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Well, this is a story I have recently started writing and finished a chapter of (and I promise, my other story chapters are coming soon!). Welcome to Ride of the Valkyries! It's a take on Norse Mythology that I've wanted to do for a bit, and as the tags say, it's also a genderbending, age regression story. Just as a warning, it's going to be quite...dark. The pasts of the characters...well, all of them have died and this is their version of the afterlife (although not everyone gets in that afterlife, obviously). Given that, character death is not only likely, but a certainty. As another warning, the main character (and one character in the start with the "f" slur) has...biased preconceptions, given his past, so expect him to make a lot of changes for glorious character development! I cannot think of various other things, but I'm ready to get into it, and I hope y'all are as well! About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Thank you in advance! And without further ado, here is the story: - Chapter One: Couldn't Cut It as a Poor Man Stealing (How You Remind Me, Nickelback) - I was dead, and I fucking knew it. No, not figuratively either; no, this was a really real death as I stared at my own corpse from outside my body. The shoulder length dirty-blond hair I had was matted and stained with my red, which had oozed into my glassy sea-green eyes. My heavily tattooed body was riddled with bullet holes, but my lifeless hand still grasped my pistol in a death grip as my killers laughed - fucking laughed - while shooting my corpse with their assault rifles. I figured I was going to hell after what I did in life. Not that I even believed in an afterlife, but I wasn’t bound for heaven, that was for damned sure. Maybe I was going to be destined to wander the earth forever? I supposed that wouldn’t be too bad. There weren’t too many people that I’d want to see again (the less said about my folks, the better, and my coworkers - or rather former coworkers - were busy shooting my corpse to pieces, still laughing.), but if I knew that they were safe…well, maybe that would be all right. Maybe I could be their guardian angel? Nah, I discarded that thought instantly; I was no angel. Hell, I didn’t even know if I was a devil. I didn’t know what I was anymore. They continued to use my body for target practice until Big Anton Antipov, the Russian Mafiya man, the enormous (all 6’9” of him) and heavily tattooed leader of my former coworkers, came in, looking as furious as I had ever seen him. Even though I was dead, he scared me, for he was a man who never got furious, even when he was killing people - something he did rather often to those who fucked up. People like me, in other words. “The product got away!” he roared at the group in his heavily accented English. “All of it! We have to pack, NOW!” “I thought you had it!” another Russian Mafiya member shouted. “I did! And then a bomb went off! In my office! Where everything that is important is!” “It’s fucking Dally’s fault!” one of the rare American men, Barron - whom I had once considered…well, not a friend because he was honestly a racist, sexist, homophobic, and otherwise wholly awful piece of shit, but a guy I could whose native language and culture I could at least understand - complained, using the nickname I loathed. “If that faggot hadn’t grown a conscience-” “It doesn’t matter! Dallas is fucking dead, apparently! Why weren’t you chasing the product instead of wasting your time shooting his corpse?!” “He just started shooting us dead! Said he-” “That’s enough of that. We don’t need to see any more, and there isn’t much time for you.” The voice echoed in the air, and time stopped; I could see Barron’s mouth paused mid speech as if done by a television remote. I felt my breath, not that I needed to breathe at this point, catch in my throat, as I turned around to see…a woman. A woman riding a dark gray horse…a horse with eight goddamned legs. She was Asian and looked fairly young (if I had to guess, around my age, twenty-eight), her black hair in a bun with a golden hair clip, fierce dark brown eyes and a frightening scowl on her face. She wore a plain brown duster and a black t-shirt with her enormous breasts and cleavage protruding through the fabric, blue jeans, and scuffed cowboy boots, overall looking like an Asian cowgirl (an extremely attractive Asian cowgirl), if not for two things. The first was the twin scabbards across her jeans, holding what were obviously twin swords...swords that were alight with flame that somehow didn’t scorch her clothes. The second were snow white angel-like wings coming from her back, with swan-like feathers fluttering and so in tune with the wind that it slowed the descent of both her and her strange horse. The wings were enormous, and they were beautiful. I looked at her in awe, but the first thing that came out of my mouth was, “Your horse has eight legs,” before I clapped it shut with my hands, knowing how much of an idiot I sounded like. “Yes, sleipnirs tend to have eight legs,” the woman said in a patient tone, as if she was talking to a toddler. “Is there anything else you wish to point out before I task you with judgment, Dallas Gareth Brogdon, he of twenty-eight years, six months, and three days old, born in Cheyenne Regional Medical Center in Cheyenne, Wyoming?” I blinked, surprised that this woman knew all of that about me and my past. Of course, she was an angel, most likely, so if I had to guess, she had to know