US based but it’s similar reasons in other countries. and of course many companies have international locations. idk if that’s why it’s happening with sour patch kids but this is a thing
My nephew is very allergic to eggs, peanuts, tree nuts, and sesame. Last year my sister discovered all hot dogs and hamburger buns now contain sesame. Not "may contain", but listed in the ingredients. This year basically every brand of sliced bread also now contains sesame, making it very difficult to find bread items he can eat.
They're just adding it to their products, so they can just list it as an ingredient and not bother with worrying about cross contamination. And they aren't even bothering with telling anyone. Capitalism is going to kill us all.
"Which brings us back to Kellogg’s. Back in 2016, the company found a way around the added burden and expense of complying with the FSMA: they simply began adding trace amounts of peanut flour to their cracker products. Doing so allowed them to list peanuts as an ingredient of the product, freeing them from having to prevent cross-contact.
At the time, Kellogg’s notified Food Allergy Research and Education (FARE) about the impending change and left it to them to warn the allergic community. In this case, Pearson’s didn’t even bother as near as we can tell."
I'm not going to articulate this super well right now, but the reason why I prefer characters who are bad at communicating feelings to those who do it expertly, is that it's reassuring to see something messy and imperfect being given and received as love.
The question "so what do you do" at a dinner party is different for writers because the honest answer is "i sit alone in a room having arguments with people who don't exist and occasionally produce a document about it" and that's technically true and also sounds insane so instead you say "i write" and then someone asks "anything i'd know" and you have to decide in real time how much of your soul you want to put on this table right now.
sometimes I’m reminded that there are still people who don’t know ao3 was literally created by incest shippers — and the site’s sole purpose is to 1. be completely against censorship and 2. host all kinds of dark, taboo fics that are banned on other platforms — and the first ever fic that was posted on ao3 was a fic about an incest ship from supernatural.
you are in the house that was created by freaks. for freaks (affectionate). every disgusting thing you can think of is rightfully allowed and welcomed on ao3, because they are exactly the reasons why ao3 was created in the first place.
ao3 was created because its creators got tired of censorship, they got tired of dark and taboo fics getting banned on pro-censorship platforms, and they wanted a place that was safe for ALL FICS THAT WERE DARK AND TABOO.
ao3’s main principle is being against censorship and being proship / profic.
there are some things in fiction that make me uncomfortable, but instead of shaming people who are just minding their own business and not harming anyone in real life, I choose to curate my own internet experience by blocking/muting what I don’t want to see. ao3 has excellent tagging system, so instead of being a bitch, use their tagging system properly and you won’t see the things you don’t want to see.
it’s your job to curate what you see. it’s not other people’s jobs or responsibilities to censor themselves for your personal comfort. the world does not revolve around you.
also you cannot censor “only the things you personally hate” without expecting everything else, that isn’t of conservative beliefs, to be censored too. because censorship is a slippery slope and a fascist tool. I promise you there are people who think “why do tags for queer love even exist on ao3? they’re grooming children”.
if you allow the things that you hate to be censored — because someone with enough power gets to control what other people can and cannot create/consume, it will not stop at the things that you hate.
this and also the only difference between fanfic writers and writers who sell their own original works as careers is that fanfics aren’t monetized. that’s all.
being a “professional” writer doesn’t mean your works are inherently better than fanfics. I’ve read so many fics that are more professionally written than some published books.
whether or not a piece of writing is monetized has nothing to do with its quality.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ minors / ageless / blank blogs (dni) ↬･tags: dad sukuna x reader series; note - this story dives into some dark themes. I have added all tags + tw's to my ao3 and will specify for certain tags before each chapter.
PART 1: BROKEN OFFER
↬ summary: (before) you have been sacrificed as an alter to the king of curses, but you have to bargain for your freedom when you learn that sukuna doesn't accept tainted offers. tw: mentions of past abuse and sa
(Before)
Fear is your silent companion; it coils around your bones and feeds off your blood like a parasite. No matter how hard you try to release yourself from its chilling grip, you always fall back into the clutches of its hellish embrace. This has been your world for as long as you can remember it. You can’t recall much of your childhood except that you were alone and afraid. You worked as a slave in order to find a roof over your head and a decent meal, hopping around from place to place until settling into the home of the wealthiest man in your village, Rin Kojima.
