#Scandinavian muscle

[l00k4tm4m45c415]

Jutta Gutafsberg

[tenebris-aurea]

Oh we like lying for fun

yes i like lying on the internet. for fun. it’s funny, yes

[bombontheevilcat]

I'm scandinavian and I can't swim LMAO 😭😭

Please reblog and add your nationality in the tags along with what you answered! I'm very curious about this; and it's not to shame anybody, so don't be rude!

[nathangrahamgaming]

The Pinnacle of Muscle Cars - Wreckfest

Stakes are getting higher as the folk-racing season continues with a series of single races that takes you around the more challenging Nordic mixed surface tracks.

[vyvilha]

Can you tell me more about mavka and what her deal is? She reminds me of Scandinavian huldra from thr little I've heard and I'd love to learn more about her!:D

hello friend. a mavka, navka or nyavka is an undead forest spirit, one of type which ukrainians call the covered dead (заложні мерці) — spirits of people that died of unclean, improper death, and therefore couldn't finish the transition and weren't allowed to the orherworld. the name covered undead comes from the fact that in old times they weren't properly buried, and were left in forests covered by leaves and twigs.

generally mavky are envisioned as beautiful girls, although in some regions there are beliefs about male mavky (sometimes called didky). mavka looks perfectly human except for the fact that their backs lack skin and muscle, exposing their innards and spine. they aren't malicious, but are obliviously playful and can hurt people during their plays — tickle or dance you to death, drown, ward you off your tray. in some western regions it's also believed that time goes faster when encountering them — what is felt like several hours could actually be several hundred years.

navky live in forests and mountain caves, and they like to dance, weave, play and prank wanderers, especially young men. to ward off mavky valeriana, garlic and wormwood are used, as well as wearing your shirt inside out. like most undead spirits in ukrainian mythology, navky are most active during the green festival/rusalka week.

there is a ukrainian holiday called navsky velykden, or undead easter, celebrated at the first thursday after easter. in this day all mavky, rusalky, upyri and all the other unclean forces celebrate easter. at night during the holiday it was prohibited to visit churches, since celebrating undead could dismember you if spotted.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

im ready to die im so scared and embarassed but if its alright with you (im sorry your rules not that detail so im not sure) but maybe you would be up to write a ns/fw drabble with merman Wanderer, Albedo or Aether(separate) ? either of them sound interesting honestly. but if its not your thing its alright.

Mermen!Wanderer, Mer!Albedo, and Mer!Aether (separately) x reader (NSFW)

Wanderer

The sounds of people talking at the beach tried creeping up into your mind but the sudden thrust of Wanderer’s cock stopped anything going on in your mind and your eyes rolled into the back of your head, cold violet scales rubbed against your inner thighs and smooth lips marking up your neck. Your lover kept a quick pace, vibrant lavender eyes flickered to you then to the public beach not even 30 feet away and his smile curved up into a smirk.

“Wanna be louder? Let other people enjoying their day know that you’ve been getting fucked like the slut you are.” The hand over your mouth did little to cover your moans and mewls being drawn out of you by every time his cock hit that one spot in your hole. One of his hands snaking down to play with your chest and trail down to pinch the sensitive spots of your body, his webbed hands and fin ears brushing against your skin and wetting them.

“How do you think your friends would feel if they knew your lover wasn’t abroad at a Scandinavian school studying history but a merman who takes pleasure in fucking you so hard you can’t even stand the next day.” Whispering those words into your ears and emphasizing each word with a harsh thrust, biting down on a soft part of your neck that was particularly sensitive, and grinning wildly as you squirmed and thrashed like fish in a net.

Albedo

Blackness was all you could see but feeling was a different story as your veins felt like they were lit on fire and your senses overwhelmed you as you ground your hips against your lover’s tail. His fingers played with your chest, desperately trying to get reactions out of you by twisting and sucking your nipples.

Heat spread through your body despite knowing you were underwater, the cold water ghosting your skin and feeling helpless with your hands and legs bound (as if being underwater wasn’t already a unique experience with the help of special seaweed Albedo got you). “Relax, my darling. You’ll get your release soon.” He flipped his fins so the light smooth fibers grazed over your bruises and sensitive skin, fluttering your eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation.

The lack only enhanced your sense of touch and the many orgasms you already had had taken a lot out of you but your body said otherwise. If only you could see the smirk and curious gaze you knew he had on his pale face, gold scales creeping on the edges of his cheek, and bright teal fins blushing when you begged for more.

Aether

Long blonde braided hair floats on top of the water and touches your thighs as the merman’s tongue laps at your hole greedily, humming contentedly whenever you grind yourself on his face and ignoring the ocean waves washing against his face. Using his tail to keep himself steady and arms circled around your waist so you would say where he wanted you to above water.

The clash of the cool sea water and his hot curling tongue in you shook your very core, trembling whenever you were just about to cum and Aether stopped eating you out only kissing your inner thighs. Locking eyes with you as if to say “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We aren’t done yet” and firmly gripping your ass, eliciting a moan to slip from your lips.

You went to open your mouth when your lover dove back in, tongue fucking your tightening hole and trailing one of his hands up to your chest to play with your nipples. Lost in your head in the haze of lust barely able to speak now that you were about to orgasm and crying out at the euphoria coursing through you, mentally thanking your lover for having strong enough tail muscles to keep you up and slipping into his grasp as he brought back into his arms.

[rmelster]

My Questions are:

What do you think of the Firebrand movie?

Do you hate it when people say, This is not a documentary why do you care?

What do you think about Henry VIII's story being repeatedly recycled in historical dramas?

If you are a screenwriter and director of a historical drama series, what will you do?

Hi @marianadecarlos! Thanks for asking!

To your first question, I am sorry to tell you that, as much as I have seen the trailer, I have not watched Firebrand. It was giving Scandinavian horror movie with the witchy stuff so I don’t know.

Your second question is easier: Yes, I mislike when people say that. A LOT. But specially when it comes in supposedly “historical” shows and movies, like those of Philippa Gregory. The one I dislike the most is The Spanish Princess.

Yes, I am sick and tired of that bitch of Henry, and I hate when the cast young and handsome actors to play him and give him a more sympathetic view, specially when they write about Anne Boleyn and so own (like on Wolfhall and the Tudors).

If I was a screenwriter, I would actually make works of actually underrated royals and historical characters, and by God, I would not sex nothing up. I would also try to cast or characterise actors so that they resemble their historical counterparts (like, I would not just choose very thin actresses and muscled actors).

Regards :)

[raisindave]

[Chapter 75] Seeing the World Through Ballistic-Tinted Glasses

The air burns in your lungs, and every bounding step sends shockwaves of tension through your knees and hips, a consequence of a sedentary work week- not to mention a rowdy previous night. Sweet spit pools under your tongue, but this impromptu jog was a necessary response to electric muscles. You'd be a fool to think your paradoxically exhausted and alert mind could get any sleep, and some fresh air would probably do you some good. Puffs of misty breath were illuminated by passing streetlights, your muscles screamed for relief that your racing mind couldn't afford. The sun hadn't even risen yet, and it won't for a while. It's hard to say if you got any rest last night, but you'd memorized the wallpaper pattern well enough to see it when you blink. 

