All I Want

There’s passion to be found, not in action but expression.

My hands claw her side, tear her leggings, expose her flesh, leaves marks in her flesh – thin red streaks across her hips.

I don’t care about Force. I don’t care it’s the coffee table, I don’t care about anything.

All I want, for eternity, is to press my cock against the curves of her ass and come to a rhythm built only for us.



Who is the woman who walks her son home from school – dirty blonde hair, slim, dressed in a black tight singlet and even tighter grey sweat pants. The outline of a g string appearing as one foot moves in front of the other.

Where does she come from? What is on her mind? Is she aware of the outline? And if so, was it done on purpose?

The woman walks with an air of confidence – she knows. She chooses. She is ultimate. Absolute. And rightly so.

Is she a single mother? Is she raising her son with her partner? Or does she live with her mother, struggling to support herself and her child? Or is she successful and today is her favourite time of the day?

How does she laugh? How does she Cry? Where does she want to belong?

It is not our place to gawk, to wonder why, yet thoughts come. Thoughts not of objectification or gratification but of her mind, her thought, her world. Her personality.

Of which I will never know.


Her body was thrown against the earth.

Slick with sweat and peppered with dirt, she rested in the dirt.

Her lungs began to work again, bringing sweet cool air down her dry throat.

She licked her cracked lips and, tasting dirt, leaned to her right and spat.

Sweat was pooling on her back, she could feel. The gentle breeze around the open plains was cool.

She had no time to dwell long on it though, he was heading towards her, not missing a beat.

With one swift dart he lunged at her, grabbing her neck.

The man spoke to her in an ancient tongue as she gasped, robbed of the cool air.

His other hand tore at her feet singlet, tearing it off and revealing her plain black bra underneath.

She struggled, kicking her legs, but the man, dressed in a light grey uniform she couldn’t recognise, forced himself upon her.

His full weight now on her, her chest felt tight.

The man spoke again, his voice guttural and raw.

His free hand moved down to her dark brown corduroy pants, his fingers slipping underneath the waistband and dragging them down.

She felt the earth in her dark hair, she felt the gentle breeze start to hit her thighs.

Kicking did nothing. He tore her pants off relentlessly, revealing her plain black panties, the ones with the cute little black bow she had picked just this morning.

Throwing her pants aside, the man’s free hand returned to her chest and it was only a matter of strength for him to pull it off.

She felt like her back was going to explode before the man grunted in annoyance, speaking again as he forcibly rolled her to her side to unclasp the bra.

Dizzy from the fall, and from the choking, she forgot to scream until her small breasts were bare, catching the breeze.

He silenced her with his free hand across her face before she could emit a single sound.

She didn’t give up though. As his free hand traveled back down her body, she squirmed beneath him, fighting to urge to gag from the smell of sweat off his body.

The man shouted something roughly, his throat crackling.

The tangle that was her black panties came off as he lifted her ass, now bare, up to free them off her legs.

She swore at him all the way.

When she was fully nude, he stood up slowly, uttering something quietly.

For a moment he watched her, panting and swearing and sweating and nude, her clothes strewn around her.

When she stood up, she felt young. Humiliated. Vaguely ashamed. This was not the way she was taught.

He spoke once more and laughed. It was a bitter laugh. Vaguely sympathetic.

As he turned to leave, she swung at him, letting loose a string of curses.

He simply backhanded her, leaving her reeling, leaving her feeling something she couldn’t quite make out.

After she dressed and made her way back to the edges of town, it came to her – the last thing he said before he disappeared, as if he were an illusion.

Now you are reduced to nothing.

On some nights it was a nightmare, on other nights she clawed at her clitoris, moaning in both relief and frustration, frustration at what everything meant and why.

But no meaning came.


Nineteen year old Penny stands quietly in her bedroom adorned with posters of The Doors, wearing a thin grey singlet top and nothing else.

Her dark blonde hair is untied, reaching back down to the tips of her shoulder blade.

The room is low lit – her small white lamp sits on an old chest of drawers covered with gothic romances and old fairytales.

There is no sound in this room – she’s stopped her run of Love Her Madly, per the request of her mother, who is heading to bed. On top of that, she should really be studying for her psychology exam tomorrow anyway.

