Gingerbread Cookies - 133kcal/1.9g Protein
Servings: 24 cookies - 133kcal/1.9g Protein per cookie
3 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 cup unsweetened applesauce
1 egg
1/3 cup dark molasses
3 cups all-purpose flour plus more for dusting
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/2 tsp allspice
1/4 tsp ground cloves
For the Icing:
1 1/2 tbsp egg whites
1/4 tsp fresh lemon juice
1 cup powdered sugar
pinch of cream of tartar
For the cookies:
In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter, sugar and applesauce until smooth.
Add the egg and molasses, mix well.
In another large bowl, combine flour, baking soda and spices.
Add to sugar and molasses mixture, stirring well.
Divide the dough into two flat balls; cover with plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for at least 2 hours.
Preheat oven to 350°F.
Generously dust the surface of your working area with flour before rolling out the dough.
Work with one ball of dough at a time, keep the other refrigerated while you do so.
Roll the dough out to 1/4 or 1/8-inch thickness, sprinkle a little flour on top of the dough if it's a little sticky.
Cut the gingerbread with a cookie cutter shape of your choice.
Place cookies 1 or 2 inches apart on a silpat-lined baking sheet.
Bake 10-12 minutes.
For the icing:
Mix the egg whites with lemon juice.
Combine with powdered sugar, mixing well. If the icing is too thin, add more powdered sugar, if it's too thick add a drop of lemon juice.
Add to a piping bag to decorate cookies when cookies are cooled.
NOTES
Depending on the size of your cookie cutter, makes about 48 cookies.
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GUESS WHO WALKED TO THE PARK!!!!!
Nothing different about today, same time, same sounds. I let him choose the direction we left the house from, he still chooses the opposite way of the way we used to go, although on the way home we come around the corner he's been having an issue with and its fine. On the way I did fool him a bit and started up a side street we don't usually walk on, then I crossed the street and back down to the street that goes to the park ( although I stayed on the side we didn't used to walk on.) He never seemed bothered by anything today, crows squawking, people, cars, ( although pretty quiet, Sunday morning, gloomy 🤣) I couldn't believe it, I was pretty sure we would make it to the park, and suddenly.....there it was! There was a woman with a dog close by( on a leash), and he was pretty calm about that. He jumped right up on that picnic table even though the dog was staring at him, lol! The last two pictures are at ground zero for the area three weeks ago where this all seemingly started, with the mysterious whistling. He had a great time sniffing and hunting for poo the entire walk! It's still gonna be day by day as to how he does, but this is very encouraging!
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DP x DC AU
Danny's gonna adopt all the Halfas in Gotham whether he wants to or not, and it's gonna start with the little dead girl he found after crawling out of that portal in the league base.
Pt 2 here. My Au Art
...........................
There's a dead little girl sitting on the rug in front of Danny's coffee table curiously eating Cheetos.
Well, she's not all the way dead, only half, could even be a little less then that, Danny would know he's sort of the leading expert on being half dead.
Her skins blue, like comic book mystique blue, vibrant and impossible to miss. Shes got these big black eyes and a nasty split going straight through her upper lip to just under her right eye.
She's also missing her nose, it's just gone, no cartilage left over just the gaping nasal cavity like skulls have.
The little girl looks dead, she is dead, or she's at least as dead as Danny is which is almost exclusively in name only.
Her name is Curaré, Danny only knows it because it's been branded into the skin of the little girls neck, just under the curve of her bald skull.
Curaré is terribly thin, the little toddler sized T-shirt she has on hangs loose around her torso where baby fat should fill it out.
She's horrible to look at, a tiny nightmare, her corpse like coloring doing nothing to mitigate the appearance.
Curaré was neither a healthy nor normal little girl, there was no way Danny could have left that league facility without her.
Oh and she almost exclusively spoke in Spanish which made finding her dinner hard.
Not that Cheetos are really dinner, little kids need to eat more then that Danny was pretty sure, like 89% sure. Although they did have a lot of calories...
