#also trying to get myself to draw. once again

[rainandsentences]

The space between

a Luca x f!reader

synopsis: You don't understand your constant anger, you don't let anyone approach but somehow you could see how people notice, how he notices.

rating: 16+

word count: 1.3 k

warnings: mention of implied past sexual abuse

a/n: this is the first part of three that i have planned. i understand somehow the pain that comes with locking traumas, specially such as grooming and sexual abuse. i want to express how the topic can affect on the victim even years later, i know each individual is different and each of us deal with it in also different ways. i want to comfort myself and also others that unfortunately might relate with it.

you're so strong, don't forget it. ❤️‍🩹

——————————————————————————

Most of the time you weren’t trying to get the attention. You were always the quiet girl that sat on the corner. So, most of your life was focused on being the best at whatever you did. That was your way of standing out, to be noticeable. That brought you there, one of the best restaurants of high quality in all of Copenhagen.

You’re not mean.

But most people wouldn’t believe that.

They think you are — sharp-tongued, stiff-backed, untouchable. Firm and always giving the orders as you should.

You’re not trying to change their perspective either. It’s easier, in some messed-up way, to be seen as cold than to be seen as scared. Because scared invites questions. And you’ve spent years building your silence like a shelter. It’s ugly, maybe. But it’s safe.

Mostly.

So, when you were transferred to another restaurant and met your coworkers you couldn’t help but notice the tall blonde man with arms covered in tattoos.

After you find out that his name was Luca and you see him working in the kitchen two nights a week.

 He’s quiet. Keeps to himself. Polite, but not too much. The kind of person who speaks only when needed moves like he’s thinking about something no one else can see.

Your favorite kind of person: the one who doesn't ask for anything.

It’s the third or fourth time you end up near him during closing that you start to pick up on the small things.

He wipes down surfaces with method, but not perfection. Doesn’t like wasting time on pointless steps. Don’t look over your shoulder. Doesn’t interrupt.

He doesn’t touch people, either.

He’ll pass a container to someone without making contact. Stand just a little further back than everyone else. Not in a way that draws attention. Just… aware. Careful.

You notice. But you don’t say anything.

He doesn’t either.

Which is maybe the first thing you like about him.

Weeks pass like that. Easy, distant rhythm. The kind of neutral space that doesn’t ask you to be more than what you are. You don’t think he’s watching you — not like that. But he notices things. You can tell.

You drop a tray once. Reflexive flinch. He doesn’t comment.

Another time, someone at the bar gets too handsy with one of the waitresses. You freeze, can’t stop watching. He watches too — but not with interest. With concern. Quiet, unreadable.

Then he’s gone for two weeks.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

But when he shows up again, something in you exhales.

You hate that. Why him? Ew.

The day he returned to the restaurant was quiet. His polite salute to everyone when he arrived made you look at him. He nodded easily and kept his gaze at his work.

Clearly you tried not to gaze at him, but that day was full of interactions between you and him. “The flour” or “Hand me the stir.”

After the shift, there were just the two of you.

“Thought you left,” you say, first words you’ve spoken to him directly.

He shrugs; eyes focused as he put his coat on. “Just went back to Chicago for a bit. Had to check in.”

You nod, even though you didn’t ask for details.

He doesn’t offer them.

Another reason you like him.

The first shift after that is normal. Or as normal as things get for you.

The kitchen’s loud. Someone blasts music. You keep your head down, do your part, stay out of the way. But the air is tight today. Your chest is already aching from tension you didn’t know you were carrying.

And then someone — one of the newer guys, trying too hard to be funny — throws a towel.

It hits your shoulder.

Not hard. Not even meant for you, maybe. But you freeze anyway. You feel inexplicable anger.

Your hands are numb. Stomach drops. You feel heat behind your eyes.

You hear laughter. Not cruel — just unaware. And as you wanted to burst for something so simple as that you hear: “Hey. Not cool.”

Luca’s voice.

Quiet, low, calm. But firm.

The laughter stopped.

You don’t look at him. Can’t.

But your hands stop shaking. And you sigh softly.

Later, after closing, you’re wiping down the stainless steel by the sink when he approaches. Not close. Just near enough that you can feel his presence shift the air.

“You okay?”

You could lie. Say yes. Say you didn’t even notice.

Instead you say, “Yeah. Just hate surprises.”

He nods like he understands. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t say you’re overreacting.

Just nods, and says, “Me too.”

And you don’t become friends. Not really. You just… exist near each other. You talk a little more. Exchange dry observations. Share long silences that don’t ask to be filled.

It’s nothing. And it’s everything.

Because for once, someone doesn’t make you feel wrong for being how you are.

