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kafka???? hwkeujw yes pls im begging you, ON MY KNEES 🙏🏼 kaf in your style is so yummy.. need her so bad

Damnatio Memoriae

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Omggg omg yesss! Look at her she’s a beautyyy!!! aughhh I need more of this au, it’s so good :b

Damnatio Memoriae

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3am nonsense. based off this beautiful art, here’s a mundane phone call with kafka after work.

https://x.com/s_rpzk/status/1926186407334420922?s=46

\\

The rain’s heavy patter against your windows and the consistent roar of thunder in the skies almost drowns out the shrill of your ringtone lost somewhere between your sheets. You pause the series you’d started a couple hours earlier and discard your laptop to the side in search of the offending melody’s source. The bedroom lights are low, the room sparingly lit by the moonlight filtering through your blinds, so you only manage to find your phone on the fourth ring after a quick fight with your own comforter. The screen flashes with a number you don’t recognize. You glance at the time— a little past 11 at night— and apprehensively answer the call.

“Hello…?”

“Hey.”

The phone number may be unfamiliar but the raspy voice on the other end almost instantly soothes your nerves. You release a quiet breath, lips widening into a small smile.

“Kaf. What number is this?” You can hear the downpour through the phone, insistent against glass windows, as if she were right next to you.

“My phone got blown to pieces earlier. Collateral damage.” Kafka sounds more subdued than she usually does, her words lazily uttered into the speaker. You guess she must be tired.

That explains the unpleasant shrill of your phone’s default ringtone a minute ago. If she had been calling from her usual number, you would have recognized the familiar notes of Wieniawski’s Violin Concerto No.2 announcing your favorite part of any day: Kafka’s nightly calls. Her routine is imperfect and she sometimes switches to texting instead, unable to talk for reasons you’re not important enough to know, but she’s made it somewhat of a habit recently. You’ve teased her about missing you, to which she expertly deflected with a dirty joke that pulled a smile from you despite yourself. She misses some days and your phone pings with a goodnight text at 2 in the morning, long after you’ve fallen asleep. Hearing her voice miles away from where you lie will never compare to having her close enough to touch, her magenta locks curled around your finger and the scent of tobacco clinging to your bedsheets, but it is a treat nonetheless.

“Do I wanna know?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Nope.”

Worth a shot. You recline against the headboard and tilt your head towards the bedroom windows. The thunder has died down but the rain is just as fierce as it’s been all evening.

“Are you outside? It’s pouring. I might let you in if you do your best wet cat impression.”

Kafka chuckles behind smiling lips. “Sorry. I’m actually not close to you at all.”

“Really?” You attempt to hide the way you falter around the last syllable, but you know she can picture the corner of your mouth twitching downward. “It’s raining here too, so I thought… Then where are you?”

“A telephone booth.”

“You’re calling me from a payphone? At this hour? You’ll catch a cold.”

“Hehe, worried about me?”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly and press the phone screen closer to your ear. “Never.”

It’s late, dark, and she stands in the middle of a rain shower barely protected by plexiglass, teasing you. Kafka can hear every huff of breath you let out at her antics in one ear and the rainfall in the other, melting together into a lullaby that weighs on her eyelids. Her temple rests on the glass, and she watches as droplets race each other down the window.

“Aw.” You can hear the pout in her reply. “That hurts my feelings, you know.”

“I could kiss it better if you were here, but alas…”

“Yeah? Are my feelings the only thing you’d kiss?”

“Depends. If you ask really nicely, it doesn’t have to be.”

A finger curls around the handset cord, idly toying with it as Kafka hums in thought. “I didn’t have to ask last time.”

You briefly recall her most recent visit three weeks ago, all locking lips and starving touches, and your teeth sink into your bottom lip at the heated memory. Unuttered fondness belied the caresses of her fingertips along your spine, unhurried and meticulously following its natural curve. She’d fallen asleep before you; a rare treat. Her heart had thumped at 48 beats per minute directly beneath your ear, and you had fleetingly wished for no flesh and bone to separate the two, as if that would bring her closer than she allows herself to be with you. Kafka is beautiful when asleep. Authentic. Her smirk evens out into a thin line and the occasional part of her lips, her brows are smooth and free of any wrinkles, and her skin is bare of eyeshadow or concealer. She can’t lie to you in this state, but most importantly, she can’t hide from your attentive gaze. Thus, she is the last to sleep and the first to wake up.

You turn away from the window, lying on your side under the covers.

