( hungry, hungry, hungry ) @gabehastings - Tumblr Blog

Ｏ，ＮＡＲＣＩＳＳＵＳ！ＭＹＨＥＡＲＴＢＥＡＴＳＩＮＫＦＯＲＹＯＵ．

kitslcane:

Location: Saints and Sinners Party Closed for: @gabehastings

While she forgets the name of the boy pressing her to the wall shortly after he offers it, she enjoys the rays of his attention nonetheless; against the shell of an ear he calls her an angel, tells her how good she’ll look knowing sin. Irises sweep over the crook of a broad shoulder and stall abruptly on a silhouette she knows best in the dark, and the pace of her pulse lifts to something erratic as he turns. Kit meets a gaze of molten hue and holds it - holds it as a heated mouth of another descends the length of her neck, as digits skim over the bare flesh of her waist. The weight of Gabe’s attention is embers against her skin, and she watches him through heavy lids, amusement tilting her lips to a phantom simper.

.

She was doing it on purpose— at first his attention had been snagged as if caught on a sharp nail, digging into the skin and drawing blood, he’d cut dark eyes away as if he hadn’t noticed— as if he shouldn’t have cared. But the two of them were insatiable and unabashed, Gabe simmered in the kitchen as he poured himself a drink, swallowing whiskey like liquid fire, ignoring the burn that emblazoned its way into his belly. It was when she looked at him, icy eyes warmed by the other man’s ministrations, his attention, that he moved. Later, he’d deem it a mistake, but thoughts of Stella fled from his mind and instead he was gripping onto shoulders smaller than his own, yanking him away before he could leave marks on tanned skin, or tangle his hand in dark hair. For Kit’s sake, he tried to protest, but it was Gabe’s furious glare that made him move on, leaving the two of them in the near dark. “What’re you doing?” The words were stormy and demanding, and even he was shocked by his anger— and something else, jealousy.

#chat #chat: kit #Kit Sloane

nikmoreau:

“I don’t need to resort to underhanded tactics to win.” Neon sweeps the room in a steady pulse and illuminates them; Gabe’s face, all diamond-edges and glittering beauty and then her smile, wide as the night and bright in the dark. “Flattered you think I could see over your shoulder.” She has been eyefucking her though, enough to notice that the girl seems just as intrigued in them. An easy mark, maybe, but a worthwhile one. “I’m feeling magnanimous. You wanna go first?”

.

“You may physically be about the same height as your bass, Moreau, but in my heart you’re at least a few inches taller than that.” He wasn’t one to bear a broad grin and a bright expression, but the smug one that he wore fit them well, sharpening the angles of his features like a knife. The two of them were a dangerous duo, something venomous paired with something heartless— he pitied the shiny thing that had captured their magpie’s attention. “I don’t even know wha the fuck that means,” he snorted, before gesturing. “Ladies first, might as well reap what your head start’s sown.”

#chat #chat: nik #nik moreau

rorykent:

location: lucky’s; closed: @gabehastings

It was the little things she’d notice: familiar faces in the back booths, a foreign car in the spot she’d used to consider her own. The way the dart board was a little further off kilter than the last time she’d seen it. She couldn’t say she missed working here, but so much time had been spent in Lucky’s since she’d first moved to town that it was hard to shake the familiarity she’d felt walking in earlier. The same nostalgia settling in as she made the brief walk to her car, fingers dialing the same number she’d grown used to calling. “Hey, I’m leaving Lucky’s,” she would echo her past self. “Will you stay on the phone with me? I’ll even let you pick the music on my drive home. Unless you’re going screamo, in which case I’ll try calling Leo.”

.

“You’re leaving Lucky’s?” Gabe said the words into the phone as he rounded a corner, the cigarette tucked between his lips acting to muffle the clarity of his speech. He tapped his ash, the heel of his boots clicking against the asphalt, “Wait about three seconds and you can drive me home too.” The phone stayed pressed to his ear, and he turned another corner, lifting a hand to flag Rory down. “Bartender at the last place took my fuckin’ keys apparently I had one too many to drive.” A few more long strides put them within comfortable speaking distance and he tapped to end the call, grinning broadly at the brunette. “I’ll pick the music, but you’re going to be listening to King Hit’s latest on Spotify because we need the streams and my phone’s about to die.” He gestured to the side door, indicating that he wanted her to unlock it. “How was your night?”