The temperature in the room is just right, a blend of warm with the slightest hint of a breeze.

The breeze, of course, tickles the back of her legs and skims across her inner thigh. She can feel the breeze where she has shaven herself.

From the study table to her left, a brown, ancient thing that has been in the family for decades, she grabs her metal ruler. The sharp edges scrape across the inside of her hands.

As she steps to her double bed that fits snuggly in the corner, she absent-minded slaps the metal ruler against her lightly tanned ass to the rhythm of Love Her Madly.

In a heartbeat, everything she had been thinking about – tomorrow, exams, Jim Morrison – disappears. All that remains is the feeling of the metal ruler against her ass. That cold slight sting.

Penny is standing in the middle of the room, her shadow quivering, as of coming to life on its own. Like electricity, the idea hits her and sizzles it’s way down her body in one pulsating sweep.

Smack. It happens sudden.

The cold hits — then gives way to pain.

Smack. More stinging. This time the ruler scraped at her skin.

The thick sound of the ruler on her right cheek fires off amidst the silence.


Another, and another.

Chills race down from the beads of sweat on her forehead to her nipples hardening underneath her singlet.

She can feel her pussy tingle with each smack. And with each smack, the sting begins to throb.

When she’s done with her backside, she’ll work on her front.


Penny shifts gears, the ruler comes down in a series of strikes, one after the other, the rhythm akin to an old Slayer tune – thrash on her skin. Smacksmacksmacksmacksmack.

It begins to overwhelm her, transporting her mind to a haven she’s only seen in the patterns when she closes her eyes.

There’s nothing out there but her amongst the void – her striking her ass.

Each strike is a pulse only she can hear, a reminder to chant low and meditate. She’s losing ground, her feet slipping.


She can smell her own scent.


Penny stifles her cries,


There’s a knock on the door.

‘What the bleeding ‘ell are you doing, Penelope?’ Her mother asks groggily through the door.

Penny almost trips but rights herself, finding solid ground. She roses the metal ruler on her bed.


‘Right. Well. Stop doing nothing.’

Penny listens but her mother says no more. One second more and footsteps begin to fade. Penny gets back to studying.

Valhalla, Ch. 11 – Past Lives







Ryan came to.
His chest felt heavy and his vision was a blur.
He could make out the table across from his room; he could definitely make out the light that flooded in through the open window
Did you open that, mum?
And he could feel the breeze on his exposed feet that stuck out the side of the bed.
Had someone woke me? He wondered, rolling on his back to face his bedroom door, expecting to see Eira.
No one came.
As he sat up in bed, he felt a dull pain crisscross against his chest. As if someone had held the handle of a…knife…against his chest tightly.
That’s when his eyes fell upon the item resting on the bedside table. It was a piece of parchment, faded yellow.
Ryan swung his legs out of bed and scooped up the parchment, his eyes scanning the jet-black ink.
The writing seemed feminine, he noted, as he began the first line.

I have been summoned by my All-Father to
Seek out a new soul.

Please forgive my absence, I

Shall return shortly.


In the meantime, training

Resumes as normal. Do see

Battle Mistress Mist if you require

Any assistance.





Rubbing his chest where it still felt constricted, Ryan re-reads the letter.
A new soul.
Does that mean her loyalty now belongs to this newcomer? Or do we share? Or…
Ryan dismissed the thought. He had to get dressed.




Ryan found Mist standing to the sides of the large empty field. Around them, men and women sparred, their grunts echoing across the field.
Ryan looked to his left, then to his right.
The field he was standing on was as large, if not larger, than the Etihad Stadium in Melbourne.
In the distance he could see another group of gathered warriors, their cries echoing back down to him.
As he stood in the shadow of Valhalla, still stretching inward from the morning sun, he watched the woman and man spar. The woman, a fellow warrior Ryan noted, swerved to the right and out of the man’s swing, meeting the attack with a fierce jab of her elbow.
With a cry, the man fell back on his ass. The woman laughed and cracked her neck.
All Ryan could think of was that he could never fight like that, like her.
“You are the one Eira brought recently.” Came the stern voice beside him.
Ryan turned in the direction of the voice, only seeing Mist, her back straight, hands behind her back rigidly, as she regarded the field.
“I am. Uh, Ryan. Ryan K-“
“You look concerned.”
Mist’s head moved in his direction, her body staying perfectly still.
“Well, I’m not a fighter, I guess. The last fight I was in was when I was eight. I…”
“All this can be taught. What matters…is the spirit. Which is why you are here…”
Ryan wasn’t a fighter. He had avoided any of that. The only fights he had been in was any high school jock picking on him as a teen, in which they did most of the punching. Ryan always took it. He didn’t know how else to react.
Anything after high school were verbal confrontations, defused with words or separation.
The last fight, his fourth physical fight in his lifetime, ended his life.

