especially on a hot summer day.

-He mostly practices his poetry but does it alone, and does not like being disturbed by anyone.

-Kaytlinn is often confused by his words of advice, it's either he translates it or Fursat does it for him.

-He and Fursat often meet up at libraries on a weekend basis.

-His younger sister often writes him letters to keep in touch with one another.

-Respects Manase as his rank captain within the SIDC, he's often seen with Jovanni or Hbiki at break work mostly.

-Rarely shouts however but can scream but not loudly.

-Can make sushi for snacks or lunch, he and Lynette make asian or rice food together at weekends.

-Was a victim in a heavy avalanche issue around the mountain on one snowy evening around midnight when he went outside. Had received a four-week hospitalization.

-Is often fond of anything Asian-related, but is most fond of different types of traditions such as its clothing or its history.

-His writings are mostly in Chinese or Japanese kanjis, beautiful and understand to read through.

-Is mostly a bird lover, has a pet hummingbird named 'Pilo', and is currently being watched over by his parents and his younger sister.

-His voice sounds calm and relaxed however the tone darkens whenever he's in a bad mood. Which is why I chose Kengo Kawanishi to be his voice actor.

-Knows how to wear a yukata.

-Can do a silent reading for a minute and understand the meaning behind its poetry.

-Can carry tons of weights, surprise that he has good upper strength on both legs and feet to keep his balance firmly.

-Often naps whenever he loss some amount of sleep.

[mrmushiesmushroombars]

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Blog Source URL :

[medicus-felini]

Special Valentines Ask Delivery!

The person making the delivery this time is a different one. What happened to the last one? No one really knows. It’s not the first time something gets send to the Victoria Punk. This one is for the doctor of the Kid pirates. Jeanne looks down at the rather heavy package she’s carrying, silently wondering what is in it. The Red-haired emperor had been very insistent that this one should only be handed to the ships doctor personally. One more look from the package in her hand towards the ship that was docked in the port. Man, she hoped things would work out well. She wasn’t crazy enough to walk onto a pirate ship without permission, so she waited, sighing in relief when she finally spotted movement on the ship. “EXCUSE ME?!” Whoever it was had heard her without a doubt. “I’VE GOT A DELIVERY FOR MISS LINN! IT’S RATHER IMPORTANT!” She didn’t mention from whom the delivery was on purpose. They could figure it out on their own for all she cared.

The package itself was wrapped in dark red and black paper with a surprisingly neatly bow, shaped like a heart, on top. Inside the package there are rare medicine books, another bottle of the spiced wine that had been send around Christmas and some new catnip toys, as well as a box of chocolate filled with alcohol. The card attached to it reads the following:

Miss Linn,

I hope the delivery finds you in time. I’ve heard it has been your birthday too not to long ago. Please forgive me for not sending anything in time, I’ve had my hand full. I’ve sent some more this time to make up for it. If you want more of the things, I’ve send just let me know and I’ll make sure to get them delivered to you as fast as possible. Happy Valentines Day and a belated happy birthday

Shanks ❤

`♡´ 𝕍𝔸𝕃𝔼ℕ𝕋𝕀ℕ𝔼'𝕊 𝔻𝔸𝕐 `♡´

────────────────────────

      𝐉𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐚𝗿𝗿𝐢𝘃𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝘁𝐨 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝘂𝐧𝐤, 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝘀 𝐟𝘂𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝘃𝐚𝗿𝐢𝐨𝘂𝘀 𝘀𝐢𝖟𝐞𝘀 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝘀 𝐟𝗿𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝗿 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝘁𝐡𝐥𝘆 𝐡𝐚𝘂𝐥 𝘀𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝗿𝐤𝐞𝘁, 𝘀𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝘆 𝘄𝐚𝘀 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝗿 𝐡𝐞𝗿   ?      One ear stands up, taking in the words from the cautious lady, holding a package, of some sort. Carefully, one bag after another is placed next to the wooden boxes, ready to be loaded onto the sip. Linn's body turns towards the mysterious messenger with an even more mysterious gift.

     ❝ That would be me. Hm, what do we have here   ?   Can't remember ordering anything as of recently . . . ❞     she muses. The handwriting was instantly recognized. Every word that was written makes her lips tug up in an even wider smile. A blush accompanies her happy, flushed expression. Why yes, it was wrong to feel so drawn to a note from one of her captain's enemies. He doesn't have to know, though.

Unbelievable, that Shanks still finds a way to make out their coordinates. Sending letters, gifts, and whatnot.

    What a

        Darling.

