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spacedoutman · 3 months

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【𝕻𝖞𝖌𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝕬 𝖐𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆𝖚】

(𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙 1)

Description: Kiss—A name worthy for the gang who kissed everything goodbye for money, thrills and most of all, to go out in a blaze of glory.

Y/N, a once aspiring actor not only struggles to find their place in all of it, but to save their husband, Paul Stanley, whose desperate to be saved as his feet sink deeper in the mud with each robbery and heist.

Morals are not only tested, but wrecked. Will the members turn on each other before they can even catch a breath or can they work together to deter the cops for just a few days longer? Will one slip up or wrong turn on the road lead to everyone filled with led and their corpses displayed proudly on poster cards?

Can you and Paul lie to each other and pretend that everything’s okay and that none of this is happening?

♥ Paul Stanley x Reader

Note: I'm very new to using Y/N so if it's a bit funny let me know please! I also moved the era up to the 30s. I have so much planned for this fanfiction and I appreciate all of your support MILLIONSSS!!!~~<3

I know Gene won the poll, but when I thought in depth about it, x Paul would open up a lot more doors in this circumstance. Promise I'll do a G x reader though! This fanfic is gonna go a lot of places and I couldn't be more excited for it (or maybe make Gene a mob boss who knows)

Hope you enjoy it as much as I do! Thank you for reading <3

Warnings: None

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 2 / 𝖆𝖔3

Silence eased in. Just like her presence. The piano slowed as her face, framed by tight, heavenly curls conquered the screen. Her eyes flitted down. She tensed. A frown painted on her thin lips. Tears welled in her lifeless eyes, sparkling like a lake under the evening sun. Her long, full lashes could’ve hit her cheek. A tear ran down her face, leaving a line in her blush.

Your heart sped up. You leaned close as you could get without hitting the seat in front of you. Tears barreled down your face. Your mother laid a hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back. Your gleaming eyes were wide and alert. Your mouth hung open. “Y/N.” Your mother’s soft voice filled your ears. “Sit back.”

Your eyes followed the woman, who raced through the black and white mansion like it was some sort of dance. She snatched a suited man’s sleeve. He looked down with a flat gaze as she yanked it over and over with everything she could muster. The burning light from the massive window behind her touched her edges. She glowed like a jewel. Her lips moved. The excited piano spoke for her.

‘Don’t you want something else? Something other than to leave me here to rot?’

White words in a thin frame pasted across a black screen before the man looked down. He frowned. His brows slightly furrowed. He breathed as quick as a rabbit ran. Run he did. He tore away. She stumbled, clutching her chest and toppling into the silk curtains. How you could tell? The way they shone. He stared as she hugged the cloth like it was keeping her from falling. To where? Who knew.

Her legs trembled and buckled. She buried her face in her large fur coat and collapsed. The piano calmed as the screen faded to black. You tugged your mom’s sleeve. “Mom.” You whispered sharply, furrowing your brows tightly. Your mother looked down, her eyes widened a little. “Those curtains are silk.”

“They could be anything, dear. Enjoy the movie.”

Your mother looked up. You tugged her sleeve harder. Her eyes fell. “Do you think I’ll ever be her??”

“Quiet down.” She gently pat your head. “Now, what do you mean by that?”

“Do you think I can be where she is?”

“On the silver screen?” Your mother’s face softened as she looked out. You nodded quickly. Your mother glanced. “Well, you’ve got to be at the right place at the right time. It also depends mostly on who you know.”

“But I could do it nonetheless, couldn’t I?”

“I believe you could.”

Your head calmed like a still sea. The piano faded. Quiet chatter whispered in its place. Your eyes drifted to the screen. Your mother pulled her handbag from beside her and stood up. You looked down. “Dear.” Your eyes widened, shooting to your mother. She smiled softly, holding her bag close. She rested her hand on your shoulder. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. Your heart sped up.

“I know you can.”

1931.

Cool mist touched your neck. Roses flooded your lungs like an ocean. You breathed deeply and gave it another good spray. The fancy flower-shaped bottle sat cozy in your palm as you slipped it on your vanity. The little liquid left inside settled in the very bottom. You pulled the necklace from between your lips and put it on.

You fiddled with the clip for what felt like years—all while your reflection judged you. You sighed. A little more perfume. You couldn’t wipe away your smile. What was it even for? You leaned forward. You turned a bit. Your blush was symmetrical. You tilted your chin and applied a little more red to your lips. Your eye twitched.

