#diabetic biscuits

[azistaproducts1234]

https://www.tastegood.in/

Description

Karela Not Bitter Anymore!

TasteGood Karela (Bitter Gourd/Kakarakaya) Biscuits – The Sugar-free biscuits are changing the lives of millions of Indian diabetic patients and people who count on their sugars. Diabetics patients are restricted to eat any snacks that fluctuate their sugars. However, they can have TasteGood Karela Biscuits regularly without any hesitation.

Do not worry about the bitterness of Karela as it is not bitter anymore! Karela is Tasty with the same scientific effectiveness in the form of TASTE - GOOD in Karela Biscuits, "A healthy alternative for daily snacking needs."

Our products are 100% healthy with Zero Cholesterol & Zero Transfat and High Fiber and NO SUGAR ADDED

[ayurvedikindia]

Health Benefits of Diabetic Biscuits

Living with diabetes requires mindful choices, especially when it comes to indulging in snacks. Diabetic biscuits emerge as a delicious and health-conscious option tailored to meet the specific needs of individuals managing diabetes. Let’s explore the compelling health benefits that these biscuits bring to the table.

Read more: https://dia100.com/health-benefits-of-diabetic-biscuits/

[tastegood12345]

There are many benefits to incorporating sugar-free biscuits into your diet, especially if you are diabetic. Not only can they help you manage your blood sugar levels, but they can also be a delicious and satisfying treat.

[butterflyayurveda1]

Our unit is equipped with state-of-the-art equipment, laboratory and machinery which include tray dryer, vibro-sifter, automatic horizontal blender, metal detector, hot sealing machine, pyramid tea bag machine and batch code printing machine to ensure safe and efficacious processing of raw material, blending & packing.

[funamblrist]

forgot to buy my ESSENTIAL chocolate digestives before coming home from work oh my days...

[leaving-fragments]

it makes so much sense for me to get tired when my blood sugar is high but somehow the correlation of sleepiness and high blood sugar only occurred to me like. thirteen years into living with diabetes

[luveline]

Hiiii, I don’t know if you’re up for any marauders requests- so no pressure!!

If you are though, I recently sprained my wrist pretty (really) bad at work and have been not great about taking care of it, resting, ect.

If it’s not too much trouble- could I get a lil thing about the marauders absolutely doting on reader over an injury? Like so soft and sweet it could give you diabetes.

Thank you!!!

hope this is okay sweetness! fem!reader, 2k

"She's trying to stand up again," James says, finger hooked in your belt loop. 

You glare at him down on the sofa. "Tattle tale," you scold. It's hard to maintain; he looks very sweet today, everyday, and more than handsome. 

Remus stands in the doorway to the living room, the smell of the honey tea he's making on his heels. "Why, dove?" he asks, sounding amusedly horrified. "Can't you stay still for ten minutes?" 

"I just thought I'd help with the tea," you say, taking a painful step toward him. James gasps and actually stands himself. 

Your eyes widen. James is more of a threat-giver than an enforcer. He loves telling on you or better yet enabling your bad behaviour, but if he's getting up it means he won't be allowing you any further self-detriment. 

"Be gentle," Remus says. 

James raises his eyebrows at you and crowds you, hands on your hips. He gives you a little push. "Sit back down." 

You sit, and your ankle feels better for it immediately, but you cross your arms over your chest and huff so they know you don't appreciate being bossed around. James laughs, more than aware. 

"It's for your own good," he says. 

Remus returns with your tea and you say thanks even though you're pretending to be annoyed with them both. "I would like to be allowed to get my own tea," you say, pleased when James sits back at your side with his own cup of tea, his arm heavy against you. "It's not as bad as you think it is, I promise." 

"You have a bruise bigger than Jersey on your ankle and…" James lowers his voice slightly, "I know it's hurting even when you aren't standing. You get a notch between your brows, right here," he says, tapping the space above your nose. 

"The less you use it the quicker it will get better," Remus says. 

"That logic only applies to injury," says a new voice. The front door closes, and after a second Sirius appears in his coat and jacket. "The more you use me, the better I get." He winks at you. 

You wink back. Delighted, Sirius peels out of his coat and shoes and swiftly takes the empty seat on your left. He kisses your cheek hello, his slender fingers tucked deftly behind your ear so he can turn your face to his. 

"Have you been resting?" he asks. 

"No," Remus and James say at the same time. 