The name alone makes you twitch with disgust. From the moment you met his gaze, you knew that he was an embodiment of evil. His old, creepy eyes were a petrifying black. A pair that had you convinced that he was possessed by a dark entity. They were the reason why you constantly whispered prayers under your breath when you were around him, but nothing protected you from his leering stares or when he crawled into your bed night after night.
You hated that everyone regarded him with respect, pitied his doting wife who knew of his disgraceful behavior and equally despised her for taking her anger out on you instead of him. The man that everyone admired devoured you until it ruined his appetite. He was hungry for innocence, and after savoring every last drop of yours he started prowling for his next meal. You were nothing but scraps to him, and he simply treated you as leftovers that he could parcel around to fellow nobles and jujutsu sorcerers who visited him.
The village’s priceless whore.
Your reputation proceeded you - but you didn’t have the luxury to care about petty gossip.
Besides, it’s not like you had other options to begin with.
You weren’t educated enough to work. You didn’t come from a decent background to be considered a marriageable wife by any man. Your life has always been a means to an end for you, and being a concubine at least guaranteed you the basic right to survive.
I’ve been through worse. I will see this through, you think quietly to yourself.
The wooden columns of the abandoned building are deteriorating around you with half of the roof already gone. Cobwebs glimmer like crystals underneath the moonlight, but the darkness of the night has you clenching your hands with discomfort. In front of you is a disfigured shrine, decorated with human skulls and bones that are piled on top of one another in various stacks.
Your throat grows tight meeting their hollow eyes.
Your position within your master’s house may have been unpleasant, but it did grant you the power of obtaining information. Last week, you overheard a conversation between Master Kojima and his councilmen about the evil cursed spirit lurking within the outskirts of your village. A beast with immeasurable power, Ryomen Sukuna has slowly been making his way through the land to consume every inch of territory around him. He massacres humans and sorcerers alike, breeding a new environment for curses to freely thrive.
He considers himself a god - a reckoning to any living mortal.
You grew up hearing plenty of terrifying tales about this dangerous cursed spirit, but up to this point that’s all he’s ever been to you - a figment of your imagination based on the stories compiled by people’s collective embellishing reiterations.
Kneeling in the back of the main room while inhaling in the stinging thick air around you, you tried your best not to cough as you watched your master and his councilmen nervously smoke their pipes while they tried to come up with a strategy to fight the beast.
“If our riders leave today then we can reach the Narihiro clan within four nights…” one of them considered. “If they fight alongside us then we might have a chance…”
“We might all be dead by then,” another grumbled between his heavy cough. “Our scouts were traumatized by what they saw when they went to Oshinō. We need to act now before that wretched devil decimates us!”
“Lord Kojima can’t fight him alone…” a third angrily scolded. “Besides, do you really think our weapons can take on that demon?”
“I agree that we should send out the riders as soon as possible-” a fourth voice carried through.
“Maybe we can bargain him with a sacrifice?” Master Kojima interjected, immediately cutting the tension as he blew a cloud of smoke above his head. “I’ve spoken with our monks. They suggested that an offering might please the king of curses. He’ll see that we are pledging our loyalty to him, and that will bide us enough time to reach out to the three main families, and maybe get into contact with the special grade sorcerers. Our clans are too small to fight him off…”
“A sacrifice? Forgive me, my lord, but don’t you think that practice is a little archaic? It hasn’t been done for generations. How can we justify whose life is worth serving on a silver platter to that monster?”
The room burst into a loud fit of chatter, with half the men roaring in agreement while the others criticized silly superstitions. You didn’t have to look up to feel Master Kojima’s eyes shift towards you. At this point you’ve become well accustomed to his gaze, and your spine seized into a straight line from his aura alone.
“There are some lives that aren’t worth saving,” he spoke nonchalantly, his bone chilling words a hand curling around your throat.
The smallest, most naive part of you believed that there was a tiny string of humanity within that horrible man. A tiny string that would have the decency of announcing that you were the chosen sacrifice instead of using his request to see you tonight as an ambush.
Two of his samurais bound and gagged you before throwing you into the back of a carriage. You were sent off into the wilderness with the lonely thought of being tossed out of the only home you’ve ever known. Like a pathetic stray, you were now left you to your own devices to tackle the scariest creature that no man would willingly face.
Such an easy target, with no loved ones to mourn you or even remember your name if you were gone.
An unworthy life, as your master declared.
“Please!” you begged one of the samurais who removed the the cloth from around your mouth and granting you a chance to speak. “Please, please don’t do this! I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me here…don’t leave me here to die, I'm begging you please, don’t leave me here!”
You could see the regret in his eyes, feel the way his hands softened as he moved to hold your wrists while contemplating if this was the humane choice.
Just when you thought you had a chance to convince him into releasing you, you felt a strong force hit the back of your head that rendered you unconscious.
That’s when you woke up within this dilapidated building, your binds now tied to the heavy shrine and anchoring you in the very same spot where you remain seated.
Holding your knees close to your chest, you finally feel your armor crack as hot tears prick your eyes.
You’re not just afraid, you’re petrified of what is to come.
Your body is incapable of processing the overwhelming terror and as the panic starts to rise you find yourself breathing heavy. You exhale large gasps, puffing out gulps of air while your muscles quiver with uncertainty. You know that your emotions are heightened but your survival instincts kick back into your conscious. The adrenaline gives you enough strength to stand up on your feet, allowing you to ignore the throbbing pain pounding behind your skull. Disregarding the stiffness in your muscles, you yank your arms with full force in an attempt to rip the binds. The rope is strong, and your own weight isn't enough to tear the strands which makes you scream with despair. Your voice reverberates against the walls, carrying away into the silent night before dispersing in the atmosphere. You look down at your raw skin still held together by the perfect knot, and out of desperation begin gnawing at it with your teeth.
I will see this through, you declare as you spit the bristled material onto the ground, I will see this through…
“I’m surprised you’re still trying”
A calm voice startles you, making you stumble over your own footing as you turn on your heel to face whoever made their presence.
A pair of eyes an odd shade of pink meets your own. This person’s white hair is pin straight, reaching only their chin and accentuating their features which are comfortingly human. You assume they might be a monk based on the clothes they are wearing which is a neatly pressed dark blue robe tied over white layers.
However, something in your gut tells you to think otherwise.
Their footsteps creak against the floor, forcing you to hold your breath anxiously as they gradually take their time to approach you.
You hesitantly retreat until you stagger back into the shrine. The skeletal ornaments fall out of place and you watch with wide, horrified eyes as one of the skulls drop to the ground and roll right into the stranger’s sandal.
“Tsk, look at what you did…” they sigh with furrowed brows before reaching down to pick it up. The jaw detaches out of place, the aging bone practically turning to dust between their fingers.
They delicately hold the skull in their hand before cautiously approaching the shrine to return it to its rightful place.
Your body is frozen, your mind still trying to figure out exactly who this person can be, and the only thing you are certain of is the fact that this being is not the cursed king that everybody fears.
“They keep sending you little lambs as pointless sacrifices, and all you do is make a mess of my hard work.”
Their tone doesn’t waver and they speak with frightening clarity. Once they are fully upright, they pause for a moment to briefly smooth out their robes before finding their place in front of you. Extending their index and middle finger out and curling in the rest of their digits into their palm, they swiftly raise their arm upright in a casting gesture that results in your binds tearing instantly.
The material loosens from around your wrists and falls to the floor.
You look down at your shaking hands, gently tracing over your tender skin and hissing quietly to yourself from the feather light touch alone. The blood starts pumping back into your veins, with your internal gears turning once more to remind you that you are, in fact, still alive.
“T-thank you,” you sniffle quietly, your voice no louder than a mouse.
The stranger is not looking at you with any consideration. Their stoic expression gives you little to work with, but nothing about them settles the uneasiness in your heart. You know that this encounter is far from over, and you still need to proceed with caution if you intend to make it out of this situation in one piece.
“Where did they send you from?”
You wipe away the rogue tears falling from your eyes, trying your best to compose yourself to answer but your reply comes out in a stammer.