#chat #chat: rory #rory kent

korainmorrison:

continued from here // @gabehastings

𝐊𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐒 on a slightly lower deck of his boat , meant for easier transition from water to deck with feet dangling in the still slightly chill waters of the ocean . it’s been a steady day of smoking for the male , a celebration lasting for hours as friends come and go for quick hits . gabe is the latest to venture aboard , a hand waving to signal where he is as his bandmate makes himself comfortable a moment later beside him . “ oh fuck yes , ” he says passing the joint to gabe in exchange for the paper bag full of what smells like onion rings . “ i gotta introduce you to someone , ” korain says already with half an onion ring in his mouth . he watches the water for a moment before pointing out a fish swimming close to their feet . “ meet phil . ”

.

He settled down heavily, barefoot and ready to be day drunk— Gabe took a pull from the wine before taking the joint in his free hand, swapping them with ease. His head tipped back to spill smoke above in place of a halo, letting the exhalation drift hazily into the cloudless sky before he looked down. It was easy to ignore the food now, mind over matter— the weed wouldn’t help but the wine did it’s job, sloshing in an empty stomach. “Yeah?” A brow rose and he half expected Rain to tug out his phone and show off some images from there, but instead, he peered down into the clear expanse of water, laughing loudly. “Phil looks like he’d make a great lunch. I shoulda got you some chips and fish.”

#chat #chat: rain #rain morrison

#mirror

stellamcnroe:

𝐀 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐍 in his direction as an apology , stella’s attention brought back to the task at hand as she moves in front of her propped up phone to see how she looks on the screen . she turns from side to side , glancing back over her shoulder at the view on the screen and nodding with approval while the strums of guitar fill the room . “ do they ? i had no idea –––– maybe a devoted fan can write a letter requesting for you to appear on the show . ” lips curve into a playful smile as she glances at him , a quick wink following before she fixes her hair and moves back in front of the phone . she starts recording to show off the outfit , a very standard routine for any haul but it’s the sound of her name falling past vic’s lips that catches her attention and interrupts the video . “ not exactly wonderwall now is it ? but keep going , i want to hear more . ” stella pauses recording , attention he seeks now focused on him as she abandons the set-up to lean against the nearby table .

.

Gabe leaned back against the wall, one leg stretching out long as he made himself more comfortable in the chair. He dwarfed it, with his long frame, and he supposed that Stella’s view was comical enough to draw a smile not her mouth, curved indulgently. “Are you volunteering? I’ll lick the stamp and everything.” Humour sat in his dark eyes and his fingers continued to brush along the strings, casting his attention down on the chords while he began to sing the lines that had been written for her. His intention had always been to snag her attention, to hold it like a prize— and now that he had it, Gabe felt triumphant enough to raise his voice. Not Wonderwall indeed, it was something special, and he continued for a few bars, aware of the silence that left him as the centrepiece of the room. One last strum rang through and he looked back up. “And for me, it’ll always be Stella.” A lopsided grin tugged onto his lips, “D’ya like it?”

#chat #chat: stella #stella monroe

dovealdrich:

There was a song in her head every time she started a fight. With the rise of the tempo came the rise of her glee. She molded herself to this song, every punch and kick in sync to the music that grew louder every moment. The man on the ground had risen to his feet, eyes burned red, seeking redemption for the hit. She let the song play, every lesson her father had taught her embedded into the music. She kicked, she dodged; she punched, he cried. With the crescendo came a hit to her stomach, straight in the gut that sent her tumbling back. Her hands clutched the bar, a red faced man charging at her in full. Her fingers curled around the glass placed on the counter. Her timing was perfect, as she learned she had to be when it came to something as sweet as a song. She raised it to the bald mans head, glass shattering at the motion. He tumbled to the ground; his girlfriend letting out a scream. Dove was a maniac, laughing at the scene. “Holy shit,” she said, pulling out the pieces of glass that stuck to her palm. Her attention turned to Vic, who had found his own play pal. “Need help, Princess?”