"She's done the opposite," James adds.

"Yes, well, she's not perfect." He shakes his head at you hurriedly, mouthing, "You are perfect." 

You know he's joking but you get all melted, tight shoulders lax, head dipping back against the sofa cushions. Sirius hums his approval and strokes your cheek with his thumb. He's not usually the most affectionate of the boys, but when you're injured he acts like you're on your deathbed and deserving of the world's collective sweetness. 

"How was work?" you ask him. 

"Agony," he says quietly, and he's putting it on, trying to make you squirm. It's working. "I was worried about you." 

"I take offence to that," James says. 

"I know you're taking care of her," Sirius says, "don't be daft, I just know she won't behave. Especially if I'm not here." 

Half of a biscuit soars toward Sirius and hits him in the chest. Entertained, you follow its trajectory back to the source and find Remus in the big armchair, cup of tea cradled atop his knee. "What?" he asks, seemingly chewing the first half of the biscuit. 

"Sirius–" James warns. 

"Prick," Sirius says. 

Remus swallows his biscuit and takes a sip of tea. "Oh, sorry. Slipped." 

"Why have you chucked a biscuit at me?" Sirius asks. 

James takes the biscuit and eats it. You laugh from behind your hand. 

"No reason. Y/N, dovey, do you want a biscuit?" Remus asks you. 

You nod and start to stand to retrieve one, but two arms grab your waist. James' arm, tan, steely without any effort, stops you from getting any further. Sirius', less strong but twice as eager, pulls you into his side with a groan. 

"Please sit down," he says. 

You sigh and let your head drop onto James' shoulder. "I'm sitting. I just want a biscuit." 

Remus sits on the coffee table in front of you with a funny look on his face, a mixture of love and disbelief. "I was bringing them to you." He squeezes the tin closed in his lap, his eyes resolutely on yours so you're forced to meet his gaze. He's handsome, too, they all are, but Remus doesn't know it, unaware of the effect his eyes have on you, the colour like browned honey and the little specks of amber that surround his pupil. "I'll give you a biscuit if you promise to stop making it worse." 

"Really," James seconds, "we want you to get better, that's all." 

You slouch further into his shoulder, away from their doting concern. "It's not as bad as you think it is."

That's a bad lie. You and Sirius had been walking back up the garden steps after a red squirrel stakeout —the squirrels keep eating from Remus' bird feeders and therefore scaring away the birds— and you slipped in a strange way. You ended up sprawled out on your back and you'd burst into laughter, while Sirius looked down on you absolutely horrified. It was only later, an hour or so afterwards, when you'd been helped up and placed affectionately in bed, that your ankle started to ache, and you found you couldn't put any weight on it after all. Your panicked tears had terrified the three of them. They've been ridiculously lovely since then. 

"Maybe I could have another look?" Remus asks. 

It's a well-organised dance when you're together, and this part's no different. Remus hands the biscuit tin to James as he stands, and Sirius pushes the table back with his foot so Remus has room to kneel down in front of you. James opens the biscuit tin and knows your favourite without having to ask, offering it to you as Remus straightens out your leg. 

"Is this compression thing a good idea all of the time?" Sirius asks. 

Remus pulls it down, humming as you hiss in pain. "Oh, I know, dove. I'll be really quick," he promises. 

"It's not so horribly bruised," James says. 

"I hate that we're all looking at my foot right now." 

Remus squeezes your toes. If you weren't wearing a sock under the compression support you'd have to break up with him. 

"I think it looks less swollen," he says eventually, rolling up your sock and putting the compression back into the proper place. You gasp at the sudden movement and his brows crease in sympathy. "Sorry, dove." 

"Let's elevate it, right?" James asks. 

"Yes, I think so. I'll get you a pillow," Remus says.

He stands up, turns to leave, and then turns back to press a kiss to your temple. 

"Me too," Sirius says, kissing your cheek. 

Having refused to move from James' shoulder in your embarrassment, you're out of the way for James to kiss you too, and it's a good thing. Anymore sweetness and you'd probably melt into the threads of the sofa. 

"I'll owe you one," James says. 

Remus gets a pillow to prop up your foot. James becomes your dedicated human blanket. Sirius looks for a film to watch on the telly while discussing takeaway options, even when Remus claims that he's going to cook tonight. 

"Takeaway is too expensive," Remus says. 

"Cooking makes a mess that you'll insist on cleaning," Sirius argues. 