Going for a jog with everything you own on your back is oddly freeing in a way. Like you could slip into the woods without a word and live like a nomad in the Germanic birches and pines. Escape duty, shed discipline. Responsibility would slide off you like rain off a wing. It makes you wonder if you could do it. Slink away from it all, dye your hair, and find a small Swedish commune that might take you in, rural enough to be free from CIA surveillance. Settle down with some Scandinavian man who warms your back at night and spend your days selling goat's milk soaps at farmer's markets. 

No, that's not you. 

You're too loyal—Loyal and stubborn. A slave to what's familiar, as counterintuitive as this career may be to that ideal. Loyalty is a flaw and a blessing in equal measure, a double-edged sword. But what are you loyal to if you're not even loyal to yourself?

A glance at the stony plaza that'd been the bane of your existence for the last few days was now almost entirely stripped of all military presence. Pop-up tents and armoured vans that hosted chin-scratching commanders now sit as they once were; jagged cobblestone sidewalks with orange leaves peppering every other stone. It's like you were never there. But that's the goal in the end: To sweep high-strung military situations out of the public consciousness as soon as possible, and carry on being the invisible, omnipresent, but lethal phantom guarding the streets against a greater evil. Maybe Ghost was onto something when he got that callsign. 

This state is always the most unsettling in every mission. The bad guys are gone, the good guys are gone, and you sit in this odd liminal space where life has paused for an indeterminate amount of time. It makes you wonder about the first line cook or waitress to step into that restaurant after you'd occupied it. Would they be able to sense the tension and panic you felt while sitting at those tables where they'd served thousands of guests? Would the line chefs be aware of how many hundreds of times you'd paced through their workspace, raking your mind for a glimmer of insight? No, no they wouldn't. You're just a pawn, transitory and unfamiliar. Leaving behind no impact save for the ones your higher-ups choose to acknowledge you for. 

Laswell didn't have you on some private jet like last time, it looked like a much larger plane, the kind you'd been on dozens of times before. It's not quite a 747, but maybe a bit smaller. Either way, you seemed to be the first on the plane out of your colleagues, but the flight attendant didn't blink twice when you crossed paths to find your seat well before the scheduled takeoff time. You didn't even care to change your clothes after your jog, only slung on a hoodie and settled in by the window for a long flight. That half-eaten chocolate cake and a mess of sheets, a puddle of water in the bathroom, and that dumb fucking yellow box were all left behind. Whatever the contents of that box were would be left to the cleaning staff to interpret; you could only hope it's not a gun, knife or, maybe a skinned cat, or some other macabre item you'd expect from someone that wears a skull mask every day. 

Baritone voices caught the peripheral of your hearing, and Price and Gaz came down the aisle with the rest of them, carrying on their conversation as they stopped beside you. A few other people were on the flight by now, tinkering overhead lighting illuminated about a dozen other patrons in suits and hoodies. Time stood still when Price stopped to sniff the air, honing his attention on Ghost, who sat, ever the tempered one, eyes straight and alert like a good little soldier while Price inspected. You'd snapped out of your trance when he grumbled something about Ghost smelling like his 'nan,' your blood ran cold. On top of that, you only connected the odd look Soap gave you after about thirty seconds of staring into oblivion, probably noticing how oddly you flickered to attention at that moment. Ghost looked grumpy and sunken, but it's hard to say. The fucker is always grumpy and sunken. You'd only caught a glimpse of white on black when he slung his pack into the overhead compartment. For now, you sat in silence as your other coworkers filed in, dodging eye contact as you both waited to have all your personal space sapped by Gaz or Soap or Price or whoever. 

Only when the pilot chimed in on the intercom did you get a grasp of where you were even going. Seol, Korea. What is she bringing you to Korea for? You haven't a clue. Hopefully, she knows you don't know a word of the language, and you could only pray that she won't give you a week to master it. Especially with the knowledge of how poorly that went last time. The plane accelerating glued you to your seat, and you got to watch this humming German cityscape spark to life in the early morning hours. It didn't take long for you to sleep, eventually drifting off as Gaz sat with folded arms beside you, snoring. 

Eventually, the familiar falling sensation made you jolt awake, and time passed in a ritualistic haze. A mechanical walkway invited you to leave the plane, and you hurried to follow along with your colleagues' broad strides. However, they disappeared in a hurry, taking a route that looked more like an employee corridor, leaving Price to nod in the direction of the rest of the passengers. You obediently followed his gesture, not that you had much of a say. Laswell greeted you at the airport, or rather, she sat at one of those airport cafes, blonde bangs bowed down to a manilla folder next to her coffee. The cast she'd worn for the past few weeks was off, now free from the reminder of your little stay in Al Mazrah.

"What's the sitrep? " You pulled out the chair across from her.

She didn't seem startled or surprised by your presence, only lightly flipped the folder shut, stray paperclips poking out from a series of cluttered pages. Bony fingers knit together, and she seemed just as calm and casual as ever. 

"There is no sitrep," she shrugged, and your heart sank for a moment. 

A million and more thoughts surged through your system, immediately defaulting back to something you'd done. Just as you began to suspect that CIA technology had read your mind, and she caught on to your fantasy about fleeing to Sweden, she spoke again.

"The boys are off to another mission. You'll be on standby," she took a long drag from her paper cup. 

"Am I being benched?" The question lept from your chest before you could even process the words. 

"What?" an odd amusement lit up her cheeks. "No- like I said, just on standby. We're just not currently in need of a linguistic specialist, that's all."

The words soothed your mind, and the humour of your assertion caught up to you. A guilty mind made you eager to get defensive. What the hell is wrong with you?

"Don't look so glum, I'm here too," she cooed, reclining in her seat as crowds of people with trailing suitcases flurried past. "We're keeping you at a hotel in Seol, it's an award-winning highrise in the downtown district. I know how you like to keep up with your studies, and there's a library just across the street."

The sentiment would be relaxing, soothing even, if it weren't for a single phrase snagged in your mind.'Keeping you.' Maybe it's as simple what she described, and perhaps she just chose a poor choice of words. You've seen constant action for so long that you've developed velocitation from moving from mission to mission so rapidly that sitting on standby feels odd. It's about time, really, as building tension doesn't recede with this new environment like it usually would. 

These streets seem so alive compared to the uneasy situation you were retreating from, bustling civilians seemed like a foreign sight; it's like you're used to worried eyes and mothers shielding their children as you pass. No Humvees or helicopters in sight, just neat grey suits and kind-eyed women sweeping their storefronts. You can't help but expect the other shoe to drop, and a sense of skepticism of their nonchalant posture muddies your darting gaze. You both walked past a precious little billiards bar sat on the corner that caught your eye, its neon pink sign reading 'Sakura' in flickering letters. You'll have to check that place out if you get the chance, but it's hard to say how long you'll be on 'standby.'