Danny tilts his head absently as he looks at her, the little demon being illuminated red and green by the glow of the TV. She's enraptured by the Scooby doo rerun Gotham's only spanish language channel is playing tonight.
As if she can feel his eyes she turns to him and tilts her head the same way.
Danny blinks at her, Curaré blinks back.
" Uh- " Danny starts, trying to remember anything from his Spanish elective from sophomore year. God, his teacher had been right he had needed to study more. " The Cheetos, you like them? They're uh...bueno? Oh! Son Buenos?"
He points his finger down at the snack sized bag in her grasp, her fingers are tiny , they must be so fragile, looking at the desperate grasp they have on the bag makes Danny's chest hurt. How could anyone be so small? Had Danny ever been that small?
Curaré blinks again, long and slow, processing Danny's words. She looks down at her Cheetos and back up at Danny then she carefully holds the bag out to him.
" Oh no that's ok they're for you kiddo" Danny insists.
Curaré shakes the bag at him, like enticing a stray cat with treats but he only shakes his head again.
She gives up after that, shrugging and turning back to her cartoons.
Inside her chest Danny can feel her ghost core vibrate placidly as Scooby and Shaggy run across the TV in a panic.
Danny's own core can't help but try to match it's frequency, a low contented humming echoes between them, safe it seems to say.
Curaré can't be older then 4, which means she was resurrected young and that she died even younger. Danny doesn't know how any of it happened, halfas aren't created easily, the amount of energy needed...
She's so small.
He hopes it was fast, whatever it was that did this to her, made her like him.
Danny also hopes that her injuries aren't permanent. Some ghosts keep the carnage of their corpses well into the after life but as a Halfa Curaré should heal, even if she got those injuries during her ressurction. For her sake it'll be much easier to find some sense of normalcy if she isn't always actively bleeding, even if the blood itself is just an ecto-echo of real blood.
Danny curls his knees up to his chest and hides his face for a moment just trying to breathe. He's too young to be taking care of a toddler, he's still six months away from turning 18 and hes got school on Monday. His eyes burn and his throat constricts as he tries to swallow.
No one else but Danny would know how to take care of Curaré, and she's got no family to try and stumble their way through it. Danny can't take her back to the league and he sure as hell isn't going to search for whoever put that brand on her neck.
Even if he dropped her off at the fire station Gotham only has one Meta focused orphanage, it's state run and all the kids in it have to wear little prison style jump suits. And the food sucks, Danny can personally vouch for that.
She doesn't have a home, she's just as out of place here in Gotham as Danny is. Danny really wishes, not for the first time, that he had an adult here. Like Jazz or hell even Mr. Fuckin Lancer.
Just anyone. Anyone who could tell Danny what to do about this. Who could help him out with the child he's suddenly acquired.
He wishes anyone else was here so it wouldn't just be him and Curaré. Two dead kids sitting on the floor of a studio apartment in the Bowery watching cartoons.
What a pair the two of them will make, oh God. Danny laughs as a few tears stain his jeans.
Curaré makes a curious little noise that has Danny forcing his head up. She's reached the inevitable end of her snack sized bag and she looks absolutely devastated. She turns to look at him, tilting the empty bag towards him as if to say ' can you believe this shit!'
Danny can't help but give her a watery smile, no more crying Fenton, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand.
" Okay, one thing at a time." Danny tells himself. " You finished your Cheetos and now it's time for dinner, right? Stop me if I'm wrong."
Curaré just looks at him.
Danny's not worried, they're gonna have all the time in the world to teach her to appreciate humour and also English.
" I'm going to take that as a yes. " Danny hops up off the floor and goes to find his phone, nobody does dinner like the local Batburger.
Little foot steps follow him into the hallway, he'll have to get used to that sound he's going to be hearing it a lot.
Food first, everything would be better after they ate.
...............
For BG I imagine he's been living in Gotham for a few months and found Curaré while popping in and out of different portals in Gotham. (Who woulda guessed that some portal in Gotham leads right to the lazarus pit)
Note: if u wanna see cool art for this AU it's all in the Danny and the little dead girl au tag on my pg!