"Takeaway also makes a mess," James says. 

"We can't cook because I can't help," you declare. "And that's not fair. You guys will all be laughing and flirting in the kitchen and I'll be sat here by my lonesome watching Footloose."   

"Footloose isn't on until ten," Sirius says, looking at the TV info bar with a smile, "you'd be watching Night Rider." 

Remus holds his hand out from the armchair. It's miles from reaching you, but you know he's suggesting an alliance. "How about," he begins softly, "we have a takeaway and those two can do whatever they want." 

"Remus," James says. 

You stand up on your uninjured foot. The boys groan at your moving but don't argue, letting you limp to the armchair where Remus is sitting with little more than a chorus of defeated sighs. He puts his arms out for you, his hands and grip strong as he helps you down into the seat next to him. There's not really enough room for two, but he makes it, his arm crossing over your chest and under your arm to lock you in against him. 

"This is ridiculous," James says. 

Sirius shuffles across the sofa into the gap you've left behind. "We could always hide the menus," he says to James. "Neither of them know the numbers. Plus, she can't walk and he can't be bothered." 

Remus pulls you in impossibly closer. "That's true." 

The two boys opposite spring up from their seats, laughing as they begin plotting a cruel plan. You rub your fingertips up and down the length of the arm holding you, letting your head flop back into Remus' chest as you say, "They'll realise they like us too much to starve us soon enough." 

"I know." His hold on you relaxes. "I really do wish you'd stop putting weight on your foot. Please. It needs time to get better." 

"Okay," you say, a sucker for him when he talks so softly. "Sorry. No more walking around while it heals." 

"Don't be sorry, just get better quickly. I need reinforcements against their nonsense." 

"You love their nonsense." 

James and Sirius return looking pleased with themselves not long after, and an hour passes quietly. When the doorbell rings, you're unsurprised to find they've ordered your favourite takeaway. 

"You're predictable," Remus says.

"Well," Sirius says, lifting his chin, arms laden with cartons, "how else is she supposed to get better? She needs food." 

In an example of extreme overkill, Remus and James act as crutches, helping you walk the short distance from the living room to the kitchen table. You're surprised James doesn't just attempt to pick you up in a fireman's lift, as is his usual style. 

Sirius sets the table. Remus makes drinks. James doles out the portions of food, knowing what everyone wants without having to ask, and you miss being able to help. You're usually moving with them, an integral thread, ebbing and flowing in tandem. It's nice to watch them together, but you miss doing your part. James' hand warm on your hip as he eases you out of the way, or Sirius' childish attempts at tripping you up on the way to the silverware drawer. 

"Sorry for being so useless lately," you say, twisting the fork in your hand over and over. 

Three glares pierce you at once. "Who says you're useless?" James asks. 

"You're out of commission for the moment," Remus says agreeably, "that's far from useless." 

"I feel bad, having you wait on me. I know I'm making it worse all the time by refusing to just rest but I don't like you having to do everything for me, it's not fair." 

Sirius sits down in the chair beside yours, tucking himself in quickly. "You realise that we'd look after you forever, right? Like, if you needed this much help and looking after every day, that wouldn't be a problem." 

You shake your head. "Don't be silly." 

James clears his throat. "No, listen to him. He's right." 

"We don't mind helping you to the table, or carrying your washing downstairs for you, or any of the things we've offered to do for you since you hurt your ankle." 

Remus sits in the seat across from you with a pointed look. James joins him, a packet of painkillers in hand. He pops two out for you, saying, "You're not useless just because we've had to give you some help. And if you were useless it wouldn't matter. So don't say sorry." 

Remus nods. "Exactly. Don't feel guilty about an accident, dove." 

You look at Sirius unsurely. "You really don't mind looking after me?" 

He reaches over to handle your thigh. "No," he says, gaze soft, fingers squeezing into the fat of your leg lovingly, "we really don't mind." 

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Always In My Heart✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

A/N: I lost my best fur baby today. October would’ve been 3 years since I adopted him. From a stray on the streets to a spoiled house cat. He battled so much. From FIV+ to broken teeth to diabetes and then to cancer. He was the best kitty ever and was my very own first cat, so he was extra special. I wrote a little one-shot to try to express how hard this loss is for me and to try to cope. I miss you, little Biscuit. Mama loves you 🥹 This is for everyone who’s ever felt the loss of losing a beloved pet.

