#the wizard... granola bar

[albatris]

hewwo

I deleted the opening of rentalcar from tumblr months ago when all the ai nonsense happened but now it's back again because I'm me. it's fresh and edited! and shorter

here's the new chapter one for your viewing pleasure. enjoy! or don't. don't let me tell you how to live your life I'm not your mum

hi taglist hello - some of you have already read this! I hope you're having a nice day though 😎

@transmasc-wizard @saturn-iidae @polyaubergine @tracle0 @goosemixtapes @valence-positive @the-one-who-makes-negative-noise @ambiguousfiction @afoolandathief @silverwarewolf @mecharose @vellichor-virgo @plasticseaslug @jetstargenderfuckery @multi-lefaiye @writeouswriter @junoshusband @writing-is-a-martial-art @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @sleepycaprine @cream-and-tea @gailynovelry @lefttigerobservation @indecentpause @writingsfromspace @carnivalls @violetfoxsketches @approximately20eggs @mohluskiepedard @desastreus @kk7-rbs @cee-grice @northwyrm @xylophonicsynapse @careful-pyromancer @recapitulation @incandescent-creativity @whole-buncha-snakess @mysticalalleycat @thatonecrowguy @va-nila-bean @televisionjester @excessive-vampires @walkman-cat @davycoquette @xenascribbles

tw for paranoia, anxiety, hallucinations, swearing, general feelings of unease

Nat Finch blinked awake.

He was slumped forward in the driver’s seat of his rental car, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel, his body aching like he hadn’t moved in centuries. His feet were bare. His throat burned. His head throbbed. Curled over his shoulders was the familiar softness of the blanket from his back seat, the one he’d been meaning to give to the Larsons for two weeks now. A deep night breeze leaked through the slightly-open window to his right, the cold gnawing at the dampness that clung to his clothes, to his face and hair. He felt filthy, filmy, disgusting—more so than usual.

A muddle of memories and flickers and voices fought for space in his brain, bumping up against each other and overlapping, threads escaping every time he thought he’d grasped one. He was overcome, for a single surreal moment, by the sense he had just awoken from an exceedingly peculiar dream.

Nat Finch sat up, groaning.

Disturbed by the motion, plastic crinkled in his lap. A collection of granola bars was scattered over him, a few of them having tumbled down onto the seat next to him and the floor below. Like someone had dumped them unceremoniously over his head and just… left him like that.

He recognised the brand, vaguely—something hoity-toity and ridiculous he’d seen at the supermarket, fifteen dollars a goddamn box—but they weren’t something that had any business being anywhere near him. His bank balance barely scraped double digits at the moment.

“Who the fuck…” Nat paused, not sure what question he was even supposed to be asking. “Why the fuck…”

His attention edged upwards, to a scrap of cardboard folded neatly in two and perched atop his dashboard.

DO YOUR BEST! it read in a childlike handwritten scrawl.

Nat squinted harder. “What the fuck.”

He tried to think. His brain, sluggish and laden with fog and aching, refused to provide any context for the mystery shower of nutrition. Or the note.

Or… anything else, for that matter. He didn’t remember falling asleep; he didn’t remember stopping his car. He remembered leaving work, but it had barely been dusk when he’d left work and the trip from Stop ‘N’ Go to his apartment was fifteen minutes, tops.

It was not dusk anymore. The black outside was the pure solitude of the witching hour and the world beyond his window was silent, save for the buzz and pop of a single faulty streetlight a few metres ahead and the chittering gossip of crickets. No people. No cars. No movement.

Nat’s dread climbed. He craned his neck and strained to decipher his whereabouts. The lonely light offered only flimsy, spluttering illumination—some of it splashing into his car, some of it into dry grass and mesh fence lining the side of the road, most of it merely into the rumble of gravel directly beneath it. He had no idea where he was. He had no idea why he was where he was.

The disco ball hanging from his rear-view mirror glittered at him, blinking urgently.

He shoved the granola bars off himself, suddenly feeling contaminated. A strident, pulsating pain forked through every inch of his body at the movement—he gritted his teeth, letting out a hiss and a wince. The blanket went next, ripped from his shoulders and hurled at the opposing window in a multicoloured flurry. It crumpled to the passenger seat and Nat stared at it, prickling all over with the suspicion someone else had placed it on him. Someone else had been here. Watching. Leaning. Looming. Touching. His hand flew to the window winder and wound it, sealing the opening. Sealing himself in and the outside out.

And then he sat still, mind reeling, chest tight. Panic twisting in his stomach. He waited for his brain to kick over, for his memory to rush back, for the moment he shook free the dregs of post-sleep disorientation and went, Oh, that’s right! That’s why I’m here! That’s what’s going on! How could I have forgotten?

A minute passed.

And another.

Frozen.

Rigid.

Nat swallowed, hard. Nothing clicked into place. Nothing clicked and nothing clicked and nothing clicked. Why not? He’d left work and turned left down Rake Street like he always did. He’d done nothing out of the ordinary.

The night outside was alive. With every flicker-out of the streetlight, the dark whined at his window, still trying to reach him. A tapping, a whistling, a whispering in its own made-up language. Nat. Nat. Nat. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. The dark that should not have been there. The dark that should have been dusk.

He'd lost hours. Hours. What the hell had happened to him? The note on his dashboard sat there, smirking. It knew things he didn’t.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

Five things he could see were that gaudy leopard-print steering wheel cover, the smeared windscreen from too-old wipers, the radio, the hazard switch, his own hands, crusted in cracked, dried mud.

Four things he could feel were the press of the seat under him, the press of his work uniform over him, the sting of the cold on his feet, pain, pain, pain.

Three things he could hear were crickets and streetlights and dark.

Two things he could smell were the dull citrus hum of the vent-clip air freshener and the fact it was doing nothing to hide the fact he hadn’t showered in a while.

One thing he could taste was—

Okay, okay, alright. Okay. That would do it. Nat breathed in. Nat breathed out. Calm. Calm. Calm.

He reached gingerly for the ignition, exhaling in relief when he grasped the key still inside. He had that, at least. He hesitated, perched on an agonising threshold between hopeful anticipation and whatever reality was about to find him.

He turned the key.

Nothing.

He turned again.

Nothing. The car stuttered and clicked uselessly, refusing to start. Relief left him as quickly as it had arrived. Flat battery.

Nat breathed, “Ah, fuck.”

Nat breathed in.

Nat breathed out.

He twisted towards the back seat, feeling along the faux leather for his work backpack. He hauled it to himself and rammed an arm inside to seek his phone, shoving through a jumble of familiar shapes—notebook, hoodie, empty soft drink can for recycling, empty soft drink can for recycling, gum, nametag—ah, there it was.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Nat whined, his finger colliding with the power button. “Please, please, please—”

Nothing. Flat battery.

Nat breathed in.

Nat plonked his forehead back down on the steering wheel and released a long, agonised wail.

Simmering anxiety climbed into roiling terror. Terror branched sideways into paranoia. Paranoia bloomed up through his chest and into his throat, where it squeezed tight and threatened to choke him. He’d lost hours. Anything could have happened to him. Anything could have been done to him.

The dark outside mocked and laughed. The disco ball blinked its rhythmic little warnings. He could feel it all, even when he wasn’t looking.

