The Void Beckons

How to Be Inclusive

Tips on inclusivity in Reader inserts:

Inclusive Writing & Recs List PDF's of Native American Stories & Topics Writing Poc Characters (the not cringe way): When writing about sex ft a Latinx person; Race vs. Ethnicity: Latinx is not a Race ; “When I walk into a church, I only see paintings of white angels. Why?” -Eartha Kitt | On inclusion in moodboards

B-But I’m An Ally! Unpacking Your Allyship

Ally Fatigue is NOT Real Please Get a Grip! On Oppression & White Responsibility

On tokenizing and writing intent

A helpful meme on playing Devils advocate:

"How are you holding up?" You ask, paying attention to your tethers more than König. You wonder if you could play cat's cradle with them. You start looping them around your fingers as you feel König's attention attach to you.

"I will be fine." He tells you. You hum, passing strands back and forth between your fingers.

"But you're not now," You infer, pulling the lattice ladder tight. Still got it.

"I'm-" He hesitates, searching for the right word before giving up, "managing."

"Right," You draw the word over your tongue, drop your fingers to pull a witch's broom pattern tight. König shivers at your side. Your eyes dart to him, to the way his cock strains against his trousers, his claws digging semi-circles of blood into his knees. "I, uh, had an idea about that-" Christ you hate doing this with him, "-I wondered if you'd want to chase me- me."

König always knows when you're holding back from something. More so when you're holding back from something you know he'd want as well. And when that thing is sex? He's annoying really when his eyes fix on you like he's trying to stare through you.

"We have done this before." It's a statement, but the way he says it means he's probing for what you're really asking.

"I thought you could be a little rough with me, really-" You squeeze your eyes shut, cringing at your own inability to communicate your wants, "-really make it feel real." He's quiet. "Then you can get some energy out, and settle whatever you've got that, y'know-" He's still quiet, "It's just you mentioned hunting and I thought it might be fun to- to-" You try not to say the word that's resting on your tongue. You open your eyes to look at König, he's dripping moss onto the couch, his shoulders hunched and his spines vibrating eagerly. His eyes are the size of dinner plates, and even in the soft light of your flat they glow like coals.

"I understand," König nods, "you want me to hunt you."

"Uh," You hesitate hearing the word out loud, your heart rate starting to drum in your ears, "I'm not sure I like how excited you are about this."

"No, no," He moves towards you and you nearly fall off the couch at you lean away, "You are putting your trust in me, this is good Liebling."

"I guess," Your fingers grip the arm of the couch where you steady yourself, it feels like the only tether you have to safety. The slowly parting maw of König's hood, the sharp rows of teeth that sit like tombstones hiding his red tongue, none of it moves when he speaks.

"You are giving me reign over your body." His movements feel more predatory, and your own body reacts to the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Your hair stands on end, goosebumps rush over your skin, your fingers tremble as anxious adrenaline starts to course through you. You scooch close to the edge of the couch, watch as König does the same, his claws sliding to rest on the floor like a sprinter's mark.

"Sort of a weird way to put it." Your tongue feels too big for your mouth, your words wield no power, and even if they did who are you to speak to a king?

"But you are not running mausi," König cocks his head to the side, "there is no hunt without the chase."

"Now?" Your feet hit the soft carpet of the forest floor as you ready yourself to run.

"Now." König agrees, and lunges at you like the crack of a gun.

You take off. Bolt from the couch and try not be too disconcerted by the trees now replacing the corners of your living room. The shock of red and gold above you casts twilight over the forest. If it were any other time you might stop and admire it, now all you admire is your own ability to not step on anything sharp while in just your socks.

The burn in your lungs comes fast, the crisp autumn air scratching at your throat, pulling at underused muscles and making you take heaving breaths as you run. With the crunch of König's feet behind you, you don't have the luxury of stopping. You run, as hard and as fast as you can, and you think about what will happen when he catches you.

You chance a look over your shoulder only for the fear it inspires in you. The bone deep, instinctual fear that something bigger, scarier, than you is lurking in the forest. Because there it is, chasing after you with its teeth bared and its eyes hungry. And deep down, past all the trust you have in König, you know that he'd kill you the same as any other wild animal would.

So you run. You feel the underbrush snagging at your comfy pants, scraping against your arms. You gasp for breath through the fear of being caught and force your feet to move.

It's only too bad König is faster than you.

Too bad that when he pounces, it knocks the wind out of you. You hit the ground hard, König's hand covers your face, one claw forcing its way past your lips to pull your head back. You scratch at his wrist, try to tug at his grip as it encircles your head, locking his finger in your mouth, his claw tickling your gag reflex.

His other claw rips through your sweats, tearing them to ribbons. He's silent, focused, the lack of his usual gentle reassurance strikes you colder than the sight of him chasing you. This- this is König right? He didn't just drop you in the middle of the fae wild and leave you, right?

You suck in a breath, your lip wobbling as you feel his other hand force its fingers into your cunt. His fingers are thick, stretching you past comfort as his claws scratch tracks over your thighs. The fingers wiggle, feeling the soft clutch of your walls, testing the limits of your pussy. You whine around the finger down your throat, your pleas muffled as König curls his finger to pull at your lips.

"Shut up," He growls, his fingers crooking to push against your sweet spot as you're dropped unceremoniously onto the forest floor. König's claws cage your head, his palm pressing your cheek into the leaves and twigs, cementing your place under him with an iron grip. His fingers scissor in your cunt, only to pull back when you're barely stretched.