Your eyeliner wasn’t close to symmetrical by a long shot. Another deep breath. The smell of roses eased your fried nerves. Copper pennies strung evenly around your neck, shining like gold. You fixed your dress collar just one more time before cupping your tight waves. “Wonderful.” You sighed tiredly as you laid back in the wooden chair like it was a bed.

You stopped yourself from laying a hand over your eyes.

Your chest caved as you let out every bit of air left in your lungs. Silence was as golden as cash and as golden as the ring on your finger. You smiled warmly.

“Treasure?”

A voice soft as moonlight interrupted. You slid off the chair, hopping up and rushing through the bedroom. You reached out. The door eased open. There he was. Your heart fluttered in your chest like a bird. Joy washed through your head like it was the first time you met. You swore there wasn’t a moment love held those large, exhausted brown eyes captive.

You melted in his arms, sinking in his chest like butter. He leaned into you. One hand rested gently on the back of your head, the other on your waist. His touch turned that joy into pure ecstasy. He rested his chin on your head. You snuggled into his mud-caked red checkered shirt and overalls. The stench of sweat and probably pig shit scorched your nose. You fought yourself to breathe.

“I��m so sorry.” You murmured. He swept the flat cap off his head, letting it hit the floor. “I.. I still get overwhelmed by your presence.”

You stepped back. There was no way in hell you’d pull your eyes away from his. His little smile turned to a shining airy grin. “I’d have it no other way.” He cupped your hands. The moment your palms touched, you swore a bit of electric buzzed. You popped up, planting a long kiss on Paul’s soft lips. You still felt his smile under yours.

“Ready for bed?” You said softly, pulling away. He chuckled.

“I’ve got to get changed.” He sighed lightheartedly. “If I move wrong, the mud’s gonna fall off.”

You waved your hand dismissively. “Don’t take long.” You playfully corrected.

“And what if I do?” He cooed, tapping your nose.

“Then I’ll be asleep when you get in here.” You smirked. His gaze somehow got softer.

“I knew I had to see you.” His voice lowered barely over a loving whisper. “You’re a blessing.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Your gaze intoxicated him. His gaze herded every worry from your soul. It was like you stood in front of him at the altar all over again. He lightly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer tan peas in a pod. You laid your hands on his chest, closing your eyes. His heartbeat surrounded you like an echo. You swore you didn’t need anything else.

“Don’t you need a new necklace?” He teased. Your lips fell to the corner of his mouth.

“I need my Stanley to come back to bed.” You purred. “Tell him that I’ll come down with a belt if he pushes it.”

Paul giggled. “I’m surprised it took you that long to use your mother’s perfume.” He combed his hand over your hair, careful not to mess it up. “What are you all dolled up for anyway?”

“I don’t know. You usually don’t come home this early.”

“Treasure. It’s almost midnight.”

You clutched him, shutting your eyes tightly. “You.. don’t come home till’ Sunday, if even.” You faltered, gloom leaking in. “I wish I could see you more often. I’d do anything.” Paul closed his eyes. He squeezed you.

“I’m working for it. We’ll be together before we know it.”

The words crawled to the top of your throat. You held your breath for a split second.

“You don’t get paid.”

“Seeing you is enough.” He forced in a sprinkle of joy.

“Seeing you is enough for me too. But we can’t live this. You and I both know it.”

“Once I get enough, we’ll be in the city before you know it.” His hand ran down your back, stopping midway. “And before you know it.. you’ll be on the silver screen. Just like you always wanted.”

#kissblr #kiss band #kiss army #kissfan #kiss fanfiction #paul stanley #bank robbery #gangsters #1930s au #alternate universe #fanfic #writers on tumblr #ace is a farmer #I am North Carolinian so including some folk shit is a joy of mine

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herrlindemann · 1 year

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Rock Hard - September 1996

Mannheim, Capitol

Like almost all gigs of this tour, today's is sold out. No wonder, because Rammstein not only lures with a spectacular show, but also with extremely fair admission prices of around 25 marks at the box office. A number of bands, who put in much less effort but claim that it wouldn't go under 35 mice, can take an example from this!

When I enter the hall, the Farmer Boys, who are the only support act this evening, since Mink Stole also act as an opener on the partly overlapping Fu Manchu tour, have just started their gig. Despite being fairly obscure, they can excite around 50 head-bangers; the rest of the visitors give courtesy applause.