Nathaniel. Something’s wrong. Nathaniel.

“No shit,” he muttered back.

What next?

He lifted his head and flipped the sun visor down to look at himself in the mirror. With no phone screen and no overhead light to guide him, it was hard to get a full picture. He tilted his head, twisted his neck, attempted to catch himself on some jittering streetlight. He snagged a few glimpses—a dribble of blood from a presumably cracked lip here, a smudge of dirt on a cheekbone there. The collar of his shirt looked bloody, too. His hair wasn’t sitting right, tangled black all caked together and hanging in thick clumps. Two trembling hands lifted, the quiver partially from weakness and partially from fear, and Nat gripped at his face. Tugging along those familiar edges and curves and juts, finding them not so familiar. Finding them wrong. Hollow. Caved in. His fingertips wandered down towards his jaw—

—and along the thick, uneven mumbling of stubble that hadn’t been there when he’d left the apartment that morning.

Nat’s heartbeat tripped up. He hadn’t lost hours.

He’d lost days.

Nat breathed in. And in. And in. Not enough. Too fast. His chest heaved. His lungs refused to fill.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t have lost days. He couldn’t have lost days. Jesus Christ, Nat had never been the shining poster child of mental health, but he’d never lost days. He’d been God knew where for God knew how long. He’d been—his feet were bare, his hands and face were streaked with mud, someone had clearly been messing around in his car—he’d been taken. Drugged. Kidnapped. That scribbled note? Do your best? He was being toyed with, probably by some deranged serial killer. And what was with the granola bars? Some kind of clue? A message?

He had to go. Run. Get help. Something close to a whimper climbed up his throat and fell from his lips. His hand crept to the door handle and stopped.

He’d seen horror movies. Not many, but enough. The chase, the hunt, the twisted mind games before the inevitable kill… these were part of the fun. There was probably someone watching him right now, folded into the shadows and out of sight, waiting for him to panic. Waiting for him to make his first mistake and step outside.

Waiting for him to start the game.

He couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t stay.

Could he stay? Could he just wait it out? Someone would find him. Someone would look for him. Someone would look for him, right?

No, no one would look for him. No one would care enough that he was gone.

No, there was no way they’d let him wait this out, whoever they were. They would find some way to lure him out, drive him out, force him into the waiting hands of the night air. Unprotected. Alone. All at once Nat felt a million eyes boring into him, leering from beyond the black, drinking in his every move. He shoved himself lower in his seat, clutching his dead phone to his chest.

Nat fought to breathe in.

Nat fought to breathe out.

He tried a final time to reason with himself.

When he’d worked twelve hour shifts four days straight, he’d started being dogged by the idea that someone had snuck a microscopic tracking device into his takeaway pizza, which he had subsequently consumed. When he’d been behind on rent for the third fortnight in a row, he’d become fixated on the idea that other customers in the supermarket were reading his thoughts and laughing at him. Look at this fucking loser. Grimy hair and track pants. Can’t even afford instant ramen.

Panic and stress tended to climb on top of him bit by bit. Panic and stress tended to twist all kinds of everyday events into all kinds of unnatural, terrifying shapes. It was normal. Even the tiny, audible hints of speech pushing through the dark, giving voice to his anxiety, those were normal under the right circumstances. It was all… no, not normal. It was a pattern. Tomorrow, he’d be fine. Tomorrow, he’d understand he’d never been in any danger.

So even though he was here now, helpless and stranded in the empty night, barefoot and filthy, abandoned by his memories and surrounded by leering scrawled words and fucking rich-people granola bars—he had to take this moment of clarity and hold it tight.

Tomorrow, this would all make sense.

DO YOUR BEST! the dark around him sang.

“Go to hell,” Nat spat.

And with that, he wrenched the door open.

[ledesaid]

Someone once told me ╚-.╚-.╚-.╚-.

..............................................

"Don't trust strangers..."

I think I had no choice when I met him.

The lights of the trains passing through my station were new, this section of the route was closed, but they pass so quickly that they barely illuminate the entire station.

But that station felt smaller than I usually remember.

It felt so lonely.

I felt trapped.

There was only one way out. I knew it, the echo resonating through the tunnels invited me every hour without fail to get on that train. I've lost count of how many times it has stopped and started again.

I may not know about equations, but I know that something entered the station and did something.

But I couldn't ask and was tied up, literally trapped.

The exit of the station had disappeared and an invisible force pushed me away from the train tracks.

I would be desperate, I really was, but I couldn't ask for help... I thought that if they were my last moments, they would be fine, always and whenever they stopped.

The train stopped every six hours, waited five minutes, and then left again.

Maybe I could have watched this for weeks, but I felt so tired that I knew I could only withstand one more cycle of the train, there was only one bottle of water and two granola bars left.

It was unfair that I had no choice...

But at least, as a mark of my passage through the world, I took a can of paint that someone had left and began to write on the station floor:

"Hello, my name is Billy Batson. I am nine years old and I'm going to get on an unknown train."

"This sucks, please call Superman for me."

For my tired self, I couldn't think of anything better at the moment, I had no friends, parents, or anyone close... That still hurts even now.

When the doors opened for the last time, I knew it was over... I knew it was time and I just took what little I had with me. A stuffed animal, a blanket, and half my bottle of water.

The train didn't take long to move forward as it usually did, I realized it was a trap, but I didn't try to get off and just sat and waited.

The windows only illuminated the stations very quickly like flashes and, after a few minutes, there was only a blinding light that disoriented me.

I tasted fear in my throat, held on to the only thing I had... a small tiger stuffed animal, and begged for it to end soon.

At some point, I fell asleep, but when I opened my eyes, the doors were open and I believed I was alone again...

I decided to get off. I had no other choice.

Billy: "Come on Batson, you can do it..." I tried not to cower before the unknown.

To my surprise, there was no station to welcome me, only a dark cave in its place.

***: "Welcome William, I have been waiting for you for a long time..."

Billy: "Who are you? Why am I here?"

***: "I am the wizard Shazam and you have been chosen as the champion of magic."

Billy: "I want to leave."

Shazam: "You have no choice. The Olympians have chosen you and you just answered the call."

Billy: "You forced me to get on the train."

Shazam: "It's an honor to be chosen, William, and you only need to say my name 'Shazam' and you will be able to walk among mortals carrying my power with you to protect magic. The end of my era has come, good luck Captain Marvel, you will need it..."

I still have nightmares about a giant rock crushing the wizard I had just met.

Two days later I couldn't take it anymore and invoked the wizard's name... One week later I saved Fawcett, six months later they offered me to join the league and now, two years later, I'm telling you my story... I really, really didn't expect to tell this to anyone... I'm glad you're just an AI, Sanctuary.

Billy: "I must go now, thanks for just listening..."

Sanctuary: "Thank you for your service Captain Marvel, even if it was imposed on you, you have saved many lives. Thank you for getting on the train."

Billy: "You're welcome, I suppose... I had no choice and really, even now, I don't feel like I have one."