     ❝ Ahhhh, Mr. Shanks. Please, I hope he did not give you a hard time when sending you on your way. I would hate that. Y-You have a minute more   ?   I would love to give you something on your way for him. ❞     They have not exchanged their den-den mushi yet. A good opportunity to sneakily initiate more frequent communication, so to speak.

[ackarcue]

Aight y’all get something cuz V day

Carter would use the pick a card trick to hide his Valentine card

Leila loves the artwork on the card

Theo would serenade you

Ridley has a funny habit of offering kisses. The chocolate of course, though she may sneak a legit one if it catches the fellow blorbo off guard

Olly and Izzy like to cuddle everyone with the Golden Oreo

Dante and the Other Mr. Vernon get all mushy today

Mr. Larsen likes to make small contraptions for Mrs. Larsen on Valentine’s Day. Usually a small puzzle with chocolate inside.

[themanagerisavampirex]

Starter for @paxtonpatterson

Nani generally thought Valentine’s Day was pretty stupid. It was all commercialise your feelings and stuff your face with cheap candy which didn’t sit right with her. Typically, she didn’t have time for it unless she was winding Lilo up about school crushes. Last year had been a very weird annoyance on the cake, with the fake candy grams going around. This year, Nani totally wasn’t thinking about Valentine’s Day, like, at all, okay? She hadn’t perused the mushy cards, or read the selection of chocolates, or priced already-dying flowers. No sir, Nani absolutely, totally, one hundred percent did not have Valentine’s Day on the brain!!!

Not even when she and a certain bartender agreed to dinner. Nope. Pure coincidence, total happenstance that it landed on February 14th. Who checked their calender when they both said ‘So, Tuesday?’ Neither of them, obviously! Despite this defs not being a date or anything, Nani was surprisingly well-put together, wearing real trousers and not sweatpants. The only problem now, on this not-a-date, was that every damn time one of them tried to leave the house, or leave the car, or leave the store, or sit down at the damn table, someone inevitably got in the way. Persephone, Lilo, Patrick, Mrs. H-- You name it, they had called or interrupted! At this point, Nani was ready to pull her hair out.

Finally, a single moment arose that Nani had no choice but to take. For one split second, no one was there asking a question or being nosey, and Nani took it. She grabbed Paxton’s phone, shoved it inside the fridge and grabbed her car keys from the dish. “Get in my car now, or so help me--” Nani said, pointing firmly to the door.

[ahordeofwasps]

Happy STS! What is your character's favourite comfort food? Share a snippet about it if you like 💜

Happy STS to you too! And thanks for the ask! I'll do this for Erika and Mrs. Smith (they make each other's comfort foods) from To Not Falling Off Cliffs!

Mrs. Smith is Erika's downstairs neighbor. At least once a month, Erika will make Mrs. Smith's comfort food, "taco salad" (it really isn't taco salad, but she has no idea what else to call it), and visit Mrs. Smith. I'll share an excerpt that describes what exactly is in this "taco salad" and how it is made below, but when Erika visits, Mrs. Smith will serve homemade chocolate-chip cookies which are Erika's comfort food.

And now, this is how the "taco salad" is made!

Once her tea and the tape’s A-side were both finished, Erika got up and flipped the tape. She listened to its B-side while she prepared Mrs. Smith’s taco salad. She washed the broccoli and chopped it alongside the onions. She minced half a head of garlic and fried it with the onions and broccoli. Then, Erika added the ground beef and chopped liver before taking the time to wash her hands, scrubbing them thoroughly to erase any pathogen the raw meat may have left on her skin. After her hands were cleaned, she sprinkled the vegetable and meat mixture with her own preprepared seasoning mix. She fried everything until the meat had not a trace of pink and the broccoli had started to become mushy, then added the pasta sauce. Erika wrinkled her nose. It was just the way Mrs. Smith liked it. Erika filled a casserole dish with freshly washed spinach and scooped the meat and vegetable mixture on top of the spinach. For the final step, Erika opened a bag of ketchup chips and covered the food with crushed chips. Erika covered the casserole dish with tin foil. It was ready for Mrs. Smith.