all of that. “Judgment? I don’t figure I’m going to Heaven…” “And by all rights, you haven’t earned Valhalla.” The woman’s voice was harsh, but fair, and I lowered my head, filled with inner guilt. “You’ve led a life of sin, even with your clear conscience and regrets. You never had the courage or moral fortitude to fight back or oppose the people you sinned with…until now. But you died bravely with a weapon in your hand in the defense of the lives of innocent others without any consideration of your own. The Vikingr Code is very clear on that. So, I’m giving you the opportunity for…a second chance.” “I don’t deserve one,” I said bluntly. “If you’re going to send me to hell, that’s that, and I know I deserve it. I’ve made my peace knowing that I’m not cut out for heaven.” “Valhalla,” the woman corrected, “and trust me, you don’t want Helheim. I could give it to you if you wish, but if I were you - and I’ve been mortal like you and in this very position at one point - I’d go for the second chance.” “Who are you?” I asked. “Are you an angel?” “Angels? You foolish mortal man with your foolish take on a deity. I am a valkyrie. Valkyrie Captain Sasithorn. My sleipnir’s name is Hreggský. The rank and my sleipnir’s name are all you need to know.” “Is your name, ‘Sa-si-tawn’, I mean, Asian or-” “Thai. Literally means ‘the Moon’, spelled ‘S-a-s-i-t-h-o-r-n’. I will not say it again, so make sure you do not make me. We don’t have much time anyway.” “What do you mean?” “I mean that if you don’t get on Hreggský immediately, you will either be sent to Helheim or come back as a draugr. You do not want either of those options as your fate.” “Draugr?” “Stupid infantile human, will you get on my sleipnir or not?!” The dark gray eight-legged horse whinnied and tossed its head as if even it was annoyed with me and agreeing with its rider. “Okay, fine!” I said, raising my hands. “I’m clearly outnumbered on this. Fine, if you two want me to face judgment sooo badly-” Sasithorn did not hesitate to pull me on the front of the horse as if she was much stronger than I was (and I was pretty big at 6’4”, 220 pounds; by all rights, the much smaller, slimmer woman wouldn’t be able to do that), and put me in the front of her, while strapping me to her body with a Velcro substance, as if putting a young child in a car seat. “I will hold on to you, since you obviously can’t do it yourself,” she chided, as her wings encircled me in a protective way, her arms holding the reins. Well, if she wanted to embarrass the absolute fuck out of me, she was doing a hell of a good job. “Now, á brott, Hreggský! We have a judgment awaiting!” - Okay, first of all, the Norse words: Sleipnir - the eight-legged horse born from Loki in the form of a mare, Odin's steed. (There's a plot reason why Sasithorn has a sleipnir. Yes, I said "a".). Hreggský - "Storm cloud" (hregg = storm; ský = cloud). Valhalla - the Hall of the Glorious Slain, basically, those who died fighting with a weapon in their hand. Helheim - the Hell of Norse mythology, basically, those who were either terrible people and/or cowards who died without a weapon on their being. Vikingr - to go "Viking" (yes, "Vikings" are not the right term for the warriors; Viking means "raiding", and those who were raiding were known as "Danes"). Valkyrie - a warrior spirit, namely a woman, who went on to the battlefield to collect the souls of the Glorious Slain for Valhalla. Draugr - a warrior revenant (intelligent zombie), oftentimes greedy and envious of the living, unable to ever have their souls rest. á brott - "Away" Hope y'all enjoyed~

Well, I know I have some other works that I need to really get done, but this little idea popped into my head last night, and it wouldn't go away until I wrote a chapter for it. So, here's The Infant's Guide to Reaching Purgatory~ Some things to note before we get started: Firstly, the content warnings are very real. Pay attention to the tags before you jump in and read. If it's not for you, you are absolutely not obligated to read, and that's perfectly okay. Secondly, this is not meant as a religion-bashing story, and I will not make it one. I am not religious in the slightest myself (and some of the things that the characters say do not reflect my beliefs), but I respect all creeds. It's just that this story is set in hell, for the very most part. No, it's not a Hellaverse fic: just a babyfur story that happens to be set in a different sort of hell. Finally, it is a very short prologue, and I apologize for not being able to get back into the swing of things in my other stories. I just needed to write something down and post it. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. Now, without further delay, let's get into this story: - Prologue - “What do you MEAN, ‘I’m going to Hell’?!” The female red wolf had all but screamed those words, lashing her tail to-and-fro, nude as the day she was born (to her utmost dismay as she continued to cover herself with her paws and tail as best as she could; the angels said that earthly clothes couldn’t be taken to the afterlife), standing on the clouds that made up the surface of whatever judgment chambers there were in Heaven. Fuck, even the walls and ceiling were covered in clouds. She was utterly incensed. How dare these fucking self-righteous hypocrites say she was damned?! What did they know about her life?! What did they know about her?! The swan-winged figure looked at her coldly. Gender and species were impossible to identify with the angel’s robes, the heavenly halo shining