Novelas y relatos de Rock Star Gif

“Fucking beautiful. I swear Oklahoma has the prettiest girls.” “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?” I whip around to face the newest foul mouth. A breath catches in my throat at the sight of the tattooed rock god. A small smile curves his pierced lip. “Well, sweetness, I’m sure not talking about Gabe over there. Who let you on the bus?” “That’s what I fucking asked her.” “Never mind that caveman.” The rock god extends his hand towards me. “I’m Raze.”

Gina gave a wicked smile of acknowledgement, nodding slowly continuously. "And do you know after that happened, I thought it was the end of Rock Presley in my life. But the dude kept bugging me with shity songs on my Timeline. I hate every inch of his lyrics. It doesn't make sense, you see. How can someone sing about hamburger? Is that like a nursery rhymes? These days we need the real deal from these artist. If you don't sing about getting the bag or crazy about love. Fuck it! Ain't gonna download hamburger jam" I puffed. "Fuck it. We want some diss track yo!" Gina added.

His deep timbre rumbled over the rock music. I jerked my chin in a nod. "I take it you're Rock? Remind me not to piss you off." His face split in a grin, transforming his expression from don't-mess-with-me to friendly. "You don't screw with my girl and we'll be all right."

And amidst the twisting shapes were individual symbols that appeared like paintings hung in a gallery. A red hot chili pepper for… you guessed it. A dollar bill on a hook for Nirvana. The Rolling Stones’ famous lips. A Union Jack for The Who. An elaborate Celtic Cross with flowers and revolvers for… yes… Guns ‘n Roses. A black-inked portrait of Jim Morrison – the famous shot of him that everybody knows – that was done startlingly well, in minute artistic detail. And all over, woven into the fabric of the design, were quotes from some of the most famous rock ‘n roll songs of all time.

“It’s more fun this way.” We ate in tense silence for a minute before he spoke again, softer this time. “You know… it’s not easy, this life. Everybody wants a piece of you. The label, the fans, the media. They suck you dry until there’s nothing real left. Some nights I’m surrounded by hundreds of people and still feel completely fucking alone.” I looked up, surprised by the sudden honesty. His green eyes held mine for a moment, something raw flashing there. Then he blinked and the cocky mask returned. “But hey, at least the money’s good and the pussy’s endless. Right?”

Her fangs descended, watching the four prominent men walk on stage. The lead singer, held piercings, black leather bracelets, his hair spiked with blonde tips holding a microphone as he held up his arm and parted his fingers in the traditional rock-and-roll style hand gestures. The drummer, donning a leather vest, pants, and thick silver-looking chains around his neck, began beating on his instruments.

" He said, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me slightly. "Thanks," I whispered looking at the girl I was painting staring back at me, her lips were painted red with some of it dripping down her skin. The blue and white waves welled up in her eyes while some of it streamed down her face. I was only starting on her hair, and so far I had grey locks covering part of her face. "What is it that you can't do?" He asked with a smile on his face as he looked at the painting astonished. "Suck dick," I said looking up at him with a grin and he looked back down at me shocked before clearing his throat.

Brian Sinclair, the renowned guitarist. Brian “Master” Sinclair, guitar hero, rock god, perfect specimen of a man, was passed out in her hotel room! He’d kissed her. God, how he’d kissed her. If she didn’t have rules about when she allowed herself to have sex with a new acquaintance, he’d probably be making love to her right now. She seriously needed to amend her rules. Her body ached with wanting him. The man was too sexy for his own good.

“That just might work… Do you have any ideas already?” “Can I borrow your computer thing?” I said, holding my hand out. Yaru looked blank and didn’t move, evidently not knowing what I meant. “Oh,” he said as his eyes lit up. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out the crystal slab. “You mean my data stone.” “Yes. Can you look up the Maori tribal tattoos on it?” I asked, my mind already picturing ones I’d seen in movies and on natives. I could easily make some into a painted design.

This life's go no escape, Go hard until I can't see straight, Sunlight burn in' my eyes, How the fuck am I still alive? (Oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa)