#creaturebate

I'm just saying if Luis is gay he should let me have Courtney😋 anyway here's some art I did of the ladies

𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧. 𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬, 𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝐧𝐨, 𝐧𝐨. 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞’𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. 𝐒𝐨 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦.

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 :))

The Blood of a Poet

Knock, knock.

“Come in,” He muttered calmly. It was as if he already knew it was Abby’s knock.

She stepped inside after changing out of her mortuary work clothes and into something more comfortable. Today had been exhausting.

Patrick, meanwhile, stood in the kitchen chopping vegetables while wearing a black apron over a plain white t-shirt. His hands moved in a gentle sawing motion, gloved fingers curled back carefully while holding the tomato. Exactly how she taught him. She would appreciate it.

That’s what you’re supposed to do.

Curl your fingers inward while holding the tomato. Use a serrated blade. Move with the knife instead of against it. Precise. Controlled.

Yes, that’s it.

Usually the blade rested inside the pocket of his Valentino jacket whenever he went to Tunnel, especially during nights where pressure inside him became unbearable.

Not tonight, Patrick.

Instead, it was only used for vegetables.

He had always been meticulous, but Patrick had a way of making the smallest tasks appear strangely elegant.

“Well, look at you. You’re a natural.” Her face brightened at the sight, almost impressed.

Patrick lets out a quiet chuckle without losing focus on what he was cutting.

“I do have a good teacher, so there’s that.” He tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment before asking in mild interest,

“What are we watching tonight?”

Creature tilted her head curiously, almost doglike, squinting down at the tape sitting on the counter.

“I actually haven’t seen this one before. Somebody made a recommendation. It’s called...”

She lifted the tape closer to examine the title. It read, “Le sang d’un Poète.”

“The…of a poet. Death? The death of a poet?”

Patrick glanced over his shoulder slowly, the corner of his mouth lifting upward. “You were close. Blood. The Blood of a Poet.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “You speak French?”

“Yeah. Mostly a requirement.”

He brushed it off easily.

That was only partially true. Work had required it whenever he traveled, but Patrick also possessed an irritatingly excellent memory.

His attention drifted back toward the tomatoes. He picked them up carefully with his gloved hands. Eventually he brought himself back to the present.

“Who recommended the movie again?”

“Oh, just somebody from the video store. They just seemed…understanding.”

Patrick nodded while passing behind her with the tomatoes

“I’ll say. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.”

Finally, he placed them into an enormous bowl of carefully prepared Greek salad. Beside it sat two glass tumblers filled with lovage in the garden.

Not j&b tonight.

That was their usual choice. This time it felt soft somehow.

Patrick didn’t know how to cook, but this was the closest thing he could offer. He actually was looking forward to movie night with Creature.

“Oh my…” Creature’s hand lifted toward her cheek.

Patrick immediately looked up.

“What is it?” Anticipation crept unpleasantly into his chest. Hopefully she was not offended. All he wanted was to share a small piece of his world with her.

For a moment, she said nothing.

“It’s…pitch perfect.”

She breathed out a smile while gently shaking her head.

A quiet sense of relief loosened somewhere deep inside him. Strange. He disliked how much satisfaction the words gave him. Still, Patrick kept himself composed as he walks towards her.

“Well, with you here, it is what it should be. You improved it.”

His voice carried that smooth, low warmth he slipped into so naturally. When he approached with that steady, magnetic presence, it felt more like stepping into a perfectly tailored coat.

“Thanks, Patty.”

Creature tried not to gush over it, though one hand still covered her cheek.

She felt appreciated. Not observed or analyzed, just appreciated for being herself.

The closest thing Patrick has done before was offer Jean sorbet and Chardonnay, but that had felt calculated beneath the surface.

This was different. Creature had never pretended to be anyone other than herself, even when she looked exhausted after work or uncertain about how she would fit into the world around her. Sometimes she wondered if being with somebody like Patrick was wrong. Yet, she wasn’t the only one. Patrick had those similar thoughts as well.

People can never truly see themselves with their own eyes, perhaps only in mirrors, but not themselves. They saw reflections, performances, reactions in the eyes of other people.

But Creature was real. Flesh, blood, skin, hair. Especially the hair. The strawberry and mint softness of it that he had helped dye himself. It made her seem less like an object and more like something alive.

A creature feature.

Sure, he teased her by calling her a hippie sometimes, but never cruelly. If anything, she stirred some strange sense of nostalgia in him. Something that reminded him of Harvard before everything became polished into nothingness.

I don’t know why she does this to me or what this feeling even is. But suddenly I’m reduced to something embarrassingly boyish. A boy with a crush. I even can’t put my finger on it.

The thought lingered while they sat together on his pristine white sofa halfway through The Blood of a Poet. Dinner was finished. So were the drinks. The film itself was strange. Black and white, dreamlike, and fragmented. The kind of movie that felt completely out of order while somehow still making emotional sense.

Creature always had some sort of trivia or observation ready during movies, but tonight she stayed quiet. They both were fixed on the film.

Oddly, Patrick preferred it. Some of the best moments existed in silence.

“Look, I know I haven’t said much,” she admitted softly. “I hope you don’t mind. I just don’t know a whole lot of French and I’ve never seen this before.”

“I haven’t either.”

Then, after a pause, Patrick added quietly.

“You know, Abby, whether or not you know something about a movie, I still lo…”

He stopped himself. The word nearly escaped him. For a split second the mask slipped, and she saw it happen in real time. Patrick stilled. His gaze shifting away slightly, eyes darting for a moment as if attempting to reorganize himself internally.

“Hey.”

Her voice pulled him gently back to the present.

“There’s no need to finish. It’s all good.”

Her smile was small and understanding, almost like she was helping him place the mask back where it belonged.

The movie resumed. Fabric rustled softly as they shifted closer together. Patrick’s arm rested easily along the back of the couch now, almost wrapped around her without thinking.

By the time the film ended, Abby had fallen asleep beside him. She really tried to stay awake.

Open. Close. Open. Close.

Until her eyelids fell heavy and sleep had finally claimed her.

Patrick, on the other hand, watched the film until the very end in complete silence.

He eventually turned toward her. Even in sleep, she seemed careful not to inconvenience anyone. Chin tilted upward slightly, head laid back, body stiffened as if trying not to lean too heavily against him or breathe too loudly. She’s quiet even unconscious.

After turning off the television, Patrick carefully adjusted her head against his shoulder, one hand cradling the back of it with surprising gentleness. Then he lifted her effortlessly into his arms and a soft grunt escaped him. He turns his head in precision towards the bedroom ahead and carried her across the white oak floor.

Only so she could sleep comfortably tonight, he convinced himself.

Though in reality, he simply wanted her there in the morning.

So Bateman gets to do organic chemistry (rest in peace Patrick)

Felt I needed to do a little something for Mermay, so here's Creature! :3

I think it fits these two well.... even though they look kinda :/

!!bloody version!!

"...and I’m weeping for myself, unable to find solace in any of this, crying out, sobbing 'I just want to be loved,', cursing the earth and everything I have been taught"

There's just something about him crying and pathetic, yknow.... beneath it all is a completely broken, lonely man

I know that last pic is from Equilibrium but its the closest I'll get to seeing heaven on earth so shh....