One night, it gets quiet.

Too quiet.

You’re locking up alone. Everyone else has gone. You thought Luca left too.

But then you see him — in the back alley, smoking something slowly. Leaning against the wall, staring up at the sky like he’s trying to memorize the darkness.

You pause.

He glances over, lifts his chin in a silent greeting.

You hesitate, then walk over — stopping a good few feet away.

He doesn’t move.

You stand there, silent, unsure why you came.

“I thought you had left.” he says suddenly.

“No, I needed to check out some things for tomorrow.”

He nods.

“I leave tomorrow to Boston again.”

Now you nod.

“I was wandering if you want to dinner with me when I come back.” He says confident and now looking at you.

“Why?”

“Why, what?”

“You need something? I mean, we can talk if you do.”

He looks clearly confused.

“No, I don’t need anything. I just want to dine with you.”

You swallow.

“Right.” She says sarcastic. “Just say that you want to fuck me, that’s it.”

He finally straightened, his eyes locked on her, completely wide.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He says firmly.

You look away.

“I mean…”

He sighs and turns his cigarette off.

“Goodnight.” He mumbles as he walks away.

You close your eyes and scoff in anger as you leave too.

Why did you say that?

That night you had the same dream, unwanted hands, the tears, the physical ache, the secret you were forced to keep over the years. The pain you learned to live with and the anger that it caused you. 

Because you never asked for it, you were a child, and he was supposed to take care of you.

So, you learned that it was all they wanted from you, and you coped with it, you learned to use it at your favor, but you despised it. You despised yourself for that.

When he came back, you didn’t speak to him. He didn’t either.  And you weren’t going to be the one to fold first, not against him. And even if it wasn’t a competition, you felt like it.

He kept his politeness, and you kept your indifference.

The next shift, someone pats your back in passing.

You flinch. It’s quick, involuntary. You look at the guy as you hear a scoff. “Jesus, Relax.”

You’re ready to snap. Already pulling words like weapons from your throat.

But Luca’s voice cuts through first. “Mate, it’s simple, just don’t touch her.”

The room stills.

You blink, stunned.

He doesn’t look angry. Just… firm. Protective, without being loud.

The guy mutters something and walks off.  You frown silently and look at him.

Luca doesn’t look at you. Just keep working.

And somehow that’s worse. And better. You don’t know how to thank him. So, you don’t.

He noticed how much you didn’t want to be touched, and you thought about it in your room at night.

You wonder if you had to apologize, if you should call him… No, you don’t even have his phone number and what for? 

But you think about his voice. The way it didn’t waver.  You press your forehead to your knees and breathe.

Maybe, just maybe, you could finally dine with him.

[laserbobcat]

as someone who's 33 and writing Narilamb and reading your comics, and also kinda interested in different kinds of art myself, it is so so nice seeing someone around my age who's into this fandom and making art. I feel so stupid sometimes that it's hard to even pick up a pencil or stylus - and I'm new new new to art like that so I need that practice time. seeing people like you making what you love and not giving a good goddamn is really inspiring. I'm sure you get lots of love for your comics but idk I just wanted to say thank you 💗 your cat and Leshy make so many people smile for so many different reasons :)

AW I do get a lot of kind feedback, but it's rare that I don't have the time/energy to answer. I really appreciate messages. I do read and see all of it, and every little tag matters. It's why I try my best to leave at least a little tag when I reblog art, and I'm not shy about sending messages to creators when I have, again, time/energy. People are shy, but we are all dorks, you realize it pretty quick when you start interacting more with the artists you follow. Warning surprise super LONG life dump bellow. I was like "Inspiring, are you sure? I'm also wreck, let me tell you just so there's no misunderstandings" and bam, novel.

About being 35 and making whatever I want: I do in fact feel self conscious about a lot of things, it's just that people on the internet don't really matter. That sounds harsh, but it's true. It's like people you meet on the street, or at bars, or at work: mostly polite positive interactions, some nice memories, a few of them will form solid bonds with you, the vast majority of them will be lost as soon as they're not in the same vicinity as you anymore. And it's normal, and it's ok. Humans aren't made to nurture too many relationships, even the social ones. So I personally enjoy fandoms in a detached sort of way that might feel like I don't give a damn. I think it's healthy tbh. But it's easy to appear calm and detached when you don't really have skin in the game. I really care about this blog it's my fun place, but it's completely detached from my actual life. I'm being an anonymous dork among dorks, it's nice. Some people are dumb sometimes and I don't care. What are they gonna do, sue me, lol. BUT LIKE. I almost deleted that blog once because and IRL person I know found it? I panicked SO HARD. Y'all nerds can look at my silly comics with cute cats kissing: not people in my real life. I'd rather be found drawing hardcore tentacle porn or sniffing paint. I'm not like, brave or anything, I'm hiding online XD