Rammstein start their gig with 'Rammstein' and the singer Till is on fire to match the lyrics. Irrespective of this almost traditional start, the guys, like on their last tour with DJ Komm, are very keen to experiment and test new songs and show gimmicks.

In addition to 'Spiel mit mir', which has been part of the set list for some time, and the rough 'Bück dich' (”...your face doesn't interest me”), there is also an audio sample of a 'man who cannot distinguish between humans and animals', which, despite the good text, still seems a bit immature. The usual fires and explosions are joined by the blowing up of a styrofoam head and Richard's hat on fire. After two blocks of encores - including the always funny Sado/Maso riding routine by keyboarder Flake and Till - the raging pack is finally satisfied. When the lights go on in the hall, not only countless "mullet superstars" ("short in front, long in back") can be seen in the audience, but also a few drunk rednecks in older Onkelz shirts.

We want to celebrate the after-show party in the outdoor pool where Break Out colleague Marco Magin works full-time as a lifeguard, but because he's so attached to his job, he doesn't want to give out the key at all. As a replacement, I'm going to Heidelberg with the two guitarists Paul and Richard and drummer Christoph to the "Swimming Pool", which isn't exactly the same, but a multi-storey club. In a good mood, various alcohols flow, so that some small technical problems of the previous show are quickly forgotten. Paul gets the new nickname Tim Thaler (Does anyone else know him?) because he no longer laughs on stage, and no longer twists his face.

On the way back to the club, I have a lengthy discussion with him about the Onkelz fans in the audience and the alleged legal bias from some quarters.

“I think it's too flat to just put a 'No Fascism' sticker on our next album, in keeping with the trend,” he sums up. “In my opinion there is no reason for that, because Till's texts are not political at all. If we caused trouble because of sexism, I would understand it, but I can't understand all this Nazi theater for the best will in the world.”

As already sufficiently explained in the interview, there are some ambivalent points on the surface, but when they are discussed in detail, they are not good enough to push the band into the right-wing camp. The experiences of this tour have emphatically proven that it doesn't belong there either. So for all notorious skeptics to write down again: Rammstein are non-political!

When we arrive at the Modernes, tour guide Tommy falls in love — with a 1950s Cadillac Fleetwood. After it turns out it belongs to a guy from local security, he won't give up until he gets the keys. He sits proudly behind the wheel and would like to buy the good piece right away. Unfortunately, he doesn't have the requested 22,000 eggs at hand right now.

Meanwhile, newly pierced F.B. guitarist Alex buys 20 red roses to send to his girlfriend; in addition to two calls a day, another token of love. Unbelievable, but true: musicians can also be on tour like this...

Mink Stole have to start their set under thankless conditions, because at 20.00 the place is still almost empty. Little by little the people pour in, but they don't seem particularly interested in the Swabians' noise rock. The introverted performance of the trio also makes it difficult for people to deal with it more intensively.

The F.B.-Lichtmann uses the possibilities of the system much better than in Mannheim and puts the farm boys in the limelight in an excellent way. They don't need to be asked twice and even animate a handful of metalheads to a small moshpit with their good performance.

Rammstein clean up completely again, but - as in the next two days - do without both the 'Mensch-Tier-Man' song and the riding performance.

Afterwards, almost the entire tour entourage ends up in a neighboring pub, where, in addition to the highly amusing courtship of two groupies, Matze's questionable alcohol level is particularly noticeable. In the end, the F.B. singer got so upset that when he got back on the bus, he missed the toilet bowl while peeing and put the whole toilet under "water". After this masterpiece, he stands helpless in front of his bunk because he has massive problems getting his duvet covered. He strenuously denies the mocking remark that his mother would otherwise have done it – but he has no proof to the contrary.

In view of the wonderful weather, Rammstein and I are drawn to the nearby outdoor pool, where singer Till, a former 1500-meter freestyle rider, shows what he's still capable of. He constantly pulls his lengths at a hellish pace, long after I ran out of breath. After this fitness training, we'll still be hanging around on the water slide before things get serious again: Till has come up with some new gimmicks for the upcoming open air events and buys big on the way back. Along with all sorts of odds and ends, he also brings two steel tubes that are supposed to make mobile rocket launchers out of his forearms.

