#but yeah tldr painter cant be normal ever about anything

[meatbricks]

Fanfic request here :))

The Painter, by the extreme luck of the universe, makes a female friend who is 5’1 and mixed (half white and half black) like him. She’s the typical “felt bad for the loner kid so ill be nice to him” stereotype who sees the good in anyone and doesn’t know how risky this action is considering who she is befriending. The painter, knowing who he is, becomes obsessed as usual but probably in a narcissistic way.

hi anon!!! <3 thank you SO much for the request, and i'm sorry it took me so long to get to!! writing full fics as opposed to headcanon lists takes a lot of effort out of me, because i wanna make sure that they meet my own personal standards of what's acceptable to post here... since i'm writing for other people now, i wanna make sure my writing is in top shape!! :3

anyways, without further ado, i hope you enjoy!! <3

warning(s): mentioned/implied past racism, harmful delusions, mentioned past bullying/verbal abuse, mentioned murder/being coerced into murder, uhhhhh. reader REALLY needs to get a new job

fic is under the cut!!

The sun fell beneath the horizon, tinting the sky a pinkish-purple color that beautifully melted into firey orange as you lay in bed, listening to your favorite album and gazing out through the window beside you at the scenery. The fading light illuminated your quiet, suburban neighborhood perfectly; at least, it seemed perfect to you. Houses lined up neatly with golden light beaming down onto them, an occasional car rushing past on the newly-paved road in front of your residence, the well-kept shrubberies and hedges in your neighbor's yard slightly fluttering their leaves in the wind, as if to wish the daylight a fond farewell... you sighed. No matter how good or bad your day had been, being right here in this moment seemed to make it all worthwhile. It made you remember what was really important—not snide remarks from ignorant customers at work, not pay cuts or stressful overtime or even traffic jams on the way home, but this. This, and the rest of your life outside what you did for a living.

As your mind wandered and a mellow, easygoing tune soothed you, the thought of your newly-made... friend was presented to you by the celluloid of your mind. You pursed your lips momentarily. You hesitated to call him your friend, but you were ashamed of that hesitation. There was really nothing wrong with him! Sure, he looked a bit strange, and he was a bit socially awkward, but he had done nothing wrong. He was simply not used to being treated with dignity, you were sure of it. Upon first meeting him outside the coffee shop you frequented since moving to your new home, he'd mentioned his shock that you were taking time out of your day to speak to him, specifically citing his cleft lip as a deterrent to others before you and causing your heartstrings to twang with sympathy. You were well aware of what it was like to be avoided based on physical characteristics; especially here, in the deep south. That was, after all, why you'd moved here: you'd heard through the grapevine that the citizenship of Urbanspook, Louisiana was far more accepting (and even welcoming) of diversity than the vast majority of its geographical region. In a way, you saw a piece of yourself in this strange man. He sat alone, leaning against a wall, absorbing the world around him and yet having difficulties finding his own place in it. It was then that you decided you'd help him, help him realize his own value and potential.

And it was now that you found yourself thinking of your decision, wondering whether or not this simple act of kindness would be your undoing.

You figured it was fairly common for men to harbor at least a little bit of romantic feelings for their female friends; after all, it had been a trend in your previous male friends (and even simply some of the male acquaintances you'd met at work over the years). Despite this, you couldn't shake the way he looked at you. It was obvious that he adored you, yes, but you couldn't help but sense something else behind his gaze. Something that worried you quite a bit. You couldn't quite place what it was; no, not yet. You'd only known him for a few weeks. The opportunity to examine his intentions hadn't presented itself enough times for you to reach a verdict on whether your apprehension was for good reason or not. Yet, it was present. No matter whether he was in your presence, alongside you, or simply occupying your mind, it was always there.

Deep within the woods, sitting in a worn and abandoned house at the exact same time, he was there.

Reclining on a king-sized mattress and gazing at a single polaroid photo, a man known only as the Painter found himself falling deeper and deeper into a mad obsession. His deep, void eyes stared into the ink that formed in such a way that resembled yours, those belonging to his newest friend. He longed to know of what thoughts lay behind those glistening eyes, those brown eyes glittering golden in the summer sunlight... before, then, and now, he wished to think of what you thought of. Did you think of him? Did you think of his presence beside you, worshiping your every breath and motion? Basking in the glory of existing alongside the beacon of human kindness and generosity? Did you know of how he admired you, and your nobility in taking him under your wing in an act of solidarity? Your understanding and compassionate treatment of him born of a shared strife? He took a moment to imagine it all... anyone would be lucky to have you. As a friend, as a lover, simply as an acquaintance... anyone who knew you should've considered themselves one of the luckiest people alive.

It was fitting, he figured, then, that you had chosen him to occupy a place in your life.

He knew his timid appearance would get him somewhere. As everyone derided him for being too soft, too weak, too pathetic (he shuddered as the phrase crossed his mind), he would simply smile at them. He knew. He knew all along, that someone like you would find him and offer themselves up on a silver platter. Perhaps not explicitly, but in some subtle display. Some invitation to enter their life, to make himself at home in their psyche. He smiled. He had no doubt, now, that he was floating around in your mind in that very moment; breaking down your other thoughts slowly and bringing you closer to where he wanted you: into his grasp.

He wasn't quite sure what he would do with you yet. You didn't seem malleable enough to turn into an accomplice. No, no... you weren't capable of such despicable violence. He giggled, thinking of what horrified expression would cross your face as you witnessed the brutal crimes he'd made a name for himself with. Crossing his legs, he also decided that immediately killing you off would be too much to bear as well. Although he was far too familiar with murdering his darlings, there was something about you that simply entranced him too much to extinguish the life in your eyes. Those precious, innocent eyes...

He found himself lost in your photo again. Your soft hair, your glistening eyes, your impeccable choice of clothing, your beautiful skin, your gorgeous figure, your charming pose...

He just had to keep you.

#this is the answer (ooc) #this is the answer #this is the writing #this is the fanfic #x reader #🖌 #urbanspook #the painter urbanspook #urbanspook analog horror #honestly i had a lot of fun writing this!!! i missed writing fics LOL #thank you again anon!! #also painter shuddering at the memory of being called pathetic is um. not exactly what you think it is #i'll give you a hint: hes not shuddering out of discomfort— #if you look REALLY closely theres some subtle hints of painter being a little bit silly :3 #but yeah tldr painter cant be normal ever about anything #and i feel rlly bad for this particular reader :') #smh she deserves better #for some reason i imagined her listening to pink floyd in the intro paragraph LOL #but i kept it vague so it can be whatever ur favorite music is!! #either way im sure its fuckin BANGER