And honestly life is haaaaaaaard right now. For everyone lately. but for me personally: fanart is a nice hyperfocus to forget that life is a bitch. A distraction. I've always been "too sensitive" never could hold a job for too long, because people are awful in low level entry jobs, I never got one that I really like. I've been studying art and digital art, it's been hard, and it didn't lead me anywhere professionally for various reasons. I paid a private school and I am just finishing paying a big loan, just for the (average) skills I got being used to draw a cartoon bush with legs, kissing a cat, on a dusty website. It's so incredibly easy to feel like a failure. And being an artist SUCKS in this world. I'm not an artist by choice, god I would love to be smart enough to have done different studies, and have some kind of job that actually pays. But no, just did a professional profile, and all my affinities lead to creative work, I'm doomed to be good at things that are hell to make money off of when you don't have twice or thrice the energy a regular job needs. I just can't stop. Even when I take breaks, I always come back to creating things. A life's curse, truly.

I feel depressed now, so let's filter this shit through my "15 years of therapy" voice translator: -I'm not too sensitive, people telling me this in my life have all been notorious assholes. If we had more raw hearted people, daily life would be softer, and we wouldn't have wars. Us kind softies are vastly underappreciated. -I haven't been paying a school for nothing, I met my best friends there, learned a lot of skills and methodology that serve me today, and will serve me later in ways I can't just pinpoint yet without hindsight. I also have a lot of experience and help I can share with younger people and beginners. I'm a great art teacher. -I'm happy that I can't help being creative. So much people trail off into things they don't like, and realize later that they're utterly miserable. It's harsh, but not having the strength to pursue something you don't like is kind of a blessing. You avoid so much shit on your life path. it's not a life worth living. I've seen people with good paying careers give them up to get fully into a passion. -It's okay to draw a bush kissing a cat, who fucking cares what you do on your free time, the cops? It's ok to enjoy cute and silly things even when everything gets serious- especially when everything get serious. So much of us get our inner child crushed it's terribly sad. -The silliness is serious actually. You can get a powerful life lesson from deep books about philosophy and self-care and shit, but they're not rare everywhere else. The silliest movie, comic or fanfic can have a line or a character that will resonate enough with you to change your life. Like a tiny little piece that was missing in your personnal puzzle. I felt deeply moved by some comics online, so my own comics online 100% have the same value. What are "serious" media but hobbyists getting their art to a bigger professional scale. We're all telling stories around campfires and there's nothing stupid, shameful or weak about that. Egyptian gods were dramatic furries ffs.

I'm eternally stuck between "Yeah follow your heart and do art" and "It will lead you to hell though" because I feel like both are true. But do you really have a choice? What are the other options? I personally don't, so I just pick up the pen for a hobby, and started applying to ceramic courses for a career change. We'll see where it goes.

Well that was a lot, but I have some serious anxiety issues that make me over-explain stuff, and I'm talkative, and I'm on my period. Enjoy.

[feliville]

practicing drawing expressions with Santiago

[lil-lemon-snails]

🧸

[egophiliac]

A-anime?

you know, sometimes I forget that Twst is actually an isekai that starts with the protagonist getting run over by an inexplicable horse-drawn carriage. and every time I'm reminded is a delight because that's AMAZING.

also. look. okay. there's a lot of very fun stuff in the trailer but I am obsessed with that Crowley surprised pikachu face. me when I spend all my keys and gems literally hours before they announce overblot SSRs and drop the anime trailer:

[surreal-duck]

some business to take care of

[aether-weather]

SAGESUNE MIKU >:DDD

[mangokabuto]

New tablet finally came! To break it in I decided to make myself some HC references. I really struggle with consistent faces and ESPECIALLY with profile faces, so i made myself a guide lol

I was originally going to do everyone but i got tired <3 and I don't struggle with the others as much lmfao

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pictures and things

[margindoodles2407]

i. wow. i am. so lonely

[lyxchen]

I realized I actually hate binge watching shows. It takes up all of my day and I can't do anything else at the same time because then I can't concentrate on what's happening in the show. Also whenever I start a new show I feel like I have to finish it before I can actually do something else again

[wundrousarts]

At the end of the year I said I’d allow myself at least one day a week to draw Nevermoor stuff, because I have too much energy and love in my brain / heart / hands that I need to get out, and then proceeded to not process that the new year had started until today. Three weeks in 😅

[eldragon-x-moved]

giggling and kicking my feet in the air

[scatterpatter]

After all these months i think i finally figured out how to draw myself- months of "gOD WHAT DO I LOOK LIKE ON THE INSIDE" AND I FINALLY GOT SOMETHING THAT FEELS LIKE ME LETS FUCKING GOOOOO

-One Of The Patters(tm)

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

(I really dont have the energy to address the other incorrect comments made throughout this post; only a very specific part of this last comment -- specifically the misinformation about CAH -- so please nobody try to take me to task for ignoring the other stuff. I know. I am aware. I cannot deal with it right now.)