“Remember the past. Acknowledge it, even. But move forward, strengthen yourself.”
“Do you re….”
Mist was watching him closely, her deep blue eyes intense and focused.
“I do.”
She remained stiff, never faltering, never relaxed.
“Not every fighter, not every Valkyrie recalls their life. Some have fragments, some grow consumed by it, and some choose to forget. I choose to remember what we are fighting for. What I am fighting for.”
Mist turned her gaze from him and bowed as warriors approached Mist and bowed themselves, before beginning their duel.
“In another life, I was took part in the Marines. My squad featured some of the fiercest warriors I have ever met, some of them were even chosen to serve the All-Father along with me.”
There was a ghost of her smile on her face.
“Líf was one of them. “
Líf stood thirty metres away on the field, fighting against another Valkyrie. From where Ryan stood, she was a blur.
“My life would come to end earlier than hers, however. Amidst liberating Kuwait, something searing hot-“
Mist’s face drew into a scowl as she spat out the word hot. Her eyes became fierce.
“Clipped my neck. I woke up her. Before the All-Father and Mother themselves.”
“And you remembered?”
Ryan asked, his mind racing with thoughts.
“Not at first. The All-Mother spent some time guiding me on what they were trying to achieve. After the first few months, the dreams came. And after a while, so did the memories. Now…”
Mist turned to face Ryan once more. “I choose to remember. I just do not let it control me…”
She turned back to face the field, raising her hand in the air.
Líf, who had beaten her opponent in the spar, saw the signal and headed towards the two of them.
“Ragnarök is coming, Ryan. We need all you can give to us.”
Ryan felt a lump lodge in his throat as Líf approached. She fell on one knee.
“Battle Mistress…”
“No need of formalities, Líf. Care to spar with this gentlemen here?”
Líf’s golden eyes fell upon Ryan and her face lit up in a smirk that was strangely charming.
“Gladly, old friend.”
As Líf cracked her neck, Ryan gulped.




Líf beat Ryan, to be sure. By the time they broke for lunch, his buttocks were sore from falling over and his legs were aching from practicing the stiff defensive stance.
Yet through all that, Líf never grew impatient. She encouraged him, helped him up where he fell. Gave him pointers on reacting to her blows.
Despite all this, she did not hold back her blows, landing several hits that Ryan could tell would welt by the morning.
By the evening, Líf left Ryan at the entrance to his bedroom with a formal bow. She had asked if she would be needed for the evening, but Ryan politely decline, causing her eyes to darken and her brow to frown. Regardless, she bowed again and continued on down the hall.
When Ryan collapsed on his bedroom, he could feel the familiar dull ache of his chest. It was still tight from the morning, hanging around with that familiar dull ache.
It didn’t take long for sleep to find him.



The following morning, Ryan sat by himself in the great hall, around a table that smelled of mead. It was too early in the morning for him for mead, however, so he settled on a coffee, hoping for a caffeinated boost to the system.
Eira was still absent. Kára too, he noticed. Both must’ve been given the task of accompanying a new soul (or souls) on their journey to Valhalla.
When the doors to Valhalla creaked open, silencing the music and the hall itself, Ryan joined everyone’s head in turning to see who was arriving.
A group of Valkyries stepped forward, their soul either standing beside them, or behind them. Ryan tried to count as they stepped forward and got as far as ten before he saw Eira emerge, walking beside another woman outfitted in a pale grey dress. The woman brushed the dirty blonde hair out of her eyes as she looked around the room, her eyes widening.
Eira searched the room, her face in a frown.
It was only a matter of time before her eyes found Ryan, sending chills up his spine for reasons unknown.
Was it that she found him amongst the crowd? Or that he was thinking that this new woman might be Eira’s new focus?
Ryan hoped the coffee had the answer and would provide him with it shortly after the caffeine boost.
Eira didn’t make her way over to him, Ryan noticed. Rather, she stood in a line amongst the Valkyries, bowing her head.
Ryan’s eyes moved to the front of the great hall, where Odin sat, his piercing grey eye looking out amongst the newly arrived warriors.
In stepped more warriors and Valkyries, and more still. Ryan stood watching, cradling his coffee, thinking on what Eira said about the size of Valhalla and how many warriors it can hold.
Amongst the crowd, Ryan spotted Kára step through the doors, walking with a posture as perfect as Mist.
Beside her was a man.
The man who had ended Ryan’s life.
Ryan’s chest began to ache.


