Officially started my first serious recipe development this evening!
I'm starting with this, which is pretty much identical to an old family recipe, just actually has the weights listed cause I'm a nerd like that:
I'm making quarter-batches (10 mini cupcakes) to save ingredients.
My first task is making it gluten free utilizing whole grain flours and starches, not a pre-made blend. First test was promising; a good crumb, moist, not at all dry or gummy, but sadly fell apart somewhat. Going to have to keep working to find the perfect blend.
My next task after this is going to be different flavor variations other than just chocolate.
So far my goals include:
Vanilla
Lemon
Pumpkin
Spice
Gingerbread
I also want to try some "healthy" variations (lower fat/sugar), if I can swing it.
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Rayla: Callum… come back to me…
Aaravos!Callum: *smirking* Such familiar words; this boy asked the same from you, on so many nights, desperate, pleading…
Rayla: *failing to get up, collapsing in the snow* C-come… back-
Aaravos!Callum: *spreading arms, wings forming, smirking as he ascends, leaving her on the ground*
And it zooms out to a lonely, snowy wilderness, just Rayla a tiny figure below, getting smaller, a feather falling down with the snowflakes.
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I swear I have read your big post regarding Peter Parker's neurodivergence and why it is best to avoid labelling him, but he definitely has a weird brain
Can't find it and feel kinda sad about it cuz I deeply related to it
i know exactly which post you're talking about and i can't find it either! i've raked through my archive, and it's just - nowhere to be seen. i think tumblr eated it (it happens.)
really, tumblr's search functionality is so so useless, i don't know what to tell you. there are plenty of keywords i can search to find it that post, but the search functionality actually just does not work!
undiagnosed audhd-addled peter parker, my darling, my light, my life, my everything.
i think peter parker's such an interesting creature to write, because a lot of people will point to a certain behaviour about him and say "this is an autistic thing, right?" but a lot of those behaviours are actually, in my head, tied to certain traumas in peter's life too.
people say "oh, the food thing, peter's a picky eater because he's autistic" and yes, absolutely. but also it's tied to his trauma with his parents.
peter gets overstimulated, and yes, it's an autism thing, but also he was bitten by a radioactive spider and his senses are dialled to 11.
it's a similar case i've found for myself, too – where a lot of friends i have kind of diagnose me because i have autistic traits, but actually - i'm hesitant to claim the label or pursue diagnosis because, actually, i know where these certain behaviours come from, and they come from certain traumas. there are events i can pinpoint in my life and say "yep. that's where this behaviour comes from."
so - i think there's a lot of overlap between trauma and autistic traits. the brain is very complex! i think the reason for that overlap is maybe as simple as the fact that people with autism and people with trauma are both doing the same thing - developing behaviours to protect themselves or soothe themselves. so - i think it's nice to be able to see a character like peter parker, who may or may not be autistic, but recognise behaviours in him and see yourself in him.
people who go undiagnosed for whatever reason - people who are really good at masking - so good, in fact, that they have no idea they might be on the spectrum - everyone and anyone at all can look at peter parker and recognise themselves. because i think we discredit the thought that every single brain does the same thing! develops certain behaviours in order to survive. every brain has that same software - we've just all been faced with different hardships that we need to overcome, and that's were all the differences come in.
autism is a spectrum, i guess - everyone falls into it to some degree. and i think events in your life probably push you along on it. but i don't know, i didn't study brain science. probably what i'm saying is very stupid and uninformed. of course there's brain chemistry involved. but i know people in my life living with autism and certain events in their life have exacerbated certain behaviours or made coping with it a lot more difficult. so maybe trauma is a catalyst.
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Consider:
A modern stucky pairing acting on out a humiliation scene that involves public speaking. Like, yes, this is crack, but treat it seriously with me for a moment...
Bucky sets up the scene complete with a presentation projected onto a blank wall at their local dungeon and an audience of their fellow kinksters--in this scene, big sub Steve has to speak about what turns him on. There are pictures of him engaging in these activities, each more and more exposing, and charts (that may or may not just be bullshit, random numbers) comparing each kinky activity to the others, ranking how hot they were and how much he enjoyed it, taking into account how deep he went into subspace, how many times he orgasmed, how long the marks and/or soreness lasted (if there was any), etc.
Throughout the scene, every time Steve says the word, "uh," "um," or otherwise stutters, and each time he breaks eye contact from the audience--looking down at the floor, staring at the presentation for too long, whatever--he has to remove an item of clothing. He starts out fully clothed, not totally inappropriate to go out into the real world in, just suggestive, tight, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination pants, a nice shirt, a jacket, and a collar, but as the layers are stripped away, it becomes more and more inappropriate. Steve is blushing more and more, the flush spreading rapidly from just spots of color high on his cheeks to all the way down his chest and belly. Eventually, when Steve is stripped totally bare, that's when the whispers start...
Under his stuttering, choked-with-embarrassment words, there are currents of people commenting on, aw, would you look at that, he's blushing so much! Or, he's quite the freak, isn't he? He gets off on that? All of that? Or, really, that's hot to him? Huh. Or, oh, cute, look at how hard his little dick is from all this! He's just talking about it, and he's throbbing! Or, God, look at how badly he's blushing, poor thing! Or, at least, he's embarrassed about all this... he really should be.
Steve wants to explode. He wants to cry. He wants to touch himself.
Really, fuck, he wants Bucky to stand from where he's reclined cooly in his chair, happily watching the squirming, blushing, stammering show with a grin painted sadistically across his handsome face, prowl toward him from the crowd, and come to a stop, towering over him in front of all these people. He wants the bigger, thicker man to put a hand around the back of his neck, barely having to scruff him before he crumbles, weak at the knees.
He wants Bucky's touch to make his ears ring, so he drowns out all of the voices. But either way, Steve knows they're talking about him, they're talking about his cock, they're talking about how needy he is, about turned on he is, about how freaky he is, how weird, and, and--
Slowly, Steve realizes that he has stopped talking completely.
Bucky clears his throat amongst the looming silence, his smirk only widening. Bastard.
Someone laughs when Steve fails to do anything but stand in place, helpless and, surely, looking spacy and dumb.
Then, suddenly, everyone is chuckling at him, some people more shameless than others--all out laughing or snickering softly.
And, oh, it's all Steve can do to stay standing against the wave of mortification and shame that crashes into him. Against the torrent of rushing, sharp pleasure, he doesn't have enough time to even bite his lip to stifle the pathetic whimper that gets punched from deep in his gut. His eyes want to roll back into his head, it's so fucking embarrassing.
His little sound makes them all laugh more. Laughing at him.
Steve's eyes water, he's really going to cry. Or, shit, oh, God, with a full-body shiver, Steve realizes that he's about to cum.
How long has he been dripping for? Standing in front of this crowd, red enough to imitate a stop sigh from his head all the way down to his belly, squirming from foot to foot, squeezing his thighs together like he has to piss but doesn't have permission to go, stuttering over every word no matter how easy or simple, panting because he just can't keep air in his lungs, palms sweaty, and dripping onto the floor? Jesus Christ. He's a mess.
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