[nemo-writes]

𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 ; 𝚜𝚒𝚡 - 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎

➝ steve harrington + eddie munson x loser-club!reader

➝ synopsis; a lighthearted arcade trip takes a strange turn, leaving behind a lingering unease. as new bonds form and tensions simmer, the quiet hum of hawkins hints at deeper mysteries waiting to surface.

⚠️ warnings; none

⟡ story masterlist ; previous I next

✦ word count: 3.6k

Eddie was in a mood.

As he drove you home—a habit that had started to feel suspiciously routine—he drummed his ringed fingers against the steering wheel, his brows furrowed and lips pursed in what could only be described as a full-on pout.  

“Can’t believe you invited Harrington to The Hideout,” he muttered for the third time since leaving the tight and noisy bar.  

You sighed, leaning your head against the window and watching the dark streets of Hawkins blur by. “I didn’t invite him. I just told him he should drop by if he wanted. Big difference.”  

“Same thing,” Eddie huffed, gripping the wheel tighter. “The Hideout supposed to be for the misunderstood, the black sheep, the... the different, not Hawkins’ ex-royalty!”  

You rolled your eyes. “You're such a baby.”  

Eddie ignored your comment, instead glaring at the road like it had personally offended him. “You even missed the best set we’ve ever done because you were too busy playing babysitter.”  

You sighed. “I was taking my break, Eddie. And—”  

“Oh, sure, yeah” His tone dripped with mockery as he glanced at you again. “Likely excuse. You’ve got no idea how hard I worked on that setlist. I poured my soul into it, and you didn’t even care to stay!”  

As the van pulled into the trailer park, he slowed to a stop near your trailer but didn’t put it in park. Instead, he turned to you, his pout intensifying. “It’s fine, though. Really. Who needs support from their friends? Not me.”  

Fed up with his theatrics, you unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the door. “Stay here,” you said sternly, pointing a finger at him as you climbed out.  

Eddie blinked, surprised by the sudden command. “What—wait, what are you—”  

You didn’t answer, instead stomping up to your trailer, yanking the door open, and disappearing inside.  

Eddie leaned out the van window, calling after you. “If you’re getting a granola bar, you’d better grab one for me!”  

Ignoring him, you rummaged through your things until you found what you were looking for: your sketchbook. Your stomach churned with a mix of determination and embarrassment as you flipped to the right pages and headed back outside.  

Eddie was still hanging halfway out of the van window when you approached, your sketchbook clutched tightly in your hands.  

“Here,” you said, shoving it toward him.  

He took the sketchbook, raising an eyebrow at you before flipping it open. The first few drawings were a mix of landscapes and fantasy-like creatures—dragons, castles, armoured knights. His eyes lit up immediately, his earlier grumpiness melting away.  

“This is...” He paused, flipping through more pages. “Holy shit, this is good.”  

You shifted on your feet, crossing your arms tightly over your chest “Keep flipping.”  

When he turned to the last page, he froze. There, in a mix of soft pencil strokes and intricate detail, was a drawing of him—clad in long robes, a staff in hand, and wild curls framing his face. You’d tried to capture him as a wizard, complete with rings glinting on his fingers and a mischievous grin that felt unmistakably Eddie.  

For a moment, he didn’t move. His mouth hung open slightly as he stared at the sketch, his eyes wide.  

Then he squealed.  

Not a small, subtle squeak, but a full-blown, high-pitched squeal that startled you so much you took a step back.  

Before you could react, Eddie jumped out of the van, still clutching the sketchbook. “Are you kidding me?!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement. “This is the most metal thing I’ve ever seen!”  

You flushed, taking a step back as he advanced on you, practically vibrating with energy. “It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “I was just messing around—”  

But Eddie cut you off by wrapping you in a sudden, tight hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you around in a blur of wild curls and laughter.  

“You made me a wizard!” he yelled, his voice gleeful. “I’m a goddamn wizard!”  

“Eddie—put me down!” you yelped, smacking his shoulder as your feet dangled in the air.  

He finally set you down, clutching your sketchbook to his chest like it was his most prized possession. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, his earlier grumpiness completely forgotten.  

“You’re incredible,” he said earnestly, his grin so wide it almost hurt to look at.  

You groaned, hiding your burning face in your hands. “Don’t make it weird, Eddie.”  

“Too late!” he shot back, holding the sketchbook up like a trophy. 

“Eddie,” you warned, but the laugh in your voice betrayed your amusement.  

He turned toward the van, sketchbook clutched tightly to his chest like a dragon with its hoard. "This is going in a frame!" he declared, his grin wide and gleeful. "I’m telling everyone—"  

“Not so fast,” you interrupted, grabbing the back of his jacket like you were wrangling an overexcited child.  

He stumbled to a halt, spinning to face you with wide, confused eyes. “What? What’s wrong?”  

You snatched the sketchbook out of his hands, flipping it open while he squawked in protest. “Hey! That’s my treasure!”  

Ignoring him, you carefully tore the pages with the fantasy drawings out of the sketchbook. Your movements were precise, making sure not to damage them as you handed the loose pages back to him.  

“Here,” you said, thrusting the stack into his hands. “Take these. But the sketchbook stays with me.”  

Eddie blinked down at the drawings, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then his face lit up all over again, his earlier distress forgotten. “You’re the best,” he said, grasping the pages to his chest like they were the Holy Grail.  

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, tucking your sketchbook safely under your arm. “Just don’t get carried away.”  

He beamed at you, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “No promises!”  

You watched as he climbed back into the van, still cradling the drawings like priceless artefacts. Before he drove off, he leaned out the window, waving the pages in the air.  

“Dungeon Master Eddie lives on, thanks to you!” he shouted dramatically.  

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as he disappeared down the path. Eddie Munson was exhausting—but in moments like this, it was hard to stay mad at him. 

.

.

.

Wednesday 5, March 1986, Hawkins, Indiana

The next morning, you woke up later than usual. The faint sunlight filtered through the cracks in your blinds, painting warm streaks across the walls of your cramped trailer. Stretching lazily, you pulled yourself out of bed and shuffled into the tiny kitchenette to make your favourite morning drink.  

Still in what you slept in—an old, oversized shirt and some ratty old pyjama pants—you stepped outside with your cup, savouring the quiet of the morning. The cool air was refreshing, and you raised the mug to your lips, ready for your first sip—  

But then you spotted Max.  

She was getting out of her own trailer, backpack slung over one shoulder, her skateboard under the other arm. The way she glanced around made it clear she wasn’t heading to school.  

You raised your cup and called out, “Skipping?”  

Max jumped, her head whipping toward you, her cheeks instantly flushing red.  

“Shhh!” she hissed, holding a finger to her lips. “Be quiet!”  

You arched an eyebrow, lowering your cup as you leaned against the side of your trailer. “Why? You worried someone’s gonna report you to the truancy police?”  

Max scowled, shifting her backpack nervously. “I don’t need everyone in this place knowing my business, okay?”  

You smirked, watching her with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Fair enough. So, where are you sneaking off to, then? Doesn’t look like school.”  

Her blush deepened, and she crossed her arms defensively. “None of your business.”  

You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink. “Relax, I’m not gonna narc on you.”  

She seemed to consider this for a moment, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though she still eyed you warily. “You better not,” she muttered.  

“Promise,” you said with a faint grin, holding up your mug like a toast. “Scout’s honour.”  