"Have you been here before?" you asked idly, unable to resist glancing at every flashing sign you pass. 

"Twice, but not for leisure," she turned you down another street of neon signs and high-rises. Low dark clouds suggested you were about to get some weather, and the thick smell of rain hung in the air, "there's a CIA base nearby."

"It seems like the kind of place best explored after working hours," you sigh. 

You filled the space with idle small talk to diffuse the unsettling suspicion that something was off. It crept on your nerves like a horror movie or that feeling in a thunderstorm where the air is thick and ready to ignite. Here you are, now particularly isolated from people you only hardly knew to begin with, slinking through unfamiliar and lively streets toward a destination you'd have no hope of finding without Laswell's guidance. 

But as your little outing came to a halt, a wall of glass and steel opened its doors to welcome you. It was just like she said. Beautiful. A glass hotel with stylized hexagonal windows jutted out over an affluent cultural district, blue ceramic tiles slid down the side of rooftops, meeting vivid paper lanterns of red and pink, like an effortless blend of historical and contemporary architecture. Something old and new, borrowed and blue. You couldn't help but be thankful for the shelter and cool air conditioning as warm autumn rain started to patter on the sidewalk behind you. 

This new hotel room was a significant upgrade from the last, though that's not a hard metric to beat. It nearly took your breath away when you stepped out of the elevator and past a cold metal door. The surge of rich colours, dim, sultry lighting, and fuscia and neon hues on dark, luxurious textures mingled with your senses. Even the air smelled expensive, like roses and cashmere. A glass chandelier hung like bubbles over a dining set, and stylized chartreuse sculptures only vaguely resembled chairs gathered around a glass dining set. Rich cyan floors squeaked under your boots, echoing through a hotel room that looks more like a modern art museum.

"You'll be in the penthouse, but don't be too flattered- it's the only room we could get on short notice," she snorted, turning to face you as you gaped. "Here - let me see your phone."

You blinked, almost unsure of what she'd just requested. It'd be easy to forget you even have a phone, not just the dinky burner she uses to summon you to work. From the bottom of your pack you hunched over, you wrenched out the sleek cellphone she'd given you as a replacement for your previous one. Essentially a brick, it held no familiar phone numbers or passwords, leaving you locked out of your lifeline to your personal life. She took it in her pale palm and tapped at the screen, watching her enter a new contact into the device. 

"Text me if you need anything, I'll be right around the corner," she flicked the phone back into your fingers, now with a single contact named 'Kate.'

"Yes, ma'am," you spoke through a tight smile.

"Anything," she spoke sternly, nodding and disappearing past the glossy steel door with a click. 

And just like that, you're alone again. A different flavour of alone-ness than usual. They can sweeten the pot with fineries, but an underlying rage poisons what should be relaxation. It was hardly dinnertime, but you couldn't stomach the food that sat in a tray with condensation dripping from the lid. Frustration made you apathetic. You walked like a mindless zombie toward what must be the bedroom after the initial door you opened proved to be a grand bathroom. Maybe it's the change in climate that's giving you a headache.

Impossibly soft crushed cotton sheets were left with trails from your wandering hands, and cyan sheets on a sleek yellow bedframe looked like something worth more than your yearly salary. Whatever your salary even is. Tall concrete walls and slick floors would otherwise be contemporary and soothing if it didn't feel like a stone box. Suddenly, the air was tight in your lungs, and claustrophobia began to make your chest thunder. A grand window wasn't any relief, only reminding you how long the fall was down to those slanted tiled roofs. From poverty to luxury, from frenzy to tranquillity. It's not hard to understand why you feel like an impostor in this satin undersheet. 

You're being punished for getting involved with an unavailable man and separated from him as it would be in any workplace relationship in the military. The only proof that any of that happened is a manifesting bruise on your upper arm and a consistent low ache in your abdomen, painful reminders in a metaphorical sense of a heavy heart. No matter how much you might argue that you're not interested anymore, you've crossed that line, and you can kiss this task force goodbye. 

You'll miss Soap and Gaz, and Price is a sweetheart once you get over his gruff outer shell, but in the end, you can't help but feel your passion fade. It doesn't have to be permanent, and maybe your emotions are getting the better of you. It's been a year of constant service; it's no wonder you're being stretched thin. What's worst of all is you can't properly place your discontentment, making any diagnosis useless. You just need a reset to get away from these perfumed sheets along your shoulders. Laswell gave you her contact, but it's not easy to communicate your complex emotions, especially in this career where you're expected to be stoic and unyielding. What have you gotten yourself into.

Are they knowingly stationing you in places where they know you don't know the native language so you can't travel far? Maybe, maybe not. Is a weak sleep schedule and weeks of physical and mental exhaustion making you feel a heightened sense of paranoia? Maybe, maybe not. Are they putting strips of tape over your hotel doors to track if you leave, thinking you didn't notice it as Laswell stepped out? That much is for sure. 

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Apologies for the late chapter, we’ve got more chapters coming soon. I didn’t want to publish an (in my opinion) uninspired chapter, I couldn’t settle with what I’d written originally, deadline be damned. If you’re wondering where I’ve been for the past few weeks: Here

Master List

[scandinav-muscles]

[atqxl]

My Ninja appearance head-canon

Note for me(and others who wonder my interpretation)

Focused on pre-S8 design, especially S1-S2.

Mostly Asian or European in my headcanon, and I don't think deeply about their gender or sexuality. Just an appearance note for my further drawings.

Zane

Scandinavian or Northeastern European. Russian is great too (Actually this is STUNNING that mad scientist dad who ran away from soviet union and raised his futuristic robot son in secluded forest OH MY GOD)

183cm (6 ft), quite heavy due to his metallic body

Platinum blonde, sky blue eyes, pale skin.

Cold and stern look but smiles always. THE SCIENTIST'S DAVID STATUE. BEAUTIFUL.

Snow leopard or Wolf.

Cole

Northeastern Asian, Chinese or Korean. Sometimes West Asian or Latin American?

I don't care about his ethnic. I usually think of him as Chinese actor(Lou is definitely Chinese, I can say that. I FELT that Chinese vibe from him.) or K-Pop idol(especially Suho from EXO). Since he's inspired from Tom Cruise, I'm fine with him being white too.

Black wavy hair, black eyes with double eyelid, long eyelashes. Thick eyebrows.

Skin varies, but not a fair one. Tanned?

185cm or shorter, 80kg, very muscular.

Stern and serious face. THAT HANDSOME DUDE

Tiger

Kai

Southeastern Asian, like Vietnamese or Taiwanese with Jewish dad

Brown hair(dyed or just because of his dad), brown eyes.

175 or shorter, slender-average weight with muscle.

Resembles his father(Ray; Jewish) a lot.

Hyena or rooster.

Ray

Definitely RDJ in my headcanon.