König's cock notches against your pussy. The fat taper of the head just catches against your hole, and you feel yourself clench tight, muscles locking up at the size of it. He pushes it against your resistance, growls when it slips away from your hole. Your hips jump away from him as he skates a sharp tipped claw over your clit, scratching warningly at the sensitive bud before spreading your folds. Again his cock catches and slips out of your hole, too big to fit properly.

König growls, pushes two fingers back into your cunt and spreads them wide, holding you open.

The press of his cock between his fingers makes your breath come quick, your eyes pricking with tears at the splitting stretch. Your fingers scramble to push at him, to dig into the meat of his thighs and force him back.

"Too much," You whine. Fuck, not just too much, "You're gonna tear-"

"So what?" König's voice shudders through you, the cruelty behind it making your head spin, "I'm only taking what I'm owed."

Still, his long tongue slides over the taught skin of your cunt as it stretches around his cock. The barbs catching at the entrance are almost soothed by the loll of his tongue, it doesn't stop the shudder that rolls through you when you feel them grind against your walls. There's no gentleness in the way he forces his cock into you, but there's something almost placating in the way he soothes his tongue and fingers over your tight entrance.

His magic drips thick and viscous down your spine. It rolls, sticky, over your muscles, something to let you stretch to keep you together, does nothing to dull the feeling of König's cock pushing at your cervix. Not even halfway in and he's already nudging that deep aching spot below your stomach.

He pulls out with a growled swear, all those little bumps dragging at your walls as your cunt tries desperately to hold onto him, and pushes back in hard, forcing another few centimeters deeper.

It knocks the wind out of you. Forces a garbled groan past your lips.

Back and forth, pushing himself deeper and deeper with each stroke. Each time he pulls back it strokes against your walls and makes your toes curl. It burns, the stretch of taking something monstrous and unsympathetic to the way you whimper and whine, just at the edge of making you sob. You do sob, feeling König grind his hips against the resistance your body offers. Too many organs in the way for his liking.

If you were anyone else he might do something about that.

"Are you always so tight liebchen?" He asks. There's laughter at the edge of his voice, mirthful in his teasing. He must like the way you choke on the next push of his cock.

There's a tantalizing warmth at the base of your spine. A throbbing behind your clit that begs for attention. An ache that König's cock pushes at again and again.

His hand leaves your head only to wrap around your neck. He hauls you up onto your knees, lets your arms dangle just barely brushing the leaf litter on the floor. It sinks you the last few centimeters onto his cock. You shudder feeling the coarse curls at the base brush your bare skin.

König curls over you, blankets you in moss and vines, pulls you back into fur and musk that makes you woozy to breathe. You can feel the thump of his heart, the deep rumble of his growl like purr, and the tight muscles of his stomach still holding back.

You reach up to tug at the tethers the string from his chest. You want him to fuck you until he can't think anymore, until he stops looking at the forest each time you pass it, until you don't believe he'll leave you anymore.

"Stupid thing," König rumbles, his voice in every tree, in each echo that bounces through your skull, "what point is there catching prey if you don't keep it?"

His hair hangs over you as he curls further, forces you to meet the red glow of his eyes, see the cuts of his teeth. It feels sinister, a law spoken of something already known, a fear draped over your ribs with each sliver of silver that threaded between you.

"You could never get away from me." He tells you.

Your stomach clenches tight, your eyes stuck to his. His claws dig into the fat of your hip, drawing blood beading to the surface as he pulls you up and down his cock. Nothing more than a warm hole, a toy for him to squeeze tight on his cock. You only notice the steady bleed of pleasure that he feeds you.

Numbness cottons your brain. Tips your cup of thoughts over and lets them drain through the wet shlick of your pussy around his cock. Warmth sinks into your muscles, tingles over your folds, throbs around the cock that spears you again and again. What was there outside of this? Some dream of a life lived in solitude when you've always been here. Been this. Been his.

So telling that she almost asks what he means. So acutely does she see the hope in his eyes, remembers John's scoffed, "must've 'it 'is 'ead, thinks 'e's married." The huff of laughter she'd let slip over the phone hangs over her head like a noose.

"Can give you their number," Simon turns to stare at the ceiling, his lips moving silently. Memorized.

Like a prayer, she thinks again.

"I'll find them." Kate promises, and Simon hums.

Kate's had to call plenty of soldiers' families, siblings now left alone in the world, parents burying children, husband's and wives that will hang that tri-corner flag on their mantle, and plenty of "roommates." But this is the first neighbor she's called to sound so worried when Simon's name leaves her lips. The first one to bring a duffle bag to the hospital and fret over Simon's various tubes and wires, eyes shining with tears.

It's the first time Kate realizes she's never seen Simon smile before, didn't know the man could make such a soft expression, his eyes trained on your face as you cup his cheek and rub your thumb along the edge of his bandages. It's so foreign on his features, unsettled and unused. Natural in the way that tube worms and angler fish are natural. Loved by someone. By a neighbor.

"No one special," you assure her when she asks who you are, "Simon fixes things for me sometimes, helps me with the strays in the neighborhood."

She knows, of course Kate knows. Ran a background check as soon as Simon gave her the number. He knows, or at least must have assumed she would. You've bounced around jobs, bounced around apartments, found yourself unlucky in most things, unlucky in catching Simon's eye too Kate would think. And yet...

And yet there you were, telling him about the stray cats in the neighborhood, pulling out Tupperwares of leftover food, blankets, spare clothes, small comforts Kate didn't even know Simon had. Doubts anyone else knew he had.