The End of the Chosen arc.



And now, some notes:

For some reason, I have designed Valhalla like a comic book, divided up amongst several arcs – with one leading into the next and continuing little plot points that I had been building to.

This chapter acts as the end to the introductory saga (as a draft anyway!) with more to come in the near future.

I don’t know what to do with this series just yet. I have, as of March 2018, 25 chapters planned of this story, characters and their relationships and I am considering a novel, or just putting all this away in a box in my house because maybe it’s not good enough.

 I mean, maybe it isn’t? Maybe it just needed to be written. It is still a draft, one I will no doubt be rewriting to the end of time, but being the perfectionist anxious bugger I am, I don’t know how skilled or entertaining I am of a writer.


In any case, this is going on hiatus for now.

Valhalla, Ch. 10 – Adjustments, Part II




Adjustments, Part II


“I like to come here when I have the time.”
Eira and Ryan stood in a patch of tall grass that overlooked a waterfall.
The noise was thunderous – so much so that Eira had to raise her normally quiet voice.
Ryan could not see Valhalla anymore. In each direction, grandfather trees shot up into the sky, their pale aged bark obstructing the view to the world outside.
Eira had taken him beyond Valhalla, deep into the Fensalir forest.
It wasn’t far; Ryan noted to himself, the walk only lasted five minutes.

It was where they currently stood that they had their breakfast – a plate of fruit, the likes of Ryan had never tried before. As he bit into it, sweet and sour sensations flooded his mind and tingled his tongue. Eira watched amused, of course.
Now they stood in silence, listening to nothing but the crash of water into the lake below.
Just watching the water flow and fall, flow and fall, made him sleepy.
Movement caught his eye and he looked to see Eira wriggling out of her pale grey dress. It fell to the ground in a clump, revealing her bare body.
The light was caught behind her, setting her form alight as if she were a performer on the stage.
He noticed Goosebumps on her arms, goose bumps that travelled across her breasts, stiffening her nipple as they went.
The word beautiful hit Ryan’s mind and left just as instantly, a fleeting thought.
Her ass bore the mark where he had struck her the day before. A reminder of the darkness that possessed him.
And how it felt to indulge such darkness.
Looking back at him, a crooked appeared across Eira’s face, before she turned to face the waterfall below – and leapt off.
Ryan jumped into action, his heart suddenly kicking into overdrive. Something warm and hot slithered across his back and down his legs – adrenaline working overtime.
When he peered over the edge, she was already into the lake below, the splash spraying upwards.
How far down was that drop? Ryan wondered, but mathematics was never his strong suit. A long way down came the answer in his head.
A moment later, Eira resurfaced. Her giggle echoed up the Cliffside.
“What were you thinking? Are you okay?”
“I am fine Ryan K-…I am fine.”
It was as if Ryan had no control over his words. Out of his mouth they stumbled, ignoring proper pronunciation.
He couldn’t tell what Eira was thinking, let alone what her expression was like as he stood on the edge of the Cliffside. He could only guess she was smiling though, judging from the slight giggle he could hear.
Is this some sort of ritual..?