Nya

Southeastern Asian, like Vietnamese or Taiwanese with Jewish dad

Black straight hair, black eyes. Tanned skin(darker than Kai).

165cm, skinny.

Kinda that stereotyped southeastern asian girl/woman look; mono eyelid, fox eye, flat curves, boyish look… resembles her mother(Maya; Vietnamese or Taiwanese) a lot.

Hyena or hen.

Jay

Irish.

175 or shorter, plump-average weight with less muscle.

Ginger brown hair, blue eye. Red/pinkish skin.

Resembles Olaf from Frozen series, sometimes I see Elijah Wood or Tobey Maguire in him. (Actually he's inspired from Tobey Maguire)

Poodle.

Lloyd

French (yes because of that La-Loyd meme)

114cm → 162cm → 172cm or shorter. Balanced body.

Golden, wavy hair. Green eyes. Righteous vibe.

Cute but classical handsome face. Young Mark Hamill. I sometimes see Felix from Stray Kids from him.

Golden retriever or dragon.

Just please look at this angel oh my god

Garmadon

Well he's Oni; monster now. Never think of him as a human.

But I can see Harrison Ford now lol

Wu

Blonde hair but having straight asian god beard… He even lives in some Chinese Kung-fu dojo but actually is a Japanese ninja sensei. What the heck is this lol

So really hard to guess. I stopped thinking and just consider him as some white weeaboo or something

Misako

Anna Friel I guess? I love her speaking french in Timeline(2003)

Morro

Mexican or Northeastern Asian.

168-174cm or 191cm, lean.

Straight black hair around his shoulder. Green streak in his bangs. Dark green eyes. Pale, little greenish cadaveric skin.

That typical long black haired, depressed, villain-but-has-a-reason guy. Loki, Severus Snape, whatever. Sly look.

Black snake or black cat.

I want to kill myself everytime I think of him as this two wonderful rock band guys here:

Darath

HE IS JAMES CORDEN (ignore Tom Cruise)

You know what?

For me, pure North eastern asian, Ninjago is a total shit which mixed every asian culture without any thinkings. (Thank you for not ruining my culture. Really.)

Rural area is like southeastern Asia. The monks are mostly Mongolian or Himalayan style. City, culture, food and clothing is mostly Chinese, but they named everything under the name of Japanese ninja things…

It's like… America but located in the middle of France. But their accent is Brit, but eating Italian food, and say they're Spanish themselves. How disregarding…

And Japan's ninja is actually is a cruel secret agent who mainly deals with espionage, assassination, and murder. To be honest, it's not a job that gives me that positive vibes. As civil servants and nobles, samurai were a much more recognised class.

Also their main theme: Practice of righteousness and cooperation is similar to that of a Taoist from the Central Plains(China).

It would be great if I could go and work at Lego animation team, I will tear down all these crazy white tyranny.

[artificial-transmutations]

Closer Than Flesh - Conflict

Jake is almost sad to see Dominik's body change. In this in-between state, Jake is Jake again. Not Dominik and not yet whoever he is going to become. Still, this doesn't change much of his state of mind. He feels powerful and in control, being able to freely use the magic of the stone now. He can't really control yet who exactly he is going to become, but that is only a matter of time. Hair explodes all over his body. A dense full beard forms in his face, and his stylish haircut grows out into a wild mane of hair. But not only his face gets hairy: All over his chest and stomach, body hair grows in. Not decent or trimmed, no. A wild forest of hair is what materializes on Jake's upper body. Soon, pretty much every part of his torso is covered by a dense fur of hair - clearly visible, since Dominik's natural blonde hair color has vanished in favor of a dark brown. The changes quickly spread to his extremities as well: Both his arms and legs are covered by a layer of body hair as well, and his large cock gets embedded into a rich pubic bush.

As even his feet and the back of his hands get hairy, finally, the rest of his body follows the changes. The already fit body of Dominik explodes with mass. Both fat and muscles stack on his bones, and he gets considerably taller, to slightly over two meters in height.

The biggest changes however are not to Dominik's appearance but rather to his body shape and motion. Whereas Dominik was fit and athletic, Jake is now broad, heavy and tall, a powerhouse of a man, a force of nature.

His face quickly loses the youthful softness of the streamer it had before and becomes rugged and weathered, piling up a few years of age, leaving Jake at least in his mid-thirties.

As the changes to Jake's body slow down, clothing starts to appear on him. Not bothering with any underwear, a sturdy pair of durable pants forms over his legs and groin and his hairy feet are being wrapped in heavy boots. Finally, as always, the world comes back. The wooden planks of a small fishing boat form under Jake's massive feet and a rugged Scandinavian coast line around him. Finally, the bright blue sky and the ocean come in, completing the scenery.

Jake takes a deep breath of the salty air. There is no doubt the magic stone worked well. Even though Jake has never visited this part of the world before, he is sure that this was Norway. There are mountains in the distance and the shoreline just looks like Jake would expect from a Nordic country.

His new body feels powerful and great. It doesn't take a genius to guess that he is probably a sailor or a fisher. There is no one else but him on the small boat, so he has every time to explore his new body.

Everything about it is positively massive and strong. The dense coating of hair expresses his manliness well.

Jake scratches his head. What is it he wanted to do?

He groans when he remembers the conversation he had with his dick. It was so annoying. Having a talking cock sounds fun until you actually have one. Now he just wishes it would shut up for good and just be a normal part of his male anatomy.

He sighs. He should head to Båtfed now. To be honest, he isn't quite sure what he is about to do with the weapon there, but perhaps he can force that red demon guy to stop bothering him and make his cock behave normally.

That Jake has no idea on where his destination is or how he would steer a boat there doesn't pose much of a problem for Jake. He doesn't know, but his host body knows for sure. It's getting easier and easier to access knowledge and skills, so Jake just needs to close his eyes for a second. When Bjørnar opens his eyes again, he knows exactly where to go. Silently, he gets to work.

***

Skyler has mixed feelings. Mog'Tol's plan has worked extremely well, and from what he heard, the binding circle has been destroyed. The joy of revenge is somewhat diminished however from the fact, that the stone, that stone with the hated sigil of the past, has not yet surfaced anywhere. It is probably only a matter of time. Skyler has enough time, it's not like he is mortal. But he hates waiting, and every passing day makes him more vulnerable. It is not strictly unusual for demons to disappear for a year or a decade, but the more powerful ones, like himself, have some kind of representation at least. If word gets out about his powerless condition, he might very well lose more than just his reputation. And now that Mog'Tol knows, it's a race against the clock.

Still, humans are greedy. It will probably only take one or two months until one of them pillages the remains of the secret society, at most, and then he will have his magic back.

One or two months pass, and while Skyler is right about the pillaging, to his boundless frustration, 'his' artifact has not yet surfaced. There are other stones, presumably with demonic magic sealed in it that have appeared in the mortal world, but as big as the temptation is, Skyler dares not to lay hands on them. Not without his own magic, at least. If the original owner of that power would notice, Skyler would be no match for them right now. As frustrating as it is, the best course of action is to lay low and wait for now.