Summary: Losing a pet is never easy, but you’re not alone because Joel is right there with you, keeping you afloat.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Grief, love, soft Joel, losing a pet, angst with comfort, no use y/n, no outbreak au

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Drip. Drip. Drip.

   The misty rain pelts on your drenched skin, and you’re cold. You’re so very cold. You can feel the chill burrowing down to your shaking, fragile bones like they may break at any moment. 

   Thunder booms through the gloomy sky, lightning flashes in the far distance, and you swear you can hear the faint cry of a lost soul deep in the woods. Can almost hear your favorite meowing coming from the covered grave in front of you…

   The grey clouds completely cover the sun, the pattering rain seems to mourn just like the cold tears that stain your cheeks. You feel lost, broken, just like your heart is. Completely shattered.

   The crunching noise of the shovel meeting the earth is almost too much for you to handle. This is too much. On your knees, fingers curling in the hollow dirt, your jeans ruined from the muddy ground. And you can’t look up, can barely open your swollen eyes as you mourn the loss of your favorite cat who had made you so very happy. 

   He was your entire world.

   You miss him so much. The feel of his long, soft fur. He felt like velvet, smelled like a warm summer’s day, and you miss the way he’d curl up on your shoulder at night, purring with affection and love. You miss his little meows, the ones that would echo down the long hallway. It always was your favorite thing to wake up to.

   But now he’s gone. Faded into the afterlife when the cancer became too much. He was a fighter, the strongest fighter you’ve ever known. But now he’s just a precious memory. 

   And it hurts. God, it hurts.

   Your tears blur your vision, your face buried in your dirt covered palms, fighting the bitter sting of losing your best fur baby. You only had him a few short years. It wasn’t enough time. And now he’s gone…

   The sobs escape your lips, and you’re now a blundering mess on the ground, asking God to just give you one more day. One more day of long cuddles and top of the head kisses. And his slow blinks. The ones he’d give you every single time you told him how much you loved him. 

   You just want him back, but life isn’t fair, and pets don’t get to stay nearly as long as you’d like. Life is cruel, and you wouldn’t wish this awful pain on your worst enemy.

   You shrink against your drenched raincoat, not even caring that your hair is tangled and dripping down your back. You don’t much care for anything right now; all you can feel is the large hole that’s gaping in your broken heart.

   The rain continues to pelt down on your shoulders, your body shaking like you’re stranded in the middle of the Arctic Ocean. The frigid waters are dragging you under, and they’re about to swallow you whole.

   Just when you think the dark depths will win, strong arms encircle your back and envelop you into a warmness that soothes the screaming voices in your head. 

   “Hey. Easy now, sweetheart. Easy.” His thick, deep drawl shrouds you in comfort while big teardrops fall against his dark green flannel. He cradles the back of your head with one hand, the other gently drawing soothing circles down the middle of your back.

   “I… I didn’t get enough time, Joel. It wasn’t enough. I should’ve done more. He could’ve had more days. I didn’t…”

   “Shhhh. S’alright, babygirl. You did more than enough. You gave him the best life he could’ve had. Do you know how lucky he was to find you? You were the best cat mama I’ve ever seen. You loved him so much, and he loved you very much,” he coos, pulling you closer to where you can smell his woodsy cologne and a hint of tobacco wafting off his tongue. 

   He feels like home. He is home.

   “You really think so?” you sputter out, tears breaking over your lash line and falling onto his soft button-up shirt.

   “Look at me,” he says gently, his hand cupping your chin and tilting your face up to look into his soft brown eyes. Eyes that make more tears spill over the edge. He catches them, wiping them off with the pads of his thumbs and softly traces them down your cheeks until you feel warmth flood your insides. “You’re such a brave girl, my love. So very brave. And you were nothin’ but loving with that cat. Even made me fall in love with him, sweetheart.”

   You giggle, your breath shaky and eyes misty. Even when you’re sad, Joel Miller can make the rainy days turn to blue skies. “He loved you, Joel. He followed you everywhere you went in the house. Especially in the mornings when you made your coffee.”

   He laughs and shakes his head, his brown eyes a little teary from the memories. “Yeah, he sure did. And I’m gonna miss him a lot.”

   “Me too,” you squeak out quietly, gripping onto him like he’s your lifeline. 

   He leans forward and traces his plush lips against your forehead, leaving you breathless with the semblance of comfort he leaves on your skin. He’s like a blanket of warmth, and he’s just saturated you in love.