The car park in front of the hall has meanwhile been transformed into a trend sports mecca: almost every member of the band and crew races over the generously laid-out "course" with inline skates or on a skateboard. Alex dares the most spectacular jumps, using Matze more or less voluntarily as a living obstacle. The daring, however, is the undoing of another: FB drummer Till breaks his board in the middle after a long sentence; Luckily he can clench (How nice that each of us can translate that immediately... - Red.) and avoid a serious fall.

Suddenly incredulous amazement: Rammstein guitarist Richard stands in the middle of a garbage container set up in front of the entrance and excitedly shovels around in it. What happened? The bus driver had cleaned up his vehicle and, in his overzealousness, accidentally thrown away Richard's credit card, which he had unsuspectingly left lying around among some odds and ends. To make matters worse, the rubbish was buried shortly afterwards by a few cubic meters of rubble, which made it even more difficult for you to "salvage" the valuable piece.

Luckily, after about half an hour of searching, he finds what he is looking for. Otherwise, demolition expert Till would certainly have taken action and simply blown up the contents of the container.

We spend the rest of the time until the show with Robert Rodriguez's cult flick “Desperado”; the clever tour manager Tommy got ten films from the neighboring video store for a backstage pass.

All three bands are well received in the once again very well-stocked shop, with the Depeche Mode cover version 'Never Let Me Down Again' by the Farmer Boys and all the 'Herzeleid' songs in particular being a real hit; in addition, some goths playing air guitar make for a somewhat irritating sight.

After the show, thumb scratcher Lupe stops by the FB bus and is completely enthusiastic about Rammstein, although he had considerable reservations just a short time before. In high spirits we down a few beers and witness an almost unbelievable incident: a female fan (is that the correct female form of fan, Hanno? - the author) asks the bus driver for an autograph. The latter replies that he is only the driver and not a member of the band, whereupon she throws an "it doesn't matter" at him. Needless to say, he stays with her and she never sees the band...

Because we're running out of beer, we switch to the "Kick" pub, where Rammstein also has a drink or two and visit the Dark Wave/EBM party that's taking place in the small club. Some fans have a lengthy image discussion with keyboardist Flake, whose private clothes neither match the stage outfit nor the usual fashion ideas. However, he remains defiant: "With my current appearance, I'm sure to spoil a lot in people's heads, but then maybe they'll understand that we only embody characters on stage who aren't necessarily identical to us as private people.”

In fact, this insight can't do any harm, because contrary to popular belief, the boys are anything but serious or dogged, but rather relaxed and fun-loving.

To wake up, it's back to the outdoor pool, where Paul immediately gets into a fight with the stuffy lifeguard because he's ignoring a barrier. Because the others want to eat in a restaurant, I drive back to Kufa alone with Till. We chat about the Rammstein concept, and he reveals that he intends to phase out the number with the burning arms, at least temporarily, so that it doesn't wear out too much. Too bad actually. Also, he definitely doesn't want a metal producer for the second album, so as not to be pushed too far into a corner stylistically. Let's wait and see what's in store for us...

Then the European Football Championship lures - but only Matze and me. The others are not deterred by the penetrating stench of the slaughterhouse opposite and sunbathe in the beer garden.

Tommy reports: sold out! However, the expectant good mood is suddenly clouded when the PA gives up shortly before the start of the Mink Stole show and the quickly brought in replacement system doesn't really want to harmonize with the remaining components. Despite the very modest sounds, the guys get the best reactions of the tour so far. The same applies to the Farmer Boys, who are able to inspire more and more people with increasing playing time and are even accompanied by massive calls for an encore when they leave the stage - a complete success!

Rammstein, on the other hand, have had a pitch-black day: In addition to the bad sound, they have to deal with a number of other problems such as a broken keyboard and guitars that sometimes stop playing. However, the party-loving crowd didn't let it spoil their mood and, in terms of atmosphere, gave the guys a worthy conclusion to the tour.

Accordingly, they accept the "bankruptcies, bad luck and breakdowns" performance and sit in front of the Kufa until late at night.

However, an unexpected problem arises: Till recognizes a friend of mine, who is supposed to take me to Düsseldorf with her, as an old acquaintance from Eastern times, and after more than ten years the two of course have a lot to tell each other — especially since she can hardly remember him and is completely confused... Luckily I find another ride, so that after these beautiful and eventful but exhausting days I can finally go to bed.

#Rammstein #Till Lindemann #Richard Kruspe #Flake #Paul Landers #Christoph Schneider #Farmer Boys #1996 #translation #*scans #*

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