So, Skyler waits. And waits. And waits. Months become years, but there is not a single sign of his sigil stone. Of course, Skyler has sent his agents, human with weak minds that he is easily able to take over, to search for it discretely, but the stone does not appear in any collection. Over time, Skyler is forced to retreat more and more into his palace. Mog'Tol has apparently not yet told anyone about Skyler's situation, but there are rumors already.

To explain his public absence, Skyler has spread the rumor he is working on a bigger project in his palace. He didn't specify what exactly, which served in his favor, as the other influential inhabitants of hell are busier to discuss about what he is working on but to doubt it all together. But sooner or later, his lie will be revealed.

The years turn into decades without any new development. Just as his patience has worn out, Skyler senses a spark of hope. A tiny, miniscule part of his magic has returned to him, like a thin string of red mist. Someone has used the stone! Finally, the wait is over!

Immediately, Skyler heads for the mortal plane, following the traces of his magic like a blood hound. Would it just have been that tiny sliver of magic, Skyler probably would not have found its origin at all. But whoever used the stone seems to have taken a liking to his magic, as shortly after, more and more of his power is being activated and freed. It's still a tiny amount, and at this rate, it would take more decades for everything to return to him - but that isn't Skyler's plan. He successfully pinpoints the origin of the magic and will just take his power back from that mortal.

He did underestimate that mortal somewhat, Skyler has to admit. As he confronted the young man in his living place, he had the audacity of using Skyler's own magic to escape.

It matters little. Since he used magic to escape, *his* magic, Skyler just needs to follow the trail of power flowing back to him. That mortal fool might have gotten lucky once, but that won't happen another time.

It happened another time, and Skyler is confused by it. He had the situation, and that weak mortal's mind under his control - until he lost that control and he slipped away again. It is extraordinarily rare for a mortal to have a mind so strong he can resist Skyler's influence - and initially, this mortal had not shown any signs of such a strong mind at all. Still, at the very last second, Skyler's influence had been pushed out. That should be impossible. A single mind should not be able to become that strong all of a sudden.

Still, it was no problem. Skyler has another conversation with Mog'Tol, who hints that maybe his presence allows the mortal to use the stone like that. Nothing easier than that. There is no need to get his hands dirty himself, after all. He will just use his spies to find the mortal again and then appear and take the stone.

Skyler could scream in frustration as the mortal slips away again. He had the perfect opportunity and took over his spy at the right time, but still, the mortal being escaped his grasp barely. Skyler looks down at the dripping wet body he has stolen from some Polish construction worker. Time to change plans. He will send his minions to take away the sigil stone - and only then would he appear himself. That way, the stone wouldn't activate in resonance and the mortal has no means to escape.

Apparently, he had underestimated the mortal man again. It was a conundrum to Skyler. Even though the mortal obviously had a weak mind and succumbed more and more to the influences of the hellish magic, he had managed to activate the stone himself. How was this possible? He could consult Mog'Tol again but decides against it. He needs to adjust his thinking. Instead of chasing the mortal all over his plane of existence, he would just let him work for Skyler. Skyler had enough summonings to know how humans work. Promise them power, promise them immortality and they do exactly what you want. Skyler actually has every intention to honor this deal. It isn't hard to give the man what he wants, and he has proven to be an oddity among men. A conundrum Skyler would very much like to study further once he has his powers back.

So, the next time, he tracks his magic down to a place the mortals call south America, he proposes the deal to the mortal. He knows better than to press him for an answer - humans react poorly under pressure - which is a blessing most of the time, but not what he wants right now. After he sees the man disappear again, Skyler smiles. Not long now, and his magic and a brand new servant will be his.

***

Skyler really doesn't understand why he is having this visions of Baelnath, but for the first time after 'waking up', this is not the first thought he has. Baelnath has offered Jake a deal? Why didn't Jake tell him? Sure, his Dominik personality has been difficult, but this is important! Their lives depend on this! Then, another thought crosses Skyler's mind. What if Jake didn't tell him because he plans on agreeing to the deal? No, this can't be. Jake wouldn't have done what he did if he planned on becoming a servant of Baelnath. After all, why would he be looking for the angelic essence then?

A small part of his mind nagged on. There are possible explanations. Perhaps he wants to give it to his future master as a gift? No. Skyler refuses to believe that. Probably, Jake has only forgotten to tell him. That must be it.

Concentrating on his surroundings, Jake has obviously transformed into a new body again. Rough cloth rubs against Skyler's length and the space inside the pants is filled with sweat and hair. A lot of hair, actually. Skyler cannot remember a body that was that hairy down here. It isn't that bad though - that groin he is attached to is definitely manly and primal, which Skyler likes.

Pretty immediately, a gigantic hand readjusts Skyler's length. Apparently, he has chubbed up a bit thinking about the situation he is in. Skyler briefly considers getting harder and stimulating Jake further but can stop himself for a moment. On a rational level, this is getting him nowhere, and Jake potentially in a bad situation. On an instinctual level however... He is a cock. A piece of cockmeat. His prime duty is to get hard and be sticked somewhere to fuck. Or be jerked off. What does he care what situation Jake is in? He needs attention, now. When your cock calls, you have to answer, that what he... that's what... it? is for. Yes. Skyler is a cock and that is its purpose. Skyler is completely hard now, and it throbs inside the rough work pants. Jake's big hands come down to readjust himself, but every touch of Skyler's length only serves to make it harder and more demanding.

Finally, with a grunt, Jake's big hands open his pants and Skyler springs free. They are on a boat and as far as Skyler can see they are alone. But all that doesn't matter to it right now. Without saying a single word, the gigantic man wraps his hand around Skyler's body and starts to pump. No foreplay or more stimulation, just raw power and desire. Skyler feels as its mind meets the primal thoughts of the man jerking him and their thoughts become one once again. Just pumping away, trying to get more pleasure out of his dick. Jake/Skyler thrusts in his hand now, in complete silence but with barely contained force. After a few minutes, he can feel himself getting closer, and, with a non-descript grunt cums in a wide arch over the reeling, into the ocean.

The journey takes a few days since the town of Båtfed is on the other end of Norway, close to the very north. During the journey, Skyler thinks less and less about Jake's possible betrayal or what it has seen in this vision. In fact, Skyler thinks less and less in general. It lets itself being used for pissing, and of course for the regular jerk offs, but that's it. That's what it is for and that's what it does. Not a single word is exchanged between Bjørnar and his cock, during the whole time. Bjørnar is not a talkative guy in general, and there is nobody here to hear him. Skyler on the other hand, is a cock. Why should he speak to his owner?