“Mas-Masaki.”
You swear you almost see their lip quirk into a mocking smirk. “I see,” they reply calmly, “well...I guess, you’re free to go then...”
You part your mouth in surprise, startled by their dismissal over you. “I’m-”
“Free. To. Go.” they repeat, pausing between each word to emphasize their point.
You gulp down your nerves. Your body desperately wants to sprint outside of this building but your instincts ground your feet to keep you in place. You know better than to think that this stranger would give you such an easy access to freedom. If there is anything you have learned from your experiences, it’s that kindness is an endangered trait that is rarely ever given without a price.
You shift your attention away from them, your eyes falling back to the skulls and bones surrounding you.
Pointless sacrifices.
An audible gasp escapes you when you make the connection yourself.
These bones are the others who were brought to the alter before you.
Every single one of them an ornament to Sukuna’s shrine.
Master Kojima successfully led you into the slaughterhouse with nothing but your own will keeping you alive.
This is your final moment.
“What are you waiting for?” the stranger presses with a slightly annoyed tone, their menacing eyes hungry for blood. “I’m offering you a blessing, you should take it...”
You step forward to move away from the shrine, ignoring the image of your own skull joining the faces of death behind you.
Meanwhile, the stranger studies you with anticipation, paying attention to how you drag your feet towards them but arches their brow with amusement when you fall to your knees instead.
“I was brought here as a sacrifice to the demon king…” you announce in an eerily calm tone, taking your time to make sure that you don’t stutter. “However, I would like to offer my services instead"
The stranger listens to your plea before extending their arm out to brush the tips of their fingers just underneath your chin.
“This isn’t a game, little lamb. Your pathetic play at being courageous will lead you right into the tiger’s den. Trust me when I tell you that a death by my own hand is a blessing...”
“I’m offering my services in exchange for my life,” you insist, holding onto whatever shred of dignity you have left.
The stranger smiles for the first time.
“Sukuna feasts on human flesh…” they explain, and your face contorts with disgust upon hearing that very fact. “When he prefers to fuck them, he likes them untouched. Innocent virgins that he can ruin to his liking. Your services won’t earn you any favors, whore. Besides, I can smell the filth of men on you...”
Frustrated by his remark, tears prick your glittering eyes once more and your shoulders slump in defeat as your spine collapses when their heavy words barrel into your chest.
A knife to the throat would hurt less. That label stings like a needle pricking at the softest parts of your heart.
For a second you can’t help but wonder what you did that was so wrong for you to deserve the life that you’re living, but rather than spiral into such an abysmal hole, your will keeps you in the fight for survival.
I will see this through, you repeat once again. I will see this through.
“I understand,” you acknowledge as you muster up one final plan. “I consider my sacrifice an honor then. My master may have sent me here to bargain time, but I freely offer my soul to the cursed king”
That caught the stranger’s attention.
Their grip tightens around your jaw, and they narrow their gaze slightly with consideration.
“Which Master?”
“The head of the Kojima family. He’s using me as a distraction in the hopes to outsmart the cursed king…”
“Is that right?”
“I’ve been in contact…with many sorcerers...”
“Who?”
You rattle off the list as a bargain, stating each and every man who touched you. You notice the person’s face twist with intrigue, and when you mention that you even had a short stint with Takeshi Zen’in, you’re relieved to see their eyes widen with amusement.
The stranger drops to their knees, their challenging gaze meeting yours in a frightening stare.
“Look at you...” they acknowledge, “well, well…you might be of use to me after all, little lamb.”
╴╴╴╴╴⊹ꮺ˚ ╴╴╴╴╴⊹˚ ╴╴╴╴˚ೃ ╴╴
The king of curses lived in a palace fit for emperors. Never in your life have you ever seen anything as glorious as his estate. His palace was built on top of a hill deep within the shadows of the forest. Without knowledge of it’s precise whereabouts, it would be easy for a person to lose themselves searching for it. You can’t remember how long you traveled with the stranger who found you, but from the state of your stiff legs you deduced that it must have taken a few hours from where you were abandoned.
A frightening aura surrounded the grounds, the powerful energy sending shivers to ripple across your skin in continuous waves. You were consciously trying to deduce the layout of the area as best you can. First you passed the moat that bordered the main grounds, the stagnant water a gloomy shade of grey. The boundary walls were fenced with large tusks, the sharp bones jutting out as a menacing warning to anyone who dared to cross the threshold. Entering the first gate, you followed the stranger up a set of stony stairs to reach the second level of the estate. That's when you noticed lodgings in the distance, and the bustle of bodies moving around from place to place. Their silhouettes were human, but your intuition reasoned that they might simply be more of Sukuna’s prisoners.
“Not everyone dies,” you remembered through a conversation with one of the sorcerers, “Sukuna enjoys keeping humans like they are his pets..”
“Don’t get distracted now,” the stranger reprimanded, snatching you away from your thoughts as they moved to walk up another flight of stairs.
The entrance to the palace had your knees trembling, and you slowed your pace when you were greeted by the colors of shadow, blood and bone. The scent of iron and mineral wafted across your nose, and you dug your nails into your palms when you nervously walked through the front door. The interior of the palace was far more lavish than you imagined. The entire place a shrine to glorify the king of curses - from the offerings displayed, to the sacrifices memorialized, and the hoard of stolen treasures that he’s accumulated over the course of his existence.
Your mind was riddled with concern and questions, but you were working hard to keep a level head until you faced the infamous beast himself.
As you passed the columns holding this magnificent structure together, you perceived a tiny detail about the palace that didn’t go unnoticed. Each column had an interesting feature of a carved “oni”, with each face blowing out a string of sweet smoke. You watched the aroma twirl from above, before pirouetting down to the rest of palace and engulfing the rooms in it’s scent.
When you breathed in you could taste notes of flora, earth, and fire.
The stranger remained stoic, keeping the conversation to minimal instructions until they led you into one of the small rooms within the main palace.
“Wait here,” they commanded before sliding the door shut.
You didn’t see them again for four days.
Four whole days.
You were only given a small bowl of rice with some water for sustenance, isolated within the confines of this room with your disruptive mind keeping you on high alert. With no windows around, you couldn’t tell if it was day or night. All you knew is that escaping would lead to an instant death, but waiting without a single thought of what to expect felt torturous on it’s own.
The knock on your door catches you off guard, and you apprehensively stand in place watching the panel slide open.
The stranger grimaces, crinkling their nose with disgust at the stench.
Your cheeks warm with embarrassment as you fold your arms across your chest protectively, quite aware that you stink of dirt and grime, and that your skin is cold and clammy to touch.
“You have been granted an audience with Master Sukuna,” they inform with indifference, but a weight of relief pounds right into your chest.
You nearly fall to your knees to bow your head thankfully, only pausing halfway when you notice the stranger raise their hand to stop you.
“Spare me the theatrics, little lamb. You’ll want to save whatever desperate performance you have for our king,” they curtly interrupt, their words sharp and condescending. “He’s agreed to spare your life for one reason only. Make no mistake, you hold valuable information to us for now. What our Master chooses to do with you after we are through is out of my hands. Until then I’ll personally prepare you for tonight’s meeting, starting with a bath.”
previous chapter | part 2
the king of curses rarely ever gave in, with his head held high and his chest taut with assertion there was simply no room for pliability.
for a gentle, softness.
not until the last ray of sunshine had long crept away from the shrine and creatures friend and foe alike had returned home to the sole respite of slumber.
it was only then, in the quiet of the night when the monster vanished.
leaving in his wake a gentle giant, one you’d come to love more if not equally than his usual harsh demeanor.
not with you, never harsh with you, but you saw it in others. the terror he evoked for them in comparison to his ability to mold to your wishes.
sukuna was not one to be soft, no, not until you were both in bed and you dared to leave his embrace.
awoken at midnight with your throat mysteriously parched, you hesitated before shifting in the brute’s grasp.
sukuna’s hands were grabbed onto your every part, two arms around your waist and one behind your head the other lay lazily on your thigh.
were any servant to walk in, (impossible, lest they wished to keep their heads) the possessiveness in his grasp on you would be unmistakable to read.
you placed both hands over his, barely covering any surface area due to the his sheer size, and tried to push.
the foundation was solid, you were locked in lovable shackles.
you peeped a look back over your shoulder, his crimson hair tickled your neck and his sets of eyes crinkled under your motion, then relaxed.
maybe even in his sleep, sukuna knew you would not be able to get away.
he made sure of that.