Max rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath as she adjusted her backpack. “Whatever.”  

You watched her for a moment, the guarded way she clutched her skateboard and backpack, like she was bracing herself for something. There was something familiar about it, something that struck a chord deep inside you. You weren’t one to push, but this time, you couldn’t help it.  

“Hey, Max,” you called, stopping her in her tracks again.  

She turned back, her expression wary. “What now?”  

You took another sip of your drink, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Wanna go to the arcade?”  

Max blinked, caught completely off guard. “The arcade?”  

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging casually. “I’m buying. Could use some competition. Plus, I still haven’t decided if beating your score was beginner’s luck or actual skill.”  

Her cheeks flushed again, though this time it was more from indignation than embarrassment. “You’re joking, right?”  

“Do I look like I’m joking?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.  

She hesitated, her eyes darting to the ground as she chewed on her bottom lip. “Aren’t you, like... busy or something?”  

You snorted, holding up your mug. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is about the most productive thing I’ve done all morning. I’ve got time.”  

Max shifted her weight, clearly debating whether to take you up on the offer. Finally, she sighed, her shoulders relaxing just a little. “Okay, fine. But only if you don’t get all weird about it.”  

“Weird?” you echoed, smirking. “Define weird.”  

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”  

“Noted,” you said, draining the rest of your drink before setting the mug on the railing of your trailer steps. “Give me five minutes to change, and we’ll go.”  

Max stared at you, still slightly suspicious but also visibly curious. “You’re serious?”  

“Dead serious,” you replied as you stepped back inside your trailer. “Be ready when I’m done!”  

True to your word, five minutes later, you emerged in something more presentable, grabbing your keys and wallet as Max waited awkwardly by your trailer.  

“Let’s go,” you said, motioning for her to follow as you started toward the arcade.  

She fell into step beside you, her usual frown softening just a little. “You’re really treating me?”  

You nodded, glancing at her out of the corner of your eye. “Yup. But if you lose to me, you’re never living it down.”  

Max snorted, finally cracking a small, genuine smile. “You wish.”  

The walk to the arcade was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Max eventually got into her skateboard, rolling slowly along beside you, her wheels crunching softly against the uneven sidewalk. You kept your gaze forward, hands in your pockets, perfectly content with the silence.

Max, on the other hand, kept sneaking glances at you, clearly trying to figure out why you weren’t trying to fill the quiet with small talk or questions. Most adults—or anyone older than her, really—always felt the need to talk. But you didn’t.

She studied your relaxed expression, her brow furrowing slightly, like she couldn’t quite wrap her head around it. Eventually, she stopped looking and just rolled along beside you, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as if in approval.

When you finally reached the arcade, the faint hum of machines and game soundtracks spilled out from inside.

“Ready to lose?” Max asked, her voice laced with competitive fire.

You smirked, pushing open the door and stepping aside to let her in first. “Let’s see if you’re still as good as you think you are.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin as she stepped inside, immediately making a beeline for her favourite machine.

For the next hour, the two of you threw yourselves into game after game. Max dominated most rounds with her lightning-quick reflexes and uncanny ability to memorise patterns, but you managed to sneak in a few wins here and there, much to her annoyance—and your smug satisfaction.

“You’re cheating,” she accused after one particularly close round, narrowing her eyes at you.

“Setting traps isn’t cheating,” you said with a shrug, leaning against the machine as she selected the next game. “It's strategy. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She scoffed, but her grin widened as she hopped back into the game, determined to win.

As the games went on, you noticed the tension in her posture ease. Her frown had all but disappeared, replaced by small, fleeting smiles, and her laughter—rare and genuine—came more freely now.

But you didn’t comment on it. The last thing Max needed was someone pointing out her improved mood like it was a prize to be celebrated. You let her be, letting the games and the competition speak for themselves.

After a particularly close game where Max won by a narrow margin, she leaned casually on the machine, looking up at you with a mix of curiosity and satisfaction.

“Where’d you learn to play?” she asked, her tone light but genuinely interested.

The question caught you off guard. Something about the simplicity of it—it shouldn’t have been difficult to answer, but it was.

“Back home,” you started, the words feeling hollow the moment they left your mouth. You frowned slightly, the edges of your memories blurring as you tried to focus. “I... I think I used to play with some friends.”

“You think?” Max asked, her brow furrowing as she studied your expression.

You straightened, your hands tightening slightly on the edge of the machine. “Yeah, I think,” you said, frustration creeping into your tone. “I just... I don’t remember exactly.”

Max tilted her head, her gaze sharpening as she watched you. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

You didn’t answer, your chest tightening as you tried and failed to piece together the details. You knew you’d played. You remembered the laughter and cursing, the feeling of the buttons beneath your fingers, but the names and places—it was all just out of reach.

Before you could say more, a loud banging sound broke through your thoughts.

Your head snapped to the left, where the exit door stood. The sound came again, sharp and persistent, like someone pounding their fists against the metal.

Each knock reverberated through you. It wasn’t just loud—it was desperate, frantic, as if whoever was on the other side was trying to push their way in.

“Hello?” you called out instinctively, stepping back from the machine.

Max looked at you, confused. “What are you talking about?”

The banging grew louder, more erratic, and you couldn’t look away. Your heart pounded in your chest as the sound filled the arcade, drowning out everything else.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

The silence that followed was deafening, but your head felt like it was swimming. The metallic taste of blood hit your tongue, and you instinctively reached up to your nose, feeling the warm, sticky trickle.

“Hey!” Max’s voice broke through the fog, sharp and concerned. She stepped in front of you and as she grabbed your arm, as if to steady you. “Are you okay?”

You blinked at her, trying to ground yourself. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said, pointing at your nose, her tone carefully neutral.

You touched your face again, this time pulling your hand away to see the blood on your fingers. “It’s fine,” you muttered, but your voice sounded distant, even to yourself.

“Fine? Seriously?” Max shot back, her scepticism cutting through the haze in your mind.

For a moment, it looked like she might say something else, something important, but she clamped her mouth shut. Instead, she dug into her pocket, pulling out a crumpled tissue.

“Here,” she said, handing it to you.

When you didn’t take it right away, she rolled her eyes and stepped closer, using the tissue to gently wipe at the blood trailing down your face.

“Hold still,” she muttered, her touch surprisingly careful.

You let her clean you up, too dazed to protest. When she was done, she handed you the tissue. 

“What were you even looking at?” she asked finally, her voice quieter now.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to shake it off. “Nothing,” you said quickly, stepping away from the machine. 

Max frowned, her concern not fading. “You should sit down or something. You don’t look too  great.”

You nodded numbly, letting her guide you to one of the benches near the corner of the arcade. As you sat down, wiping at your nose with the tissue, your thoughts raced.

The banging. The desperation. It was like a distant echo of something familiar—a dream perhaps. 

Max sat heavily next to you. “Seriously, what happened back there?” she asked, her voice softer now.

You shook your head, trying to muster a small smile. “Probably just tired,” you said, though the unease curling in your chest told a different story. Max didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press further. For that, you were grateful.

Deciding you’d had enough of the arcade—and enough strange occurrences for one day—you both opted to leave. Your stomach rumbled faintly, reminding you that you hadn’t eaten much yet, and grabbing something to eat felt like a good plan.  