It is only when Bjørnar and his cock finally arrive at Båtfed that the situation changes. Bjørnar moors the boat, and stretches, before walking towards the red wooden building of the stave church that is clearly visible outside of town. He has landed outside of town, since he likes to avoid any company if possible, and luckily, there is nobody there. During the days on the boat, Bjørnar had some time to think. After a few days of settling, Baelnath’s offer doesn't sound all too bad to him now. Sure, he would be a servant, but everyone is a servant of some kind. And being able to choose his bodies freely sounds really appealing, at least compared to going back to his magic-less life, that seems so far away now. However, he still has a trump card. He will get that divine thingamabob and trade it for an even better deal. Less servant, more equal to Baelnath. He, Bjørnar has the power right now, or at least he will have it shortly. No need to settle for anything less than what he wants.

Stomping towards the red building, he is surprised to actually see another human being out here. A twenty-something boy with blonde hair and a twinkish build is looking out to the ocean. Immediately, Bjørnar's dick reacts to the fuckable man, but Bjørnar disapproves. He has no time for that.

Instead, he tries the church door, only to find it locked. He rattles the door with some force, but it's stable enough. He would either need to get a key or break it down. There is no reason not to break it down, aside from the boy with the white shirt who has taken notice and approaches Bjørnar. Great. Human contact. Just what he needed.

"Do you want to visit the church?" asks the boy. Even his voice is light and cheerful. Disgusting.

"Fuck no. I just want to get in there." Bjørnar spits out.

"I'm sorry, but it's closed most of the time. My uncle is the priest here and he only opens the doors for service." The boy's eyes are sparkling in joy, even though he is talking to a hunk like Bjørnar.

"Oh, then I will break down the fucking door then." Bjørnar growls at the boy and stomps towards the door.

"Relax! I've got the keys right with me. I can show you the inside if you like, but only if you promise not to break anything." The boy quickly says and smiles a disarming smile.

"Okay, okay. No breaking anything. Lead on."

"Of course. But first... let us talk about the master's offer."

Bjørnar turns around, as the voice of the boy changes and gets a neutral, puppety tone to it. Sure enough, the eyes of the other man are glowing red now. He is being controlled by Baelnath now. Bjørnar just hopes that he is only here for him and doesn't know about the weapon.

Bjørnar grunts. Being so close to his goal, he has lost much of the respect for the red demon, especially since he is not here himself. Bjørnar still has the magic stone and can escape anytime he wants, but that would be rather inconvenient. No, he will resolve the situation another way.

"Right. The master." Bjørnar says slowly while trying to come up with an idea. "Who is that again?"

The tone of the boys voice does not change as he responds: "You know him well. Baelnath, the twisted master of flesh."

So, Baelnath is using magic to control that boy, huh? Well, Bjørnar has magic at his disposal himself. Time to use it.

He concentrates on the stone in his hand and feels the power surging. However, this time, he doesn't direct it at himself and his body, but at the young man's mind in front of him. He feels a slight struggle, but as Bjørnar can just throw more and more power at the problem, he quickly dominates the battlefield of the mind.

"Say it again. Who is your master?" Asks Bjørnar in a demanding tone.

It takes a moment, but the young adult responds differently now: "My master is... you. You are my master."

Bjørnar grins before being reminded to his arousal by his throbbing cock. "Good. Now, suck me off."

He opens his pants with his free hand and releases Skyler into the open. The blond boy does not hesitate for a moment and drops to his knees. In seconds, Skyler is all the way down the boy's throat, chocking him lightly. Bjørnar does not care about that he is out in public right now. There is nobody here, and if someone was, Bjørnar would not care. He pumps his hips, pushing Skyler down the boy's throat and smirks as he hears a muffled groan.

Bjørnar decides he needs more and pushes the other man's head with his free hand against his groin, almost choking him. "There. You are a good little slave, aren't you?"

The blonde guy interrupts his servicing only briefly to answer in the same monotone voice: "Yes, master."

"Good boy." Bjørnar says as he pulls down his pants even further and starts pumping his dick directly into the other man's throat. He thrusts and moans, finally cumming down the blonde's throat with a grunt.

After that, Bjørnar pushes the blonde from him and to the ground. He just bellows a "Now, the keys." and, as he receives them, does not care about the spent man on the ground anymore.

Skyler on the other hand is present like he has not been for a long time. It has mind-melded again with Bjørnar during his exploit and what it had seen scared it deeply. Bjørnar, Jake, is gone so far it really couldn't recognize any sign of its old friend anymore. Is that really it? Skyler cannot believe this. There has to be a way out for them, there just has to be. So instead of dozing off as it normally does after orgasm, Skyler stays present as good as it can as Bjørnar unlocks the door. Luckily, the beary man has not bothered to put it back into his pants, so Skyler can see.

The interior of the church is small, but quite beautiful. The sunlight shines in through colorful stained glass windows, and a few candles are burning. It's narrow in here and everything is made of wood. Naturally, the air inside is pretty hot, at least for Nordic people.

At the back of the church is a small wooden shrine, and Bjørnar is certain that what he is searching for must be there. He stomps closer until he stands in front of the closed shrine, hesitating for a short moment. Skyler isn't sure what is going on in Bjørnar's head, but he senses his chance.

"Jake!" he addresses the huge man who flinches a bit from the unexpected voice in his head. "I don't know what Baelnath promised you, but don't do it. We are here, Jake, and there is the weapon. Let's take it and defeat Baelnath!"

Skyler puts all the sense of urgency it can muster into these words. A moment passes and then Bjørnar starts laughing, in a deep, arrogant voice.

"I almost forgot you were there, little kuk[cock]! So, you little asshole listened in to the conversation I had with my slave?"

Bjørnar spits out on the church floor. "Know your place! But no. The deal is not bad, but I can do better. I'm not gonna take the deal. Instead, I am going to become much more, all on my own. Baelnath is pathetic. With the magic stone, I can be so much more powerful than him. I'll take over his slaves and make them mine. They are going to serve me. And nobody on earth can stop me, because only *I* have the magic."

Skyler is horrified. What is going on with Jake? It gets really angry. How can he just throw away everything like that?

"Jake, stop that! This isn't you!" Skyler shouts angrily.

"Oh, shut up! Nobody can stop me, not even you. Especially not you, you are just a cock. First thing I am going to do is silence you, for good. There is just one weapon on earth that is capable of stopping me, and that is inside this wooden box here. But not for very much longer."

With his strong arms, Bjørnar just rips open the shrine and reveals a crystal on a wooden stand inside. The crystal is beautiful: Warm yellow swirling light fills it and shines outward without any need of further illumination. The light isn't unpleasantly bright and yet, it fills the room naturally like the sunlight on a warm summer day.

While Bjørnar hesitates for a moment, Skyler's thoughts are spinning. If Jake destroys the angelic essence, all is lost, for good. It absolutely cannot let that happen. There is just one thing it can do now.

It has done it before and despite just having cummed, Skyler concentrates really hard on getting hard again. Come on! It has managed to do so in Romania, and so many other times now. Just... come on.

And really, Skyler's length grows rigid. Now it uses everything he has trained back in Germany. It knows that it will only stay in control for a short duration, the duration of one erection, but it has to try.