.

The man reeled back, and Gabe looked back at the mess of shattered glass just in time to see the woman’s face transform into a Munch painting. His mouth tugged into a wide, wicked smile— he ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, turning back just in time to dodge a ill-formed fist that was aimed in the direction of his jaw. “Fuckin’ rude,” he noted, palms reaching out to find purchase on broad shoulders, shoving the other man backwards to allow him more time to talk to Dove. “Only if it means I’m not going to have to drop you off in front of the ER tonight,” Gabe snorted, elbowing another figure that had risen from his meal to attempt to help diffuse the situation. He was tall and broader than most in the restaurant, but the wicked glint in his gaze was shared by his companion. “Think your buddy’s gonna scar, and it looks like his girl’s gonna sue. Maybe we should scuttle off into the sunset.”

#chat #chat: dove #dove aldrich

kitslcane:

Location: Full Moon Party Closed for: @gabehastings

The collection of bodies gathered close is an inferno that prompts her giddy - Kit is in the thick of them, pupils dilated to obsidian by a pretty pill placed to the curve of her tongue by an even prettier man. The collision of a broad frame and the liquor twisting to ichor in flowering veins sends Kit stumbling, digits curve to bare flesh and a full mouth splits something holy at the sight of Gabe, painted god-like beneath neon hue. “You,” they’re touching, but it’s not close enough, and her wandering touch is evidence of such: contact ascends from a grip to the sinew of a bicep, up the tilt of a shoulder to settle against the bend of his neck, and Kit grins at him as though he were the moon in worship, “hi.”

.

“Me,” he coos in response, the word molten on a hot tongue. She’s wearing a smile and it suits her, tugged up at the corners thoughtlessly- it strikes him then that he’d never seen unbridled glee on Kit Sloane, even if this is something manufactured, blowing her irises down into a thin, pale strip around the expanse of black. She’s touching his arm and Gabe wraps an arm around the narrowest part of her waist, tugging her closer to him, making her privy to the warmth and high that he feels after their performance. He’s touched god tonight, or even, become one. “Were you looking for me?” It’s an indulgent question, something half-starved, existing within him alongside his fervent need to be adored above else.

#chat #chat: kit #kit sloane

#mirror

nikmoreau:

FT. GABE HASTINGS

what: full moon party ( friday, may 7th ) who: @gabehastings

The dance floor is a hive of gyrating limbs; abuzz with his brother’s music, they usher her closer, but Nik is no stranger to Gabe’s body. A hand splayed against a muscled chest, her face bathed in neon, grinning; if they’re the picture-perfect pair, well, they’re certainly practiced. “Thirsty?” She leans in closer. “To your left. With the dragon tat. Fifty bucks for whoever fucks her first.”

.

He’d been drinking, enough so that a smile peeled easily at his lips. He was riding the high of a performance gone right and as verdant and rubied lights sunk hollows into their cheeks, Gabe felt god-like, untouchable. Dark eyes follow Nik’s instructions, and he lets out a low noise of approval. Lithe, raven haired and bearing a tattoo that snaked out from under clothing held up by strings, she was a perfect prize. “Absolutely parched. Game on, but it’s cheating if you’ve been eyefucking her over my shoulder for the past hour.”

#chat #chat: nik #nik moreau

#mirror

margo-richards:

“Hi, is there anything I can help you with?” Margo questioned, hearing the bell echo throughout the store. She lifted her gaze up from her work to see who was there and if she could offer them any assistance. As soon as she did, she could feel her heart rate rise and her knees go weak. Margo recognized the customer immediately to be Gabe Hastings, the lead singer of King Hit, a band she was rather fond of. “I’m new here,” she stuttered out, forcing herself to act semi-normal, “so I’m not the best person to ask.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Margo felt her cheeks burn as their color began to match a bouquet of red roses next to the desk. Watching him move closer and closer, she reached forward and took hold of the flower, “I don’t think I could ever turn down a peony, no matter how long I worked here,” Margo answered, wearing a soft smile before asking, “will that be all for you? Or is there something else I can help you find?”