(I also know this is badly written and confusing and leaves out a lot of important info, the language is not perfect and it may come across as rude and I am sorry but this is the best I can do. There are other people with the same variation and condition as me (and other intersex variations that were misrepresented here) that are more equipped to talk about this in depth within a critical intersex context than I am, however the main point of what I wrote is a very basic correcting of medical misinformation, not providing intersex education. This is a very stressful post for me personally so bear with me.)

I understand that you are trying to speak up for us, and I want you to know that I recognise that and also that I really respect you as a person when i say this: I would really recommend against trying to speak for us in the future.

You said you did extensive research, however even preliminary web search on "congenital adrenal hyperplasia" makes very clear that it is associated with medical conditions that can be life threatening both due to salt wasting and adrenal insufficiency. I don't know what research you did that led you to draw the conclusions you did, but i would highly recommend doing your research with guidance from intersex people with the intersex variations in question in the future.

Dismissing salt wasting as just "needing to eat more salt" is harmful. It kills people. Entirely ignoring adrenal insufficiency is harmful. It kills people.

Furthermore, it is exceedingly common for people with adrenal insufficiency to not receive life saving medical care, or to receive very delayed care, because of lack of awareness and understanding of it. Going into adrenal crisis increases your risk of having a repeat incident in the future, and increases your likelihood of death in the event of a repeat incident. Even within circles of other people who have adrenal insufficiency (and doctors who treat it) awareness of AI linked to CAH (and other causes for that matter) is dogshit, even on the most basic of topics (such as the tendency towards using "Addison's" as a catchall term for AI despite the fact that Addison's refers only to the primary autoimmune version of AI).

Yes the medicalisation of intersex conditions is a problem but the solution is not to deny the existence of serious medical conditions linked to intersex variations --- accidentally or otherwise. My CAH is an intersex variation, not a deadly condition. My adrenal insufficiency is a deadly condition, not an intersex variation. And, at the same time, the fact that my CAH and AI are linked has in fact impacted how I am treated with regards to both, by medical professionals, societally, and otherwise. When you have adrenal insufficiency due to CAH you are at a crossroads of marginalisation because you being impacted simultaneously by intersexism and ableism.

I originally was going to respond to the reblog you responded to, and explain why they were wrong as someone with one of the intersex variations linked to life threatening conditions that they are weaponising. Instead I am now having to spend my time correcting serious misinformation.

I am not trying to be a bitch or rip you a new one I am just trying to help you and everyone else understand why this is really dangerous information and that this is why you really really need to let us speak for ourselves, even if you think you are defending us, even if you think you have done lots of research.

since people are talking about Imane Khelif, some reminders for discussing intersex issues: "Disorders of sex development" or "DSD" is an intersexist term that contributes to medical violence and social alienation. The correct word is "intersex," a neutral term for the characteristics that the term "DSD" others and pathologizes.

You can be intersex and cis. You can be intersex and trans. A lot of intersex people have more complicated relationships to those concepts/terms. Being cis or trans doesn't make someone more or less intersex.

Gender testing in women's sports is both transmisogynistic and intersexist. In practice it usually impacts intersex cis women because trans women are already disqualified by their social histories. Intersex cis athletes subjected to abuse and discrimination due to gender testing results are victims of intersexism, not "misdirected" or "mistaken" transmisogyny. Intersexism, transmisogyny, and misogynoir all overlap in many ways due to the intertwined histories of sex, gender, and race categories.

"Proof" that an intersex cis woman is not a trans woman (i.e. that she was AFAB'd) will not stop TERFs from attacking her, because TERFs also do not view intersex cis women as real women (case in point).

No one's private medical info should be reported on the news, but when an athlete is outed as intersex in this way, trying to defend their honor by claiming they're not really intersex only reinforces intersexism. Arguing over what kind of intersex variation someone has (e.g. hormonal vs. chromosomal) and whether it "counts" is intersexist and also weird. Leave us alone!

anyway, congrats to Imane on her win, it's not her fault Angela Carini is a bigoted crybaby coward

[void-tiger]

I’m just going to work on accepting that what I do want romantically IS a Friendship and Life Partnership and Marriage in every way that matters.

I’m just asexual.

And I’ve always been transparent about it.