Latest Posts by frencrow13 - Page 5
I went and cuddled with my friend and spent the night. At some point in the morning he turned towards me and grabbed me and pulled me closer. I felt so comforted and safe. It was really nice. I wanna do it again but he's not always up for visitors bc he's usually emotionally tired, which is understandable. He's just so warm and bigger than I am and I feel safe around him. I've told him and he doesn't understand it very much but I just hope I get to cuddle with him again soon
kate bush, the ninth wave (1985) — photographed by john carder bush
Selfshipping isn't enough I need to explode
1. Dave gives Kurt a piggyback ride to the stage 2. Kurt boogies and high-fives fans 3. Butt-touch #1 and butt-touch #2 4. Dismount + Dave chewing his cud 5. More cud-chewing + hugs for Kevin Kerslake (music video director) 6. Portal to Narnia opens
Houses of the Holy
some of my fav photos of kurt rn
Led Zeppelin at Earl’s Court, London, 1975.
Robert Plant and Jimmy Page on stage at Pavillon in Montreux, 1972.
people: why are you smiling at your phone huh? is it a boy?
me watching a video of a 50+ year old man who's in a band: yes
His hair is so beautiful. I want my hair to be like that 😩😩😻
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce Led Zeppelin to you. On bass guitar John-Paul Jones. On drums John Bonham. On Guitar Jimmy Page. and myself, Robert Plant."
denmark radio '69 for @chrysochromulina
The Runaways: Cherry Bomb
Kurt Cobain on the covers of the Japanese music magazine 'Crossbeat'. 📖 💯
Nirvana reading festival 1992 pt1
New York, Good Night
x
New Photo! Kurt Cobain at Roppongi Prince Hotel. Tokyo, Japan. February 19th, 1992.
follow my Instagram @kindergrrl for more posts, I’m more active there 💗
F A C E
The complexities hidden under a placid exterior.
Blue pen, watercolor, black gouache on Bristol, 6x9". This piece like all my originals is for sale, 120 which includes the ride worldwide.
I LOVE FLORENCE SO MUCH
Some of my favorite Florence outfits ❤️🔥
"All the gods have been domesticated And Heaven is now overrated And the churches, they all closed their doors But you can take your complaints straight to the Lord I try to still look with wonder on the world As the roses bloom And the riot van still plainly in view" From "Cassandra", by Florence I couldn't help but make another one, And as I said, this album cracked me open. 🔥🥀
Here’s a snippet of a ficlet (before I had ficterruptus) for the lovely @m-faithfull … *Warning - not polished, and very silly (wait, that's everything I write 😁)*
You’ve made it. Backstage. The Holy Land. And sans even the slightest particle of dust on your knees. Your excitement is palpable, nearly overwhelming as you struggle to drink in every last drop. Your wild wonderment reluctantly dwindles into dull surprise as you realize that it’s not exactly what you expected. In fact, it left more than a little to be desired. Stark lighting … check. The stench of cold concrete and stale cigarettes … check. Half-dressed girls with glittery daggers for eyes … double check. No, make that triple, you muse, your gaze flickering up and down exhibits A, B, and C. They’re surrounded by boisterous roadies doling out favors on what appears to be a sliding scale. The more generous the slide, the more generous the favor. You clench your teeth as you watch the festivities, nearly gagging by proxy. Your revelation creeps into a pang of disappointment. Holy Land? More like Sodom and Gomorrah. Not glamorous. Not by a long shot. Completely dispirited, you turn on your heel to leave, freezing as a splash of red catches your eye. Searing needles fill your cheeks, and you blink, not quite sure if you’re seeing what you think you see. The third flutter confirms it. You are. It’s Robert, floating above the fray, and he’s staring at you. Right at you, cigarette dangling from his lips, that trademark dimple slowly deepening. Your heart skips a beat as you read the glimmer in his eye. It’s full of mischief and fun, and perhaps something a bit more carnal. Your gaze drifts to the paper taped haphazardly next to him, but you can’t decipher the scribble and assume it’s a makeshift sign for the dressing room. You glance back, but he’s turned toward a bear of a man donning a white suit and a black bowler hat. That must be Bonham. Your suspicions are validated as Robert lets loose a howling laugh.
“Christ, Bonzo, how many times are you going in there? Gives new meaning to the term drum stool.”
“Fuck you, mate.”
“Maybe they should just replace yours with a commode, yeah?”
“Piss off. I was workin’ on something for Zoe. And it’s the only fuckin’ quiet place around here.”
“What’s it this time? Another scarf?” With a smirk, Robert leans into his friend. “Better not let Pagey have a look.”
“Yeah, yeah. It’s a bloody jumper, you git.” The drummer grunts. “I’m thinkin’ about doing a muzzle next, but I’m not quite sure if I can make it big enough for your fat gob.”
As Bonzo lumbers past him, he gives Robert a tiny shove, eliciting another smile from the singer as he resumes his inspection of you. His fingers clutch his belt buckle, and you follow their progress, transfixed by the sight. They’re so big. Every inch of him is so big … hands, chest, thighs. And other things. You realize that you’re holding your breath. He slinks off the doorframe and takes a step toward you, but you panic, whirling around and darting into the closest room you can find. The heavy panel clicks shut behind you, and you inhale deeply, only to have your solace interrupted. You’re not alone. Your jaw drops as Jimmy’s head jerks up, his delicate, yarn draped fingers outfitted with the largest pair of knitting needles you’ve ever seen. Your shocked gazes lock for a beat, and you pray the grin that’s begging for release stays put. But the guitarist's pretty, pink pout lets you know it’s too late.
Led Zeppelin photographed by Chris Walter at Savoy Hotel, 1969.