.

A flush crawls up her cheeks, seeping like blood under a door while it deepens on her features. Gabe is voracious, leaning against the counter to study her gaze, capture her attention with the fish hook curve that settles in the corner of his mouth. His lean figure is all but propped up by the front counter, elbows planted between a metal bucket that houses sunny tulips and a spray of lilac. While she, blonde and dainty, seems to be at home there, Gabe cannot help but wonder what it is that she sees when she looks through the green to see him. “That makes sense, I would have noticed you before.” His head cants, and their fingers brush when she plucks the large bloom from his hands. “Just that,” he said easily, “Unless your number is up for grabs, then I’ll take that as well.”

#chat #chat: margo #margo richards

text → gabe & rain.

korain: easy enough to believe, you can't board for shit

korain: but no promises if it ever comes up in an interview since i'm not legally required to lie

gabe: sorry i was sooooo busy getting laid i never learned how to skate board

gabe: a grill scar is nowhere near as metal as one from a skateboard but it's fine as long as we keep the story about the alligator bite on my ankle

#text #text: rain #rain morrison

kitslcane:

“A five in neon?” she echos, a grin curves at her mouth and mirth is an incandescent bloom, “I’ll take it. Maybe I’ll go and report back,” Kit was sure she could convince Rain to tag along - the night likely to be spent atop the width of broad shoulders for an elevated view, “I’ll need to get backstage to get a good close up, you know? For research. Do I elbow groupies to get back, or should I flash my tits and hope he falls in love like a Hallmark movie?” The tilt of nose pinches at the thought of exposing herself to a boy who was likely both a soft three with the lights off and a complete skeeze, “or maybe the crowd’ll be a good enough view if I squint.”

You’re serious about this? Features soften, and Kit’s silent: she was, sort of. Or maybe it had been a stupid idea crafted on a whim. It seemed that most were as of late, if she dug deeper, an idea spun from nothingness in a desperate attempt to shake her mind of grief and loss, if only for a time. Blonde tresses graze a shoulder as she turns, and maybe she would’ve prompted him to turn the key, to start the engine and take her home instead, if he hadn’t already been looking at her - if, beneath his gaze, Kit’s thoughts hand’t dissipated abruptly, a white noise incomparable to him. A bottom lip lulls at the contact, and she’s doe-like as she watches him watch her; something heady unspools within her skeletal, and Kit shivers. Had this been a moment from a coming of age movie, the pad of his thumb would slip between the tilt of her mouth, and the dulcet treacle of a moan would follow; the watcher would lean in, rewind, lift a digit: that, there, that is the turning point. But it isn’t, and the contact is a phantom that descends in a breath. (That night, when she’s lonesome one again, she will think back to it, fabricate a lecherous progression: his thumb descends from her mouth to a swan neck, his digits are worn to the width of her throat like pearls; Kit’s palm will slip beneath a waistband of lace, and the shadows sprawled in her room will watch her come undone at the thought Gabe).

The door is tenderly shut behind her exit, as though any abrupt sound would send the snarling hound after them before they could even try. The hoodie’s sleeves drape around the supple expanse of her palms, specifically chosen for the expansive pocket, and her attention volleys to Gabe. “You’ve got big hands,” it’s spoken the moment she thinks it, and Kit twists away to hide the heat that bleeds to cheeks, “perfect for picking oranges,” she tacks on, “It’s a shame we aren’t doing this in the daylight, I bet you’d get a job offer, and then you could quit whatever it is you do,” whatever it is you pretend for. Digits lift to tuck a stray curl behind the shell of an ear, and Kit squints through the darkness, “my mom took me here the day before she left. I always wondered if she was giving us one last good day, or if it was that day that convinced her to leave.” She peers over the subtle bend of a shoulder to look at Gabe, “she’s a bitch. We hate her.” Sort of. Almost.

.