Skyler's strong mind overwhelms Jake's weak one as he is just reaching out to grab the crystal. Skyler stops the movement in his track and Bjørnar tries to use his other hand, sweat dripping from his brow in the hot church. It's a battle of minds, but Skyler eventually succeeds in bringing the hulking body under his control. It stands there, panting, and with a large erection. Now what. The hardon will subside eventually and then it's all Jake again. Jake is still present, in the back seat of its mind and there is nothing Skyler can do to hide something from him.

Skyler looks at the swirling light crystal and then at Bjørnar's body again. It is out of options. It needs to do *something*, anything at all.

Soon, Jake will control Bjørnar again and then the angelic essence must be out of his reach.

An idea appears. It's a crazy idea, but Skyler doesn't feel like it has much choice. It *must* act now, no time to think it through.

It grabs the crystal which feels warm and pleasant to the touch and carefully lifts it up to its face. Skyler just hopes this works, as it lowers the crystal until it touches the very erect dick. Skyler concentrates hard, but it is not even necessary. Easily as a wish, the golden light inside the crystal intensifies and flows out of its transparent home and into the flesh of Skyler's dick body, filling it and surrounding it for a moment, before sinking in gently.

Skyler feels a clarity it has not felt for a long time. Everything has a purpose, even it... no, even he. He doesn't know what this purpose is, and it is up to him to discover this, but as the angelic essence fuses with his being, it feels like he can do it.

During all the powerful emotions, Skyler has completely forgotten about his concentration, and as his dick body softens, Bjørnar is immediately present again.

Pure hatred fills his voice as he shouts: "You fucking idiot! You motherfucking traitor! Was that your plan all along? To have that power for yourself? Asshole!"

Angrily, he smashes the now-empty crystal to the ground, where it shatters into a thousand little shards and pulls out the sigil stone.

"So, that's how it is. My biggest enemy was never the demon, it was my own fucking dick. A fucking enemy, in my own fucking body."

His voice grows cold, as he continues: "If you are against me, I will need to look for allies elsewhere. I'm going to Baelnath now."

Demonic magic swirls around him, as he invokes the stone's powers again and vanishes in red mist.

Outside the church, a single black raven who had watched the scenery, spreads out his wings and flies away.

There is quite a lot going on between the two of them and things aren't exactly looking bright. Let's just hope this ends well. If you want to read the previous chapter, you can do so here. This magic link leads you all the way to the beginning. You can read the next episode here.

If you like to support my writing, be sure to head over to my riot page. Not only the warm feeling of supporting a mediocre TF writer awaits you there, but also awesome benefits, like the critically acclaimed Dropout Dorm storyline!

[nosenipped]

⁎      ┈   ❄️ 〝 𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍   𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙴． ུ 

©   all  curated  content  is  made  &&.   developed  by  me.   plagiarism  will  not  be  tolerated.

𓎟𓎟　　��　general　desc.　༣

❛  jackson   overland   frost,  'jack   frost.'

❛  324,  physically   18.

❛  6'0",  183cm.

❛  masc—agender,  he﹨they.

❛  korean,   caucasian.   aspec—pansexual.

❛  winter  spirit  ┄  vessel   of   a   star.

𓎟𓎟　　⺌  verses   &&.    inspirations.  ༣

 fitted   for   all   genres,    outfits    ﹠    gear   mostly   catered   to   modern   times   with   exceptions.    storyboard   curated   for   ROTGOC   timeline    ﹠    coincides   with   other   verses   such   as   the   big   four.

 ✦  ┈  inspired   by   huening   kai,    legend   of   jokul   frosti,    poems    ﹠    literature   of   winter.

𓎟𓎟　　⺌  outlooks    &&.    psyche.  ༣

body's   sprawled   with   norse   runes   ﹠   scars﹔   a   tapestry   of   battles   won   ﹠   fought   for.    pointed   nymph–like   ears,    twitches   whenever   they're   disturbed.   toned   ﹠   athletic   body﹔   broad   shoulders   ﹠   slimmed   muscles.   mole—speckled,   cheeks   dusted   with   moonlit   freckles.

commonly   spotted   wearing   korean   streetwear,   easily   identifiable   with   a   white   or   blue   hoodies.   paired   with   piercings,   and   ripped   pants   ﹠   jean   jackets.   a   loud,   boisterous   piece   to   garner   attention.

keeps   their   distance,   not   fond   of   adults   but   very   friendly   towards   children.   playful   ﹠   observant,   so   much   more   than   meets   the   eye.   the   fine   line   of   fun   ﹠   tragedy,   he   who   burdens   the   sorrows   of   children   upon   steady   shoulders.

undiagnosed   ADHD   ﹠   dyslexia.    prone   to   depressive   episodes   ﹠   self—isolation.

𓎟𓎟　　⺌  nitty   gritty.  ༣

guardian   of   fun,   herald   of   winter.   lord   of   the   trees,   king   of   childhood,   king   of   wild   things.   santa   claus'   second–in–hand.   often   the   unexpected   overseer   of   the   naughty   list.

lives   in   the   willow   of   sorrows    ﹠    big   roots   speckled   across   the   globe   with   his   siblings   ﹠   twinetender.   if   not   travelling   by   the   winds,   he   utilizes   the   willow's   gateways﹔   a   passageway   granted   by   the   trees   themselves   for   their   sovereign.

often   seen   flittering   around   the   globes,    commonly   talking   to   and   ﹨   or   helping   wildlife.   his   willow   is   often   used   as   a   shelter   or   a   place   to   hibernate,   ironically.   currently   he's   housing   an   ermine,   a   wolf   cub   ﹠   an   old   reindeer.

manages   an   army   of   snowmen    ﹠    legions   of   leafmen.    refer   to   2013's   EPIC.

before   becoming   guardian,    he   was   an   elusive   figure   FEARED   by   adults,    but   loved   by   children.   he   wasn't   believed   in,   but   seen   as   a   warning﹔   a   cautionary   tale.   appearing   more   cryptid—like,   as   opposed   to   elvish.

reigning  vendetta—brought   white—out   toward   families   who've   ill—treated   their   children,    bringing   their   souls   with   him   to   the   afterlife.   self—enacted   punishment   as   judge,   jury   ﹠   executioner.

these   feats   were   passed   down   from   urban   stories   to   folklore.   most   infamous   nickname   dubbed    ＇JOKUL   FROSTI＇    in   scandinavian   mythology,    the   symbol   of   DOOM.   once   brought   up,   however,   his   memory   hazes   along   with   the   inclusion   of   other   lifetimes.

capable   of   fierce   squalls    ﹠    blizzards,    conducted   by   twinetender.   expert   swordsmanship   ﹠   adept   with   firearms.   flexible   from   martial   arts   ﹠   parkour.

untapped   talent   into   the   power   of   the   STARS,   commanded   by   galactic   tides   ﹠   memoirs   of   the   golden   age.

[mecthology]

Buggane from Manx Folklore.