As you stepped outside, the bright midday sun momentarily blinded you. Blinking against the glare, you spotted a familiar car pulling into the parking lot. None other than Steve and Robin climbed out, both dressed in the unmistakable green vests of Family Video.  

Robin was the first to spot you, her face lighting up as she waved enthusiastically. “Hey! It’s my favourite bartender!” she called out, striding across the parking lot toward you with Steve trailing behind, his expression strangely less than thrilled.  

“Hey, Robin,” you said, giving her a small wave as she stopped in front of you.  

Steve, however, wasn’t looking at you—his eyes had zeroed in on Max, who was still standing nearby with her skateboard.  

“Max,” Steve said, his tone sharp and familiar.  

You look between the two. Ah, so they knew each other.

Max froze mid-motion, her mood souring instantly. “What now?”  

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?” he shot back, crossing his arms. “You’re supposed to be in school. You know, that place where kids go during the day?”  

Max scowled, her earlier guardedness slamming back into place. “Whatever, it’s not like you’re my dad.”  

“No, but I care!” he said, throwing his arms up. 

Max huffed, clearly done with the conversation. She turned to you, her lips pressed into a tight line. “Thanks for the games,” she muttered, giving you a quick wave before hopping onto her skateboard.  

You watched her push off down the sidewalk, her posture stiff and her movements clipped.  

Robin sighed loudly, throwing Steve a pointed look as she crossed her arms. “Nice going, Dad,” she said sarcastically.  

You raised an eyebrow at him, silently echoing her sentiment.  

“What?” Steve exclaimed, crossing his arms defensively. “She should be in school!”  

Robin groaned, shaking her head. “You’ve got the subtlety of a sledgehammer, Harrington.”  

Steve turned to you for backup, his brows furrowing. “Come on, back me up here. She shouldn’t be skipping school, right?”  

You gave him a flat look, taking a step past him. “Not my circus, not my monkeys,” you said dryly, though you couldn’t hide the faint smirk tugging at your lips.  

Robin snorted, clearly enjoying your response, and Steve let out an exaggerated groan.  

“Fine, whatever,” he muttered, adjusting his vest. “You two are impossible.”  

Robin patted his arm with mock sympathy before turning back to you. “You sticking around, or do you have a shift later?”  

“I’ve got work tonight,” you said, glancing down the street where Max had disappeared. “I was just about to grab something to eat first.”  

“Well, don’t let Captain Buzzkill here ruin your day,” Robin said, shooting a playful glare at Steve. “Catch you around?”  

“Sure,” you replied with a small smile, shoving your hands into your pockets.  

Robin waved cheerfully as she headed toward the video store, while Steve lingered for a moment longer, still looking vaguely disgruntled. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing in the direction Max had disappeared on her skateboard.  

“She hasn’t been doing great lately,” he said quietly, more to himself than to you.  

You paused, studying his face. His exasperation was gone, replaced by genuine concern.

“Max, I mean,” he continued, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. “It’s been rough for her, you know? And she’s not exactly the type to let anyone in, even when she really should.”  

You nodded, not sure what to say. It wasn’t like Max had poured her heart out to you either, but you’d noticed her walls, her guardedness.  

Steve glanced at you, his brows furrowed slightly. “So... thanks. For whatever you did to make her, I don’t know, laugh or smile or whatever. It helps.”  

“Wasn’t much,” you said, shrugging. “We just played some games.”  

“Still,” he said, his voice almost begrudging. “She seemed happy when I saw her with you. So, yeah. Thanks.”  

For a moment, the air between you was quiet. Steve looked thoughtful, and then, as if realising he’d let himself be too earnest, he cleared his throat and straightened up.  

“Anyway,” he said, his tone a little too casual now, “I’d better get inside before Robin starts rearranging the horror section again.”  

You smirked faintly, watching him retreat toward the store. “See you around, Steve.”  

He gave you a small wave over his shoulder before stepping inside, leaving you alone on the sidewalk. His words stayed with you, though, as you continued on your way, your thoughts swirling with questions about Max, her walls, and the glimpses of vulnerability you’d seen in both her and Steve.  

divider credit

[katakosmos]

imagine barty working at the ministry. it's been his lifelong dream, ever since he was 6 years old and he tried to follow his dad to work just because... wow. the ministry. the center of all wizarding england politics. he's worked so hard, both at school and at home, just to be there and he finally arranged his first job interview (in a horrible department where he only has to catalog documents, day and night). he hasn't slept properly in a week, he eats only granola bars and drinks whatever weird drink wizards have that's similar to coffee. and he hates it, he hates working at the ministry so much that it makes his skin boil.

his childhood dream shattered into a thousand pieces. really sad. but barty has been living with this disappointment since he was 13, and he realized that the government didn't care about him at all. it had no concern for the well-being of the citizens it was supposed to protect. it didn't help him when he was a student by giving him with a terrible education; it didn't protect the half-bloods and muggle-borns who disappeared from the streets even in broad daylight; it didn't help the workers with a minimum wage and a family to feed. it didn't do anything. the ministry.

but the death eaters did. they did something. and that's why he works at the ministry now, the last place on earth he'd want to be. he thinks back to his sixteen-year-old self, and how crazy he would have been to know that only a year later he would end up there, at the ministry (if that was what a bunch of ignorant, incompetent politicians could still be called).

at the end of his seventh year at hogwarts he was stressed about his future. barty didn't want to disappoint his father, he didn't want to lose his admiration. yet he didn't know what he was going to do with his life... until regulus black, that sickly slytherin boy, took him aside and told him that he knew the death eaters. that he was part of them. barty had been reading their articles on the newspapers for years, he admired them as he could never admire anyone else: they were determined revolutionaries, the only ones capable of changing the future and saving the country's politics. regulus asked barty if he wanted to become a death eater too. and barty, of course, said yes.

so now he works at the ministry, in front of the desk of a dumb politician who's too pleased with his stupid and useless reforms. so sure of himself, he doesn't even think that barty can read all his confidential documents as soon as he leaves his office. barty has been gathering information for months. he's a rat. a spy. whatever you want to call it. by day, he listens; by night, he talks. he reports everything to voldemort. he has stopped sleeping, and sometimes he falls asleep on his desk in the evening and is awakened by an itch on his forearm, that he's always so careful to cover. and that's how he knows that his master is calling him. he leaves the ministry without eating his dinner. he doesn't even have breakfast and lunch anymore, he barely eats. his mother is worried. but barty's happy, because he knows that when evening comes he can see them again. the death eaters.

they are a large group of very different people, all with very different interests and goals. barty doesn't like everyone. like, the lestranges: he doesn't agree with the use of curses, and he thinks that blood prejudices are stupid bigotry of the past. voldemort doesn't say anything about it, though. he never says anything, it's impossible to understand what he thinks. barty only knows that he's the enemy of the ministry, and that's the important thing. voldemort wants to change the country, great. it doesn't matter if he's crazy or if he kills someone, barty doesn't care. it won't be his problem anyway, his family is part of the sacred 28.

what is really important now is to change the future.

the ministry doesn't do anything. the death eaters do. with his help, they'll certainly do something. barty is sure of that.