“I bet they’ll let you backstage, they seem like the type— y’know, to have groupies and shit. Tits out, that’s the ticket.” He wanted a cigarette, something to roll between his fingers while he spoke languidly. Long ago, smoking had been considered a detriment to his chosen profession, but now it stuck like ash to his voice, rasping the syllables that he was so well known for. Lye leached at the skin, he could feel a similar burn, Durden’s kiss, in the expanse of her cerulean gaze. She’d captured him for a moment, and he’s treading in it, head barely above water, lipstick smears to the pad of his thumb. Her breath catches against his skin, barely warming the metals of the rings that he wears, his grip is always metallic and heavy, weighted by his jewelry of choice.

He’s never been inside the orange grove, but he’s passed it several times in the car. It stands behind a tall white fence, hitched like crooked teeth, and he can smell the heady scent of citrus even from this far away— the fruit that lays on the ground rotting is sweet, and in the low of the night there are no wasps buzzing around them to torment them, only the incessant song of cicadas in tall grass. He grew up in Oakland, far from farms and quiet places, this feels like he’s stepping into a dream that belongs into someone else, and when he looks over at the dreamy expression that slips onto Kit’s features, he wonders if they’re both asleep in fact, and he’s dipped under the surface of her impossibly blue eyes.

“Perfect for other things too,” he responds, unwilling to allow her a smooth recovery from words that make a ruddy glow climb up her porcelain throat: even in the dark, under the glow of a moon that isn’t quite full bellied but bright enough, he can see the way that she flushes. Gabe leaves the car unlocked, not risking the beep of the alarm to betray their position as they sneak onto the grove. He holds his palm out, and the lines of it are barely visible, outstretched and large. “Maybe I should get a palm reading first, see if I’ll be any good at it.” Part of him just wants her to grab it, to dwarf her fingers with his as he curls them around, the other hopes briefly that she looks down and tells him a fortune off the top of her head. “Doubt orange picking pays very well though, better hope that I love it too, or it’ll all be a waste.” Gabe was starting to walk, towards that white washed fence. Closer up, he could see the peel of the paint, the uneven tops: everything, when you got too close, looked less idealistic. The story that Kit tells is one that he wonders if he’s supposed to have more of a reaction to. If he was someone kinder he’d say that he was sorry, that they didn’t have to come there, but instead, because he wasn’t kinder and he was just himself, he lifted a shoulder. “We hate her,” he echoed, hands reaching for a rail before vaulting himself over. He stood, on the other side of the fence, lingering to hear the bark of a dog. “So far so good.”

#chat #chat: kit #kit sloane #thank u for rebooting me

laurence-mercer:

with. GABE HASTINGS:

where: mercy’s bar when: ‘bout 6:00pm who: closed for @gabehastings

It was too early in the evening to be dealing with customer disturbance. Mercy’s was only an hour into dinner and already there was an issue out front. The waitress seating had seemed almost panicked when she came back, flushed trying to grab his attention. He hadn’t heard much, but the gist of this problem annoyed him already. When he actually saw the boy, he couldn’t help rolling his eyes. He gave him a long look before speaking, a strange array of frustration and disappointment in his eyes. A popstar alright.

“You’re smaller than I expected for all the fuss you’re causing.” Laurie nodded at his waitress. “Do you get your rocks off harassing teenage wait staff?”

.

The hostess was overreacting, and Gabe’s eyes rolled as she insisted that he leave the premises. He didn’t particularly feel like making the trek to another restaurant, regardless of the fact that she insisted they didn’t have space if he hadn’t of made a reservation- and there was an open table within view, waiting for him to settle down. This logic didn’t score well with her and he began to argue. Then, as if he was superman himself, destined to free innocents from the damage of the villainous, the manager came into view.

“You’re a little too small to using that as your go to insult,” Gabe snorted, looking over at the other man in disinterest. “I’m just trying to eat, if she would’ve just let me in, I’d be half done my meal by now.” He rolled his eyes, looking at the girl. Another group walked in, taking a seat at a table and he pieced together the real cause of her paper thin excuse. “No shit, is this because of last week? You’ve got a memory like an elephant, babe.”

#chat #chat: laurence #laurence mercer

#mirror

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