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Cream
“Is this what you want?”
You tease her, dangling the plump chocolate eclair above her sugar-stained lips. She answers with a moan, her mouth parting in a gasp, her head tilting back in pleasure. You know by now that she won’t answer, that she can’t answer. She has no breath left to give. But she nods, every inch of her begging you not to stop.
“That’s right. You need it, don’t you?”
You lower the treat to her lips. She stretches to take in more, greedily filling her mouth with doughy pastry, urging you to give her all she can take. She moans again through the mass of cake, her cheeks filled to the brim. She chews through layer after layer of devilish delight, through creamy filling that bursts across her tongue, through frosting thick enough to make her eyes water, until she finally manages to swallow the mass of eclair in one momentous gulp.
The whir intensifies, and she lets out a low, shuddering moan.
“Such a good girl” you say. You grab another.
You hadn’t expected her to enjoy it this much. You hadn’t expected her to want it this much. After all, it was your idea – and your kink. But she had obediently stayed as you pushed her in her seat. She shivered with anticipation as the rope tightened around her wrists. She whispered “hurry” when you bound her ankles to the chair. She had gasped when you placed the toy between her legs. And she had eaten every last bite you gave her since.
“Mmm…” she purrs through a mouthful of pastry.
“That was the last one.”
The remote clicks in your hand, and the buzzing rises. Her thighs tense and her knees squirm as she lets out a squeal.
“You did so well, I’m proud of you.”
You pat her bare tummy at the apex of its bulge, admiring its fullness, pleased with its growth. You wonder how much more it would take to make her truly grow. To turn this chubby starter belly into the blissfully fat gut it was meant to be.
As she writhes in pleasure, her pleading eyes meet yours. And you hatch an idea.
In the fridge you find your mark. A pint of heavy cream. Unopened. Sixteen-hundred calories in all its pure, indulgent, fattening glory. Just waiting to be drunk.
You don’t even need to ask.
She’s waiting for it when you return, mouth already open, head already tilted back. She needs no encouragement, no instruction, no gentle push. In this moment, it’s all she ever wanted.
You tilt the bottle to her mouth. She wraps her insatiable lips around it, ready to take it all in. Her eyes close and she swallows a mouthful. Hundreds of calories are guzzled down to stretch her overfilled stomach. She swallows another. And then another.
You flick the remote, and the whirring between her legs reaches a fever pitch.
“Mmmmm…”
She moans as she sucks down another gulp. A faint trickle of ivory white liquid spills from the corner of her mouth until fat droplets drip from her chin. She strains against her bonds, her back arching, her hips grinding against the seat. She does not stop.
A third of the bottle gone. A half. Three-quarters. With each second that passes, the box grows lighter, and her cries intensify. You know she’s close. You know she can’t take much more. You know she won’t stop now, she can’t stop now. Not until she finishes.
You run your hand over the curve of her tummy. She groans at your touch. You can feel how taut her skin is, how much her stomach has stretched. You’ve never seen her this big before. You run your hand in a circle around her girth, tracing your fingers from the bulge beneath her breasts down the crest of her middle. You encircle her wide navel teasingly before letting your hand come to rest, cradling the softness of her belly where it distends between her legs.
“Be a good girl and drink every last drop,” you ply. “Then you’ll get your reward.”
Your words send her tumbling over the edge. She guzzles down the final gulps, throes of ecstasy already washing over her, sucking greedily at the remaining drops before her mouth opens in a cry. She hangs there, back arched behind the perfect rounded curve of her belly, as she reaches her peak. She shudders and writhes in pure, utter climax for a blessed eternity. And then collapses. Falls back to a quivering, shuddering, shaking reality, in all her beautiful overfed glory.
“Such a good piggy,” you tease. Your hand returns to her bloated middle, already imagining the fat settling beneath your touch. “Can’t wait to see how much you’ll handle next.”
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