[thisnameisnotspokenfor]

My cringy oc/take on the player from poppy playtime

((I'll draw her soon))

((please forgive any mistakes in the timeline- I'm winging this guys! Also sorry that it's long.))

Name: Philomena W, or Phil

Height: 5'2 - 5'3 (very small)

Age: mid 20's- early 30's (idk)

Trivia:

-is actually pretty good at science

-suffers from complicated grief/survivor's guilt

-took a lot of gymnastic classes and has a black belt in judo

-is of african american and greek heritage.

-is addicted to granola, nutella and energy bars (she packed quite a few and is currently working on introducing them to most of the friendly toys- spoiler alert that hasn't gone well.)

-has always been terrified of huggy (even as a kid she'd scream and cry at the 'statue')

-her uncle was a high-ranking executive at the company

-has a simon smoke companion that follows her around (it's the same one Harley Sawyer tried to make her kill)

-despite being a naturally quiet person, a work accident left her vocal chords injured, hence why she rarely if ever speaks. (the longer she spends in the factory the more she does talk to the toys tho)

History:

-my take has the player as a female/daughter of one of the people who were selected for Ludwig's young genius program. He was ecstatic when he was called back, and worked as a scientist for a bit. He encouraged Phil to pursue her love of science to the fullest extent.

-Her mom also worked at Playtime co- as an executive (somewhere in the middle) and gave tours. can sometimes remember going on tours and meeting/seeing the poppy doll. She always wanted one- but her father refused to buy her a poppy doll (or any toys made by playtime co for that matter). His growing weariness and fear of the company confused her, but he always refused to elaborate to her, until one night after overhearing him argue with her uncle, he and her mother left to go buy supplies for her science fair project as they'd promised her, completely oblivious to the awaiting accident that would promptly take their lives, leaving Phil an orphan.

Phil was devastated, unable to believe that her parents, her home and her world was gone, until Playtime co came forward, offering to take her in. Transitioning in playcare was hard. She wasn't exceptional at the games in the translation nor was she like the other kids who'd practically grown up there and the toys (at least she thought they were toys) frightened her. Fortunately she was able to form a few friendships with a girl named Riley who'd also lost her parents, and a kind young man named Matthew, who would read about wizards to her and the rest of the children.

But her time in playcare was cut short as her uncle stepped in, swiftly adopting her as she said goodbye to the other children, promising to visit them (she also promised Matthew that she'd get the final Word the Wizard book for him to read). She'd been especially elated to learn of Riley also being adopted on the same day, and the two promised to meet soon (a promise that would sadly never be materialized)

Time passed as Phil grew, interning at the company as she would often try to sneak into the orphanage to see her friends. However, she noticed that most were gone, having left behind no trace nor clue of where they'd disappeared to, all that she'd heard some of the workers say was that they'd been chosen for 'testing'. Whatever that was.

But wanting to honor both her friends and the spirit of Ludwig, Phil decided that she too would someday adopt if only to give a kid a chance.

However it would all come to a head as after graduating, Phil changed her name and managed to get a job as a scientist there at playtime co. She was far too low-ranking to know anything (she didn't want to be anywhere near that Sawyer guy who hated her parent's guts) and often visited the orphans in secret, (sneaking them toys and candy) and even developed a close connection with one. But when she'd tried to adopt them, and had learned that the child she sought was undergoing 'testing' which horrified her.

((I can't exactly describe how it all goes next- but she ends up getting angry and storming out of playcare which ultimately leads to her getting into an accident that damages her vocal chords)) She wakes up in the hospital with her uncle berating her- warning her to not mess with the company and make it any harder for him as he'd promised her father to keep her safe, only for her to place a target on her back now.

Sensing that he's said the wrong thing, her uncle promises to explain everything to her after he comes from work the next day.

Only he never does, in fact save for a handful, no one makes it out of the factory that day, nor do they have any answers for the other's disappearance.

Moving on wasn't an easy affair for Phil, as she'd often found herself wandering to the outside of the factory, watching trucks of extraction teams enter into the factory, often in far greater numbers than those that left, until one day everything stopped.

It had seemed the world had forgotten about playtime co.

But not Phil, and when she'd received that note it was all she needed to read before she'd found herself headed straight back to the factory.

((unnecessary fun fact: the only things she's packed is granola/energy bars, a ton of water, flowers (for her uncle's grave) and the last book of word the wizard.

[vulcajes]

first lines tag!

Thank you for the tag @del-stars <33

Our Last Summer

It was 2 months before Harry's wedding when he found his mother's diary. It was completely by accident, just trying to find an old childhood photo to show Ginny and his friends, the book had just appeared in a drawer it had never been in before.

Just Take My Wallet

Another day in Azkaban. Once again, Sirius was haunted by the sound of the screams and deranged cries of the other inmates. It was inescapable in that place, screeches and cackles filling the air so that even if you weren't mad when you got there, it wouldn't take long for you to lose it.

Lily Evans Does Something Really Cool

It was four in the morning and Lily Evans had had enough. She packed a black backpack slowly, curating exactly what she needed to go through with her plan. Gun, silencer, granola bar, water bottle. All she felt she needed to carry things out.

The Day The Sun Burst

When Sirius knocked on the door at a little cottage in Godric's Hollow, he was smiling. When the door creaked open at his touch, the smiles stopped. Slowly entering the small family home, the first thing he saw was a hand, cold and lifeless, unfurled on the floor.

Nothing's New

Remus had been lying in bed for the past two days. He found himself unable to get up, unable to function in normal wizarding society. Those two days had flown by without him really noticing, the mundane weekend came and went without Remus taking even the slightest notice of it.

The Bones I'm About To Leave

Midnight had came and went when Sirius finally sat up in his bed, his breath dancing in front of him. Mid-December, the beginning of the Christmas break, and the start of something better.

Np tags: @twogolddoubloons89 @toad-mp3 @queermoons @juniperpyre @katakosmos <3 (if you've already done this my bad just ignore the tag)

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @mysticstarlightduck!

OC Favourites

Rules: Fill out a list of your oc's favorite things and add some pictures of them

Astra DuClaire ✨️

Color: Plum purple

Season: Fall

Shoe Choice: Cowboy boots

Weapon: Runes

Food: Potato stew with bacon

Drink: Sweet tea

Style: Cowboy wizard but she got it all thrifted

Mode of Transportation: Mechanical vardo

Animal: Cat (specifically her cat, Mercher's Day)

Pastime: Embroidery, magical research, listening to live music

Breakfast: Granola bar or nothing

Personality: A bit standoffish, but secretly very extroverted

Favorite songs:

(Gotta have that sploinky base, you know?)

I'll tag @bookwormclover @telltaletoad @sableglass @sageswriting @riveriafalll and anyone else who wants in :)

(Blanks under the cut)

Color: Season: Shoe Choice: Weapon: Food: Drink: Style: Mode of Transportation: Animal: Pastime: Breakfast: Personality: Songs:

[3hobbitsinatrenchcoat]

I'm playing my Wednesday D&D game in which I am a lil goblin time wizard and the party parent figure wanted to make sure I ate breakfast.

Me: "Yeah, I had wizard breakfast."

Them: "What is... wizard breakfast?"