[op15-moonwaltz]

OMG YESSS PLS EXAND ON THIS CONCEPT!!! ITS MAKING MY BRAIN GO BRRRRRRR FR FR

oh my gosh I didn’t even think about how the escape clause would connect to this and. omg. wow. yeah that would mess him up bad😭 I can see him constantly replaying that moment in his head, feeling so much guilt that he had that moment in the palm of his hands to change the course of nick’s fate even just a little and he did nothing. man :,)

I can also see after a particularly bad counsil meeting (Jack slams the table and storms out after the counsil continues to call nick “the previous santa” even after he corrected them numerous times), mrs clause finds him and he just cracks. he tells stories of decorating, bake offs, and times where he just felt cared about. she doesn’t say much, but she does listen and offer the occasional pat on the back and a reminder to take deep breaths. he asks if he can keep what he told her about nick strictly between them, and of course she agrees, wanting to make sure he opens up to others in his own time. she keeps the Clause residence a little extra warm that night, just in case

over time he finds more items of nick’s around the north pole that had gotten lost to time. most of them he gives to nick’s family, still trying to be present in their lives, but occasionally he’ll find something for himself. sometimes it gets easier to talk about, but the pain in his chest reminds him it never completely gets easier to lose the one person who believed in him.

nick’s hat remains jack’s comfort item though, as he’ll sometimes put it in the pocket of his suit jacket. instead of clenching his hands to stim, he’ll run his hands along the fabric of the hat :) (Nick was always very supportive of stimming)

once jack gets back on doing decorations, he’ll take inspiration from previous decorations that he did with nick, almost like a tribute. he never makes it a full blast from the past though, as nick always loved to see jack’s creativity and fresh take on things, so jack always made sure to continue that.

Lord i’m obsessed with this concept omg

Taking a Christmas movie collection made by Disney and making the saddest shit possible 🤝🤝

Now tack on MORE guilt on Jack's end, because what if the roof wasn't supposed to be icy that night? Maybe it wasn't supposed to snow that night at all, but Jack wanted a good Christmas snowstorm for the kids to play around in on Christmas Day and just didn't account for the mushy snow from days before refreezing into thick pieces of ice.

He probably didn't even know Nick had slipped on ice until the Escape Clause incident, he probably didn't even notice it or actually comprehend it until after everything settled down at the end of the movie. (also cut to him aggressively slicking his hair back because I can NOT give him the chocolate shell hair I'm so sorry but that is not a good look 💀)

Jack probably feels horrible since Nick's family can't come to the pole anymore (he's practically begged at council meetings about letting them come up to see the place, but the other Figures have all said it was too risky, he's already gone on about how stupid the 'Secret of Santa' clause is for previous Claus families). He's a very common face around the household there, he's actually given a few photos of him and Nick to them when the grandkids needed pictures for a school project. (they played it off as Nick being a santa impersonator and Jack being, well, Jack Frost)

Mrs. Claus has probably seen him at his lowest unintentionally, she's seen enough to notice his tells (hands shaking, a slur to some words, lost look in his eyes that he hides with a smile, a blue tinge to his fingertips-) and actually get him out of whatever situation he's in. He's gotten comfortable with her enough that if he feels that overwhelming feeling he'll subtly nudge her with his shoulder to help him out of wherever he is.

Jack most definitely has his own memento collection of his times with Nick, he has his old hat, of course, but he also has a little collection of duo memorabilia that they had designed. A Jack Frost and Santa Claus set of Cola bottles, a few mockup plushies they had designed but never sold, the rough sketches of a late '60s TV commercial, he kept a lot of stuff. He only had one or two ornaments, one of himself all cartoony with his arms proudly in the air, and one of Nick, also cartoony, with the signature sack of presents standing with his big grin.

He even had Nick's round glasses, his eyesight was never very good so his wife had actually bought him a pair of glasses after he'd become Santa. (Nick's wife went through and became Mrs. Claus, however she preferred to stay in New York to stay close to their kids. He always made sure to visit often and invite them over for After-Christmas, a day he made specifically so he can do standard Christmas traditions with them without having to worry about time to deliver presents. Jack was practically dragged by three of Nick's kids to the first one. And then he was dragged by grandkids in the later ones).

Speaking of kids, Jack has continuously berated Nick's daughter Judy for her taste in men. He fully believes she can do better then a guy named Darrel who's never visited the Pole once with her or their kids.

Jack would happily ice him if she ever asked.

[greenastore]

MR MUSHIES BRAND

It had been a minute since I had mushroom chocolate bars. My last mushroom trip was over a month ago with the neautropics chocolate bars and I decided to try out something new. A friend of mine decided we should try out a new shroom bar we had both heard about. He had already ordered the mr.mushies from their website a couple of days before so we were already to go.

After we had gotten settled. We started of with a few pieces each, then took a few more pieces about 10 mins later. About 45 minutes after we ate the bars, the effects started kicking in. I was euphoric and in a state of complete relaxation. It was like my mind was drifting and I had hallucinations which I could touch. The trip lasted for about 3 hours which I must say was longer than I expected. In conclusion the mr mushies mushroom bar is one of the best i’ve had and definitely recommend. I will definitely be trying it again.