upon its masked face. “Violet Valencia Bailey,” the voice intoned, neither male nor female. “Please don’t make this as drawn out as it could be. You’ve been judged by your actions and sins, and-” “I WANNA KNOW WHY!” Violet snarled furiously. “Please don’t interrupt me when I’m talking. You know why. Your last actions literally spelled it out.” “Unless you think suicide is a sin all of a sudden?” the red wolf huffed, wishing she had something, anything, really, to cover her body. Even a towel would be nice… “I’d say brutally murdering your husband in cold blood gets-” “YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID TO ME, IF YOU’RE SO FUCKING ALL POWERFUL-” “Please do not interrupt me, and please do not curse. His actions were detestable. Yours are inexcusable, and you don’t even have the good grace to admit it.” “Bullshit! I did what any sane woman would’ve done to a fucking bastard like him!” “Please stop curs-” “Make me!” “Don’t - interrupt me - again.” “Make me! You’re not my parents!” “And thank the Lord Almighty I’m not. You’re acting like a petulant child.” “Fuck off, chickenwing! If you’re going to send me down to Hell anyway, when I don’t deserve it, you’re goddamned right I’m gonna chew your ass out!” The masked figure sighed and pulled out an odd circular object that Violet assumed was a phone of some kind (and it sucked that she couldn’t bring her phone with her to the afterlife. Seriously, the afterlife could go screw itself, at this point.). “We have a Code Sunshine, repeat, Code Sunshine,” the figure said in a bored tone. The red wolf was suddenly confused. “Sunshine?” she asked. “It means you’re getting what you’ve rightfully earned,” the angelic figure said, and Violet could practically hear the smug smile on their face that she knew they were hiding behind their mask. “It’s been a while since this code was used. You might want to give us some entertainment.” “Entertainment? The fuck are you talking about?! You sick fucks like to watch animals get tortured, don’t you?!” “You’ll see what happens. I bet you last a week before you’re begging for Lucifer’s deepest, darkest pits. Or three days before she has you right where she wants you.” “Huh?” Violet felt herself sinking through the clouds, and she howled in distress - she hated heights, hated them, hated them, hated them - before her entire body slipped through, and she began to freefall through the air, her spirit plummeting to earth as she continued screaming in terror, flailing for any purchase where there was none, her soul dropping like a stone. She saw the ground fly up to meet her, and she held her paws out to protect her face, awaiting the crash. Only she didn’t crash; the second Violet’s spirit hit the ground, she began to sink through the inky black, like she was going into water in the night. Her arms and legs were forced up to her chin, tail curled around her waist, as if she was a fetus again, her body compacting from the pressure. “OH?” a masculine voice rang out, sounding very amused. “So, you managed to anger an Archangel enough for them to request a Code Sunshine. Can I have your name?” “Who the fuck are you?” Violet snapped, her voice sounding oddly tiny for a fully-grown she-wolf. “Are you some demon who’s gonna try to torture me, asshole?” “Well, I can certainly see why they requested it.” The voice was still amused. “Let me see…what is your crime…oh, right here, they texted it to me. Heaven can be so kind in those cases…” “Who the fuck are you?!” the red wolf repeated furiously. “Ahem, Violet Valencia Bailey the red wolf, you brutally murdered your husband, Dirk Arnold Stauss the Tapanuli orangutan, with a shotgun…multiple shots before he was finally killed-” “Shut up!” Violet snarled, baring her fangs, wishing for the millionth time that she wasn’t naked. The demon continued as if she had never spoken, “-then committed suicide after the murder-” “SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Violet screamed into the inky blackness, her voice as loud and forceful as a puppy’s. "-aborted his potential children without his knowledge in the past, refusing them a life when you had other options-" "GOD DAMN YOU, GO SUCK YOUR FUCKING DICK!" “And you had arguments with him as well,” the voice finished with a thunderous ending in his tone, far more powerful than hers. “Do you deny any of this?” The red wolf was shaking, her fur bristling with rage. “Does anyone realize why I did this?! Do you even fucking CARE, you unfair piece of shit?!" “Fairness in Hell? Do not make me scoff. He is damned as well; there is your 'fairness'. The difference between this man and you is that he did not act childishly when confronted with his wrongdoings. He freely admitted his sins, boasted that he was proud of them, despite knowing very well they were wrong; he is facing his eternal punishment as we speak. Deep down, I think you do know you were not in the right either. What is the saying, ‘two wrongs do not make a right?’” “Shut up! You don’t know shit about me!” The voice sighed. “I cannot continue this conversation with someone so immature. I will leave you to the Grand Duchess, Astaroth. May this be the last time we meet.” “What?” Violet felt a burning charge go through her soul, trillions upon trillions of times both hotter and colder than she had ever felt in her twenty-five years of life on earth, unable to even scream out her pain in response - and after the charge lanced through every part of her that remained, her conscious thoughts slipped into darkness. - Hope y'all enjoyed~