Me: "Small and portable, doesn't need utinsils. Granola bar, yogurt cup, fantasy gogurt."

Them: "Did you just describe your own breakfast?"

Me: "Yeah but it checks out."

ANYWAY, I am referring to my highly portable on the move breakfast as "Wizard Breakfast" from now on.

[i-cant-believe-its-not-silk]

Dracula flow quotes but they're so much worse

We smoking that childhood friend netoraie.

No one expects that Morgan Freeman gussy.

We was smoking melatonin, Got that Sandman asking for hazard pay.

I was out charting the gender spectrum when the kill squad came, They should have known, They didn't.

They sent me too the mines but I just started peeling carrots.

Smokey the bear with that smoking hot wear, You're a furry now bitch.

I taught my woman how to do math, now she spitting fire like a witch.

My granola bars ask for permission.

The doors are screaming and I'm in the shower eating soap.

I pay my enforcers in exposure.

I expected the Spanish inquisition.

Vampire tried to steal my blood little did she know I was zooming on that brimstone and garlic butter.

I get bought by the Blahaj I'm moving different.

The last thing he heard before I ultra booty blasted his ass with my revovler was me screaming my attack name before I let the shadow wizards take him.

I sold my soul for 67 human teeth.

Team rocket challenged me to a poke battle I pulled out that Glock.

My fingers were itching I pulled out that bonesaw.

I put the fire mage in a cave, we smoking vacuums.

we smoking dungeon cores.

I don't care if I get vaccinated I'm already autistic.

Call my bitch Autistic Enterocolitis the way she destroys my asshole.

Musicians summon me by playing tritones.

We smoking bubonic doctors.

I'm Nurgle's wet dream walking different.

I kept my bones from joining skeleton war.

My trans-gun stuck on corpse mode.

I jumped on the trampoline until i fell through it.

I don't move around the fire, I just sit inside the smoke.

we in that campfire pinewood smoke.

we snuffing them M1 Garand vapers.

ambulances slow down for me.

we sniffing that swamp fog.

I say … out loud in my conversations.

I go for the kneecaps I don't even care if they sue me.

Ain't no one gonna see me without my emotional support racoon girl.

I've never even seen a marvel movie.

Reach for my armpit I'll turn you into a musk slut.

Its over now you are welcome.

I take no responsibility for my autistic rizz.

[wdblog]

Embracing Plant-Powered Snacking: Our Vegan Journey from Seed to Snack

Vegan snacks offer a plethora of benefits that make them a fantastic choice for your overall health and well-being. They are typically loaded with essential nutrients such as vitamins, minerals, fiber and antioxidants. Plant-based ingredients like fruits, vegetables, nuts, seeds, and whole grains are rich sources of these vital nutrients, promoting overall health and vitality. Animal-based snacks often contain high levels of saturated fat, which can contribute to various health issues such as heart disease and obesity. In contrast, vegan snacks are generally lower in saturated fat, making them a heart-healthy choice that supports cardiovascular well-being. Overall, plant-based snacks lower the risk of heart disease, aid in weight management and are good for digestion. Not to mention, they are good for the planet as well.

Journeying into the world of vegan snacks

Let’s embark on a delicious journey through the world of plant-powered snacking. Today, we’re diving into the vibrant realm of Wild Date snacks, where every bite is a celebration of flavour, health, and sustainability, with no compromise on taste. As we explore our vegan journey from seed to snack, get ready to tantalise your taste buds and learn why Wild Date is your go-to destination for the best vegan snacks in India.

Seed of Inspiration

It all began with a simple seed of inspiration — a passion for crafting wholesome, nourishing snacks that not only satisfy cravings but also nourish the body and soul. It was our founder, Siddarth’s vision, to create something that tastes spectacular as well as gives you complete nourishment when you are hungry. At Wild Date, we believe that snacking should be a guilt-free indulgence, bursting with goodness from nature’s bounty. That’s why we set out on a mission to create the ultimate line-up of healthy snacks, with a special focus on plant-based goodness. While there is a range of non-vegan snack bars, granola and bite-sized hunger busters, today let us tell you about the delicious vegan snack bars that come out of the Wild Date kitchen.

Sowing the Seeds of Sustainability

From the very beginning, sustainability has been at the heart of our journey. We carefully select the finest ingredients, sourced ethically and responsibly, to ensure that every snack we produce leaves a positive impact on the planet. This includes seeds, nuts, honey, dates and nut butters along with veggies and fruits. There are no preservatives and absolutely no processed sugar in these. By embracing plant-powered ingredients, we’re reducing our carbon footprint and promoting a more sustainable food system. It’s our way of giving back to the earth that nourishes us. The production of Wild Date snack bars happens in small batches to maintain the quality.

Cultivating Flavourful Creations

Being sustainable doesn’t mean compromising on flavour and taste- far from it! Our team of culinary wizards works tirelessly to cultivate the most flavourful creations, blending premium ingredients in perfect harmony. Whether you’re craving a burst of tropical goodness, a nutty delight, or a decadent chocolate fix, we’ve got you covered. Each Wild Date snack bar is a symphony of taste and texture, designed to delight your senses with every bite. The vegan snack bars have some fun and unique flavours like Pumpkin and Barnyard Millet, Carrot and Buckwheat and Beet and Little Millet.

The Power of Plants

What makes our snacks truly special is the power of plants. Packed with vitamins, minerals and antioxidants, our vegan creations offer a nutritious boost that fuels your adventures, whether you’re hitting the gym, tackling a busy day at work, or simply enjoying a leisurely stroll in the park. With Wild Date snacks by your side, you’ll feel energised, revitalised and ready to take on the world.

Trailblazing the Vegan Movement

As cheerleaders of plant-powered snacking, we’re proud to be part of the vegan movement in India. With an ever-growing community of health-conscious consumers seeking wholesome alternatives, our snacks have become a staple in households across the country. Whether you’re a committed vegan, a curious flexitarian, or simply someone who appreciates good food, there’s a place for you at the Wild Date table.

The Joy of Snacking

But it’s not just about nourishing the body — it’s also about feeding the soul. We believe that snacking should be a joyous experience, a moment of pure indulgence that brings a smile to your face and a skip to your step. That’s why we infuse every Wild Date snack bar with a sprinkle of fun and a dash of whimsy (starting from the packaging), because life’s too short for boring snacks!

Join the Wild Date Adventure

So, are you ready to join the Wild Date adventure? Whether you’re on the hunt for the best vegan snacks in India or simply looking to add a little more plant-powered goodness to your life, we’ve got something special waiting for you. With our commitment to sustainability, flavour and fun, we’re redefining the snack game one bite at a time. So go ahead, grab a bar and join us on this tasty adventure!

[blogofmastermind]

“The Diabetes Starter Pack: Tips for the Newly Diagnosed”

Getting a diabetes diagnosis can feel like stepping into a whole new world—a world full of glucose meters, carb counting, and phrases like “insulin sensitivity.” If you’re feeling overwhelmed, take a deep breath. You’ve got this.

Here’s a beginner-friendly guide to help you navigate your new normal, complete with practical tips and a dash of humor to keep things light.