“Come join me!”
“What?! Oh no – no no no.”
Ryan wasn’t one for heights.
The plane seemed to scream as it leapt into the sky. Below, the city disappeared, as if fading out of existence.
Ryan wanted to scream.
“No I think I’ll stay up here. Or, you know, watch from up here.”
“I can guarantee your safety.”
“What if I die? Again?!”
“Then you’ll become one with the cosmos.”
Ryan began to tremble; he looked down at the sight of Eira, who was just a blur.
“Wait a minute, are you serious? I don’t come back or anything?”
“Jump, Ryan!”
More giggling.
Ryan let out a shaky sigh and looked down at the lake below. At his feet, a small pebble, scuffed by his shoe, rolled off and fell from view.
“New beginnings, right?”
“Might as well try something new…”
Ryan took a deep breath.
Ryan jumped.

Wind. Drumming on his ears. All around him. A vortex. Ryan was falling. Endlessly.
Crashing into the artic. Freezing. Screaming. The world spinning by.
He emerges, his hair everywhere, over his eyes. He needs a cut.
Eira is looking back at him. Her eyes don’t look grey anymore, they look golden.



Ryan was drying his hair with a soft towel Eira provided.
The two were sitting on the banks of the lake, looking out at the area where they just swam.
“Do you still have your appetite?” Eira asked, reaching into her satchel. Ryan couldn’t help but notice that her breasts swayed along with her movement.
“I don’t know, do you have time to have that breakfast with me? Or will someone summon you?”
“The only person who has requested me has been you.”
She pulled out a golden apple and handed it to Ryan. “Here. Eat.”
“Are we training again?”
“When we get back. For now, eat.”
Somewhere beyond the trees, a bird cried out shrilly.
The morning forest stirred with life Ryan could not see.
He took the apple and rubbed it on his chest. Eira, catching the movement, looked at him with a bemused expression across her face.
From the satchel, she pulled forth her own apple and bit into it.
What if I die? Again?!
Then you’ll become one with the cosmos.
She looked to Ryan, mid bite.
“What do you mean by ‘You’ll become one with the cosmos’.”
Eira thought the question over, turning the apple over and over in her hands.
“Your energy, all that you are here, fades.”
Ryan felt his face crease.
All that I am…just vanishes. What of my memory?
The emptiness, the finality of it, terrified him. He couldn’t process it.
“But…I’m already dead.”
“As are the Valkyries, yet we have died before. And will die in the battle to come.”
Her face grew solemn as she spoke. She put the apple down on the grass on which they sat.
“Valkyries have lived before?”
Eira, who had been sitting cross-legged, her wings out behind her, shifted her position so that she faced Ryan.
“Oh indeed. Each Valkyrie has lived before – a mortal life! In death, we are brought before Freya, lady of Folkvangr, or the All-Father.”
“So…you were like me?”
He instantly felt stupid for asking that, but Eira did not seem to mind, she nodded and smiled.
“Some retain a memory of their former selves, others struggle to. I cannot.”
Eira shook her head, extending her arms to look at the scarring on her wrist. “The only thing I recall is waking up on the shores of Asgard, naked as the tide washed over me.”
Ryan looked down at her scar and flinched at the memory that came to mind –
Eira winced beneath his touch.
His palms stung but he couldn’t stop. He was addicted.
He was addicted.
“I’m sorry I hurt you…”
Eira looked up from her outstretched arm and into his eyes.
“That is not hurt. You do not have anything to apologise for.”
Something strange occurred then, in that little space away from the riotous celebrations of Valhalla. Eira lent in and kissed Ryan softly on the cheek.
Her lips were soft and cool on his skin.
While Ryan’s body tensed at the pleasant feeling, Eira began to feel something else deep within her, a pang of guilt.



When the two arrived back in the great hall of Valhalla, they were met with the stench of mead and sweat and loud joyous music.
Some men cheered, linking their arms to a Valkyrie as they danced around happily. Other men took their slaves over the table from behind aggressively, tweaking their slaves’ nipples.
Ryan was still getting used to the sight of the party that never seemed to end. But between the dancing nude men and women and the sound of a flute striking a melody alongside the rhythmic beating of the drum, his mind wandered to the idea of a dance.
He turned beside him to where Eira was standing, watching the people dance with that sweet smile, and extended his arm.
“I don’t know how to dance but I figure we’ll just go with it?”
Eira didn’t know what he meant by ‘just go with it’ but she linked her arm with his all the same.
With their arms interlocked, the two began to dance.


To be Continued…