The Buggane, in Manx legend, is an bulky subterranean creature with features akin to those of a mole. It is said to be in bodily appearance similar to a hairy version of the Scandinavian troll, with glowing eyes and massive tusks. Bugganes, as magical creatures, can not cross running water or tread on hallowed ground. Occasionally, fairies may use Bugganes as a sort of hired muscle, having them punish people who have offended them.

A shapeshifter, the buggane is generally described as a malevolent being that can appear as a large black calf or human with ears or hooves of a horse. Another tale describes it as a huge man with bull's horns, glowing eyes, and large teeth.

The most famous tale tells of a buggane who unintentionally ended up on a ship heading to Ireland. He was determined to return to the Isle of Man, so he created a storm and directed the ship towards the rocky coast of Contrary Head. However, St. Trinian intervened after the captain promised to build a chapel in his honor. With the saint's guidance, the ship safely reached Peel Harbour. The buggane, furious, exclaimed, "St. Trinian should never have a whole church in Ellan Vannin." When they tried to build the chapel, the local people had to put a roof on it three times because the buggane kept tearing it off.

Despite its defeat, the roof was never replaced, and the roofless church can be visited to this day.

Follow @mecthology for more myths and lore.

Pic: Generated with AI

Source: Cryptidwiki and Wikipedia.

[herrlindemann]

Sonic Seducer, June 2015

The exotic blossoms of a band break: After Rammstein said goodbye to the collective scene after their furious final show at the Wacken Open Air in summer 2013, the individual group members are slowly but surely returning with solo projects. While guitarist Richard Kruspe kicked things off last fall with the release of the second long play from his all-star artist collective Emigrate, spring 2015 will also be dominated by the Berlin industrial metallers. While keyboardist Flake Lorenz is trying his hand at writing books, frontman Till Lindemann is also letting the sparks fly again in every way possible: On the debut album of his solo effort of the same name, the flame-retardant muscle man has enlisted the help of Hypocrisy/Pain mastermind Peter Tägtgren. Together we'll be firing on all cylinders for 'Skills In Pills' from June onwards - and all in English!

The good news at the very beginning: the all-clear can be given. Despite all the rumors and speculation, the founding of Lindemann does not mean the end of Rammstein, as Till solemnly explains in the preliminary discussion about his latest field of musical activity. "Peter and I have been planning this project for ages. We had to keep postponing it because of time constraints — either he was on tour or I was busy with Rammstein. For me, Lindemann means more of a vacation from Rammstein. 15 years together is a long time. During this time we lived almost exclusively for the band and neglected our private life a lot. Some band members have small children and we are aware that we need more time for our families and whatever else is going on these days. It was urgently necessary for some of us to take a longer break from Rammstein. A break during which you can collect yourself again and really relax without the next appointments being on your calendar."

Anyone who knows the New German Hardness pioneer and the Scandinavian death metal veteran knows: you won't rest for a single minute on the twelve tracks of 'Skills In Pills'. On the contrary. As the names Rammstein and Pain suggest, on their first album the Lindemann/Tägtgren duo created a darkly bombastic, subtly electro-fied hybrid monster that stomps through the metal forest with glowing eyes, broad shoulders and a dirty grin to make his way through the mainstream and underground regardless of the losses. A real man's record, the result of a German-Swedish friendship that has now lasted a good 15 years. A long shared history that, according to Tägtgren, "starts with bar fights and continues through vomiting in Chinese restaurants" to the present day. Sounds too weird for a PR stunt, as Lindemann confirms. "We met when Flake and I got into a fight in a small bar somewhere in the north of Sweden. Peter somehow got in the way. I previously only knew him from seeing metal clubs and bars in Stockholm, but had never spoken to him. Back then we hung out a lot with the guys from Clawfinger and our mixer at the time, Stefan Glaumann. A time when I was out every night and knew all the clubs. Peter and his brother really saved our asses in that fight and kept us out of a lot of trouble. He calmed the heated tempers and said to these guys: By the way, that's the singer from Rammstein, they're okay. Afterwards there was home-made beer for the whole house. Then we all crashed really badly together."

Instead of burning off their excess energy in trendy shops in Stockholm, LindGren now prefers to spend her time on 'Skills In Pills'. With instant neckbreakers like 'Ladyboy' and 'Golden Shower', the bizarre fetish metal smash 'Fat' and the polarizing family planning guide 'Praise Abort(ion'), the duo will be open-mouthed and perhaps one or two scandal headlines from June onwards in relevant tabloids. The new pieces are based on Till Lindemann's notorious, deep black humor, which was often misunderstood in Rammstein and in his two previously published volumes of poetry. In English form, all non-German-speaking regions now have the chance for the first time to immerse yourself in the eerie and beautiful world of thoughts of the R-rolling fifty-something. Brutal humor for everyone.

"It’s just part of my job. I've always tried to let a certain kind of humor shine through; even if sometimes it wasn't much fun to record the songs. I can't judge whether this is the light, carefree side of Till Lindemann. The biggest difference is definitely that the songs are in English - a completely new field of work that I'm working on today."

The album was created in Peter Tägtgren's semi-legendary The Abyss studio in the tiny village of Pärlby, around 200 kilometers northwest of Stockholm. Where over the last twenty years milestones have been recorded by mostly black metal formations such as Dimmu Borgir, Dark Funeral and of course Peter's numerous in-house projects, last summer they clubbed their way through their collection of acoustic pills in a relaxed mood. Relaxed feel-good atmosphere à la Lindemann. "In his studio you can literally throw a fishing rod into the water from the comfort of your own home. Peter did the editing of the songs and I fished during my breaks from recording. We approached this project without any great expectations or plans. We just wanted to do something together. Everything has developed step by step into what you can hear and see today. Initially we thought we'd record a few songs and put them online to see how people would react."

"We are very serious about music," concludes Peter Tägtgren. "We are extremely proud of what we have created together with this album. But at the moment the project is still in its infancy. You have to see how much the audience likes our work. If it goes down well out there, I could imagine playing concerts with Lindemann. But at the moment it is still too early to judge. We'll wait for the feedback first."

The Lindemann album ‘Skills In Pills’ will be released in June; The detailed interview with Till and Peter can be found in the next issue.

[reedsofintimacy]

What do you look like? If I may ask 💕

Of course 🥰

I'm tall (6'4), white (scandinavian) with short brown hair.

I wear glasses, and give off a kind of nerdy grandpa professor-ish vibe (thinning hair on very top to match)

I have more of a cute face than a defined one, but I'm finally starting to not look 14 anymore now that I'm in my mid 20s. I think i kinda look like a bird as far as animals go but idk haha

My outfits aim for scholarly but not preppy/old money, so usually chinos and a layered solid color tee and unbuttoned button up.

I was always very narrow and scrawny growing up but the past year ive filled out some and been doing strength training some for the first time. Still not super toned and chiseled, my tummy is still soft, but there are now muscles underneath the cushion lol. I'd like to get a lean-muscular style of body eventually but still working on it

Lemme know if i can add anything else 😇