“sukuna..” you whispered slowly enunciating his name.
no response, but the grip on your waist loosened.
huh.
you moved finally to sit up. you reached out to the cup of water placed conveniently near your bed and took hasty sips. the cold water was an antidote for your thirst and surprisingly refreshing for the mind.
with a newfound wakefulness you braced to stand up only for an inked hand to grip your thigh, although not intended to be very strong, and halt your motion.
you looked back and the sight devastated you.
there he was, sukuna, your lover, your wedded lord, with his eyes open blearily heavily intoxicated from sleep and a look almost pleading for you to stop.
he whispered your name, his voice coming out rough around the edges and his grip tightened on your thigh, engulfing it entirely.
“what is it” you whispered back wrinkling your nose with a soft smile painted on your lips.
sukuna silently observed you, taking in everything: your slippers half-hazardly covering your feet, your night gown sliding off your shoulder, your hair a little messy and those eyes, your pretty twinkling eyes.
sukuna’s heart pinched.
heaven’s there had to be a limit to the ever encompassing love he had for his wife, it was simply unfair.
you cupped a hand on the side of your lips before saying “i’ll be back..”
sukuna watched in dismay as you again attempted to get away from him.
before you could even get a step out you were being pulled back by a force much, much stronger than you.
you tut disapprovingly, brushing him off with a light tap.
“it’ll take a minute”
sukuna hugged your back, shaking his head no and hiding his face in the crook of your neck. as much as his 7 foot frame could.
energized by his playful demeanor you harnessed your own, twisting in his grasp you face towards him and cup his face.
“sukuna” you say and he grumbles your name back at you.
“you won’t even know i’m gone”
and without pause,
“i will”
you hold back your giggle opting for a neutral expression.
“my lord, you’re being rather dependent on your poor wife”
“if that is what the situation demands, then so be it” sukuna rolls over, grunting from the movement and pulls you on top of him.
you pushed up at his chest, now with an apparent upper hand ready to appeal for your freedom.
sukuna’s hands rested on your lower back his thumb rubbing into the dip at your hip, eyes barely cracked open.
you brought your fingers up and rubbed his jaw absentmindedly, “i can’t sleep like this”
“why?”
“you haven’t shaved, your face is much too prickly” you teased.
and then ofcourse sukuna proceeded to rub his face against your cheek making you burst into a fit of giggles.
“stop!” you squealed.
you breathed hard, grinning down at your husband, “let me go”
“not in a million years”
you huffed, a stray piece of your hair flying up, the motions the brute had engaged you in making you dreary.
“alright” you fake yawned, “i surrender”
sukuna’s taut shoulders finally melted, the bed creaking under his weight as he let himself loose.
that’s when you cracked your eye open and in a blur of movements you were up and out of his hands. especially the one that almost grabbed onto your ankle.
almost.
you looked at him across the room, waving a finger at his loss.
and lost he was, sukuna with his defined chest highlighted by the moonlight and hair sprung in an unruly sort of direction.
like sweet temptation.
his lower hand motioned you to come closer.
you knew better.
but you stepped into his trap anyway.
firefly; computah! open tumblr right before a career defining exam, lets post a fic.
The “draw” of AI doesn’t work on me for the same reason that the Ring couldn’t tempt Samwise. Because I LIKE to write. I like to make things, I like the process of making things, instead of just the end result.
Was wishing there was a positivity post for original fiction writers since I see so many about how fanfic writers are doing so much for their communities even when they're not actively writing, and then I thought:
Be the change you want to see in the world.
So this is a positivity post for the writers out here who are working very hard on stories with no established community. Who can't talk about their blorbos and plot lines and brainstorming to anyone and expect them to know what any of it means. Who don't have much to share publicly, but are hoping they will one day.
You're doing a lot of hard work, and I recognize and appreciate what you're putting into the world, even when you're resting.