   When he pulls back to look at you, he pushes a wet strand of hair behind the shell of your ear and lingers there on your cheek, sparks radiating through his touch. “I love you, sweet girl. And I know this hurts. It hurts like hell, but you’re so strong and brave. You’ll get through this. It’s gonna take time, but I’m right here to help you through it. You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart. Maybe not today, maybe not next week, but you will be. And I’ll be here through it all with you.”

   A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and then you’re crashing into him, throwing your arms around his broad back as you sniffle into the soft material. “Thank you, Joel. For being here for me. For helping me lay him to rest in our backyard, for loving him as much as you love me.”

   His fingertips brush your skin, and then your head tilts back automatically, knowing what that touch means. He leans in and places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips, the kind you want to melt in, one that tastes like honey and longing and pure comfort. When he breaks the kiss, he places another on the top of your head and pulls you flush to his chest, strong arms enveloping you once more. And it feels like peace, a place you can rest and bring life back inside your worn body.

   Joel brings you to life time and time again. And this time is no different. 

   “‘Course, sweet girl. I’ve got ya, always. I love you,” he whispers, blanketing you in love that only Joel can make you feel. 

   Suddenly, you know you’ll be okay. It might hurt for a bit, but Joel will always be here. Even on your worst days, he keeps showing you that he’ll never leave you struggling. He’ll be here for it all, loving you till the end.

[association-of-ideas]

More Batfam as Things My Family Has Said/Done:

Tim: God is a redneck with a shotgun pointed at a fridge and we're all just pieces of broken fridge floating through space.

—

Dick, holding Damian under his armpits and gently swaying him sideways: Jiggle jiggle jiggle.

—

Damian: God has chosen a new favorite: me!

Also Damian: I am the Superior Child!

—

Steph, about Tim: You're the grossest rat in the sewers. You and your little rat hands.

—

Young Dick: We're all going to die at the ghetto Robinson Park.

Bruce: There's only one Robinson Park.

Young Dick: Okay? But am I wrong?

—

Alfred: May I ask what you're doing?

Jason, trying to remember what the English word for 'sweeping' is: I'm brooming.

—

Tim, bursting into Duke's room like a madman: Okay! So I found out the movie's not called Type 2 Diabetes! It's called Dementia!

Duke, just trying to finish his homework: O-kay?

—

Dick: He keeps bragging about how smarter he is than me—!

Barbara: How "smarter"?

—

Damian, laying on the floor: I wish I could take out my spine and straighten it like the straws that come with juice boxes. I feel like that'd fix a lot of my problems.

Dick, grimacing: Please stop.

—

Jason: I'm gonna punch him in his bitch ass chin!

—

Bruce, trying to say 'biscuits and gravy': B-beef. Beef.

Tim: Yes?

Bruce: Beef. Beef! BEEF! Fuck! Biscuits and gravy! Do you want any?!

Tim, wheezing: H-yes!

—

Dick: We're getting take-out. B wants to know what you want.

Tim: Okay, but we can't go to Chick-fil-A. I'm not allowed there.

Dick: What? Why not?

Tim: Because they're homophobic, Dick!

—

Tim: Bruce in Bath & Bodyworks is the grown-up equivalent of a kid in a candy store.

Bruce, carrying a full basket: Shh. That's none of your concern.

Tim: It's not a concern, it's a fact.

—

Steph, pointing at a billboard: Jay, look! Phentynal!

Jason, through gritted teeth from across the restaurant table: Don't do that! The people here don't understand that joke.

—

Dick: B said I better be getting a cut if your friend's selling pictures of my feet on FootFinder.

Jason: Fine.

—

Cass: Hello.

Bruce, who thought he was alone, walking back in from the garden at night: whAH—!

Cass, back turned, outlined only by the porch light, and standing on top of a bench like an eldritch scarecrow in the distance: ?

—

Dick: *blinks and falls down the stairs*

Barbara: Oh my God, are you okay?! What happened?!

Dick, dazed and probably concussed: Did I just teleport?

[butterflyayurveda1]

Our unit is equipped with state-of-the-art equipment, laboratory and machinery which include tray dryer, vibro-sifter, automatic horizontal blender, metal detector, hot sealing machine, pyramid tea bag machine and batch code printing machine to ensure safe and efficacious processing of raw material, blending & packing.