1. Start with the Basics: What the Heck Is Diabetes?

Diabetes means your body has trouble managing blood sugar (glucose). Why? Either:

Your pancreas is on strike (Type 1).

Your body’s not using insulin properly (Type 2).

Think of it like this: Your body’s a machine, and glucose is fuel. Diabetes just means you need to be extra mindful of how that fuel is processed.

2. Meet Your New Best Friends: Your Diabetes Gear

Your diabetes toolkit might include:

A glucose meter: For checking your blood sugar (frequently).

Insulin or other meds: Your pancreas’s understudies.

A carb-counting app: Trust me, it’s easier than guessing.

Snacks: Always have low blood sugar supplies on hand—juice boxes, candy, or glucose tabs work great.

Treat your gear like your phone: never leave home without it.

3. Learn the Language

Diabetes has its own lingo. Here’s a crash course:

BG/BS: Blood glucose/blood sugar.

Hypo: Low blood sugar (feeling shaky or dizzy).

Hyper: High blood sugar (feeling thirsty or tired).

A1C: A long-term blood sugar check, kind of like a “report card.”

Once you learn the terms, you’ll feel like part of an exclusive club (with way too many acronyms).

4. Carb Counting: Your New Superpower

Carbs directly affect your blood sugar, so learning to count them is crucial. But don’t worry—you don’t need to be a math wizard.

Start simple: Learn the carb counts for common foods (bread = 15g, apple = 20g).

Use tech: Apps like MyFitnessPal or Carb Manager make it easy.

Remember: You’re not avoiding carbs—you’re just managing them.

5. Don’t Fear the Insulin

If you’re prescribed insulin, it’s not a punishment—it’s a lifesaver.

Practice makes perfect. The first few injections might feel weird, but you’ll get the hang of it.

Keep insulin at the right temperature (pro tip: don’t leave it in a hot car).

Bonus: Insulin pens make you feel like a futuristic spy every time you click one.

6. Plan for Snack Attacks

Low blood sugar loves to sneak up on you, so always have snacks handy.

Portable options: granola bars, juice boxes, glucose tabs, or candy.

Keep a stash in your bag, car, or desk drawer.

Pro Tip: Label them clearly, or you’ll end up with coworkers “accidentally” eating your emergency stash.

7. Exercise Is Your Secret Weapon

Moving your body helps manage blood sugar—and you don’t have to become a marathon runner to see results.

Go for a walk after meals.

Try yoga or stretching.

Find something fun (dancing, anyone?).

Exercise doesn’t have to be fancy; it just has to get you moving.

8. Build a Support Squad

Diabetes is easier with people in your corner. Connect with:

Family and friends who are willing to learn.

Online diabetes communities (Instagram and Reddit are full of inspiring stories).

Healthcare providers who explain things in a way you understand.

You’re not in this alone, and your squad will help you stay strong on tough days.

9. Make Peace with the Rollercoaster

Diabetes isn’t always predictable. One day your blood sugar behaves, and the next, it’s on a wild ride for no apparent reason.

Don’t stress over every spike or drop—learn from them instead.

Celebrate the small wins, like remembering to pack your supplies or hitting a stable BG range.

You’re doing the best you can, and that’s what matters.

10. Laugh (and Cry) When You Need To

Some days, diabetes will test your patience. Other days, you’ll laugh at the absurdity of catching your pump tubing on every doorknob. Both are valid.

Find humor in the journey—it’ll keep you sane.

And when things get overwhelming, don’t be afraid to have a good cry. You’ll feel better after.

Final Thoughts: You’ve Got This

Being newly diagnosed with diabetes can feel like drinking from a firehose, but take it one step at a time. Learn the basics, find your rhythm, and remember: you’re stronger and more capable than you realize.

Seasoned diabetics, what’s your #1 tip for the newly diagnosed? Share it in the comments below!

[nil-ebooks]

O wizard! Please find my chickens and put them back in the chicken pen. For this quest completed wilt I thee 500 Pacific Pennies, 353 Experience Units, and this Quaker Granola Bar give.

You will know my chickens by their names: Magdalena, Scoop, Ronald, Sirius X. M., and Artemis, Destroyer of Caterpillars, Lord of Mythoszia, Heir to the Throne of Chickens, and Very Shaped. You can right-click 🖱️ on a character to see their name.

[good-wizard]

*good wizard finishes the polymorphing then stands up* you can't eat a lot of food yet since your stomach is new, but I'll go grab you something small, stay here

*good wizard goes into the kitchen and returns with a granola bar and a cup of orange juice* here

@the-moth-wizard-of-mayhem post broke!)

*good wizard picks up moth and carries them back upstairs, they now have a partially formed mouth and digestive system* I'll finish up when we get out of here, alright?

[failfemme]

shoutout to the wizard for removing a granola bar wrapper from my trashcan and leaving it in the middle of my bedroom floor

[pomrania]

Pride was fun. My rainbow wizard hat was a huge hit. People really liked my mousies, although apparently they also liked calling them "rats", some meme I'm not familiar with. I brought the right amount of bi stuff, seeing as I still had a good selection by the time I was heading home. Ran out of pansexual earlier than I expected; should have brought a lot more of it than I did, judging by how many pan flag capes I saw. Ran out of trans ones nearing the end; need to remember to bring a lot of them.

Absolutely wiped. Was there for seven hours. Took a few breaks throughout. Library had a setup with bean bag chairs, they're awesome. Brought with me three granola bars and an apple; didn't eat the third granola bar. Brought headphones, like I said last year I should do. VERY good idea; music was good but too loud up close.

Scored 34$ semi-legally from mousies. No vendor's license, had earlier asked someone and was told I'd have to stay in one place to sell stuff, and I like money but I like 'being able to drop everything when I see a dog and ask to the pet the dog' more. Nothing against people just giving me money of their own volition though.

Lots of booths selling crocheted stuff this year. Good to see others of the craft. None of them had the kind of thing that I make though.

Kept track this time of what mousies I brought, what I gave out, what people asked for. Didn't have to rummage around "I'm not sure if I have any more of this colour left", could tell. Smart idea; rare.

[kimnowls]

Urban fantasy concept: we all know one or more gals who just keeps EVERYTHING in their purses, right? Granola bars, loose coins, sauce packets, gameboy games etc. Even she has trouble finding her keys in that mess. Well, sometimes, itty bitty baby dragons find these spaces and decide to claim the contents as their hoard.

This was considered a big problem. After all, nobody wants to lose a finger every time they reach into their bag. However, it turns out that a baby dragon can be easily appeased by giving it scritches, slim jims, and other trinkets for the collection. The dragon will consider you a loyal servant and let you "borrow" from its hoard as needed.

A lady who becomes extra close to their little purse guardian can even make a familiar out of it. The dragon witches keep down the rates of mugging and pickpocketing simply by existing, and their rates are more affordable than those big-wig Harvard wizards. Some become merchants or thieves, seeking out ever more valuable objects to offer their master. Some seek out a simpler life, using their magical talents to help their community flourish.

Now, even in the best-case scenario, you'd expect one final complication: the fact that baby dragons eventually become BIG dragons. Well, if a dragon is comfy enough, it won't move out. It will instead make the space inside the purse grow around it so it will always fit. And that's how bags of holding happen.