“You ambushed me last time,” you remind her without a hint of reproach in your tone, “and you’d been gone for a while before that, so. I may have gotten carried away.”

“Ah, so that’s it...” Kafka pauses on the other line, her gaze dropping to the rusty silver against the silky black and crimson splotches of her tainted gloves. When she opens her mouth again, the rough edges of her voice have softened. “I’ll be gone just as long this time. I’ll be expecting the same welcome, then.”

The news don’t surprise you, they stopped being news the second year into this relationship, yet they’re met with the same predictable drop of the easy smile you were wearing a second earlier. You try not to be disappointed. You drive yourself insane repeatedly being disappointed by this expected outcome, and so you ignore the tightness of your chest and will your fingers to relax their grip on your phone. You allow yourself some time to relax, inhaling deep and slow. Your bed doesn’t smell like her anymore.

“Are you pouting?” Kafka asks when you don’t answer after a while. “Don’t pout.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“I can practically see it. Do you miss me?”

You sigh loudly into the phone, pausing. “…A little.”

Kafka’s tired smile flickers in your mind with her next words. “Mmh. That makes me happy.”

For a moment, neither of you say anything. The silence is filled by the rain outside and the wind steadily picking up, and you bury yourself further underneath the thick comforter. Kafka may not be back soon but with her low voice against your ear and the sheets over your body, you feel a silver of warmth creeping up on you.

“Hey,” Kafka calls out quietly.

“Mm?”

“How was your day?”

You hum as you think back on your day. “It was cloudy all day, so I stayed home and didn’t do much. Cleaned a little, drew…”

“Me?”

“Of course, because all I do comes back to you,” you reply sarcastically, unwilling to admit that, yes, you were drawing her sometime in the evening. “I actually started a new TV show I think you’d enjoy.”

In an empty, slippery street of a corner of the world, Kafka’s eyes soften. She listens uninterrupted to your rambles about a murder-mystery series, less interested by its plot than the sound of you, so close yet so far. She forgets herself if only for the duration of this phone call, leaning on the telephone booth’s tall glassy walls. She throws in the occasional hum and leading question, a faint smile painted on her face. She doesn’t look at the time. Your sentences get shorter, your breaths deeper, but you cling onto the remains of your consciousness to hear her a little longer, and she knows she’ll have to leave soon. Kafka waits, her index finger grazing the hook switch’s cool surface, as your voice quiets down to shallow breathing through the receiver. Then she waits some more for no particular reason— a moment’s hesitation, perhaps. It doesn’t last very long. With little pressure on the switch, she disconnects the call.

“…Goodnight.”

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okay hear me out….. the devil wears prada au

i’m thinking miranda priestly!kafka, they’re both powerful, intelligent and very poised. just like miranda, kafka doesn’t raise her voice to command but still manages to manipulate people easily, molding them to what she needs to do i just see her as a boss lady-fashion icon with moments of vulnerability.

silver wolf gives me nigel kipling vibes as in personality/sense of humor only. andrea sachs!tb maybe, it could be very fitting tb being kafka’s partner and then being left to complete the mission but also to make sure they see the ending of their story… much like andrea leaving miranda to build/reclaim her own path. at the end of the day miranda endorses andrea, a good opportunity to insure she gets the job, just like kafka left tb out just in time for the astral express to find them so that the express would take them in bc she knew the crew would treat them like family … am i reaching? i needed to get that thought off my mind.

or idk i like the idea of falling in love with a hot boss lady lol imagine assistant or intern!reader falling in love with editor-in-chief!kafka

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okay hear me out….. the devil wears prada au

i’m thinking miranda priestly!kafka, they’re both powerful, intelligent and very poised. just like miranda, kafka doesn’t raise her voice to command but still manages to manipulate people easily, molding them to what she needs to do i just see her as a boss lady-fashion icon with moments of vulnerability.

silver wolf gives me nigel kipling vibes as in personality/sense of humor only. andrea sachs!tb maybe, it could be very fitting tb being kafka’s partner and then being left to complete the mission but also to make sure they see the ending of their story… much like andrea leaving miranda to build/reclaim her own path. at the end of the day miranda endorses andrea, a good opportunity to insure she gets the job, just like kafka left tb out just in time for the astral express to find them so that the express would take them in bc she knew the crew would treat them like family … am i reaching? i needed to get that thought off my mind.

or idk i like the idea of falling in love with a hot boss lady lol imagine assistant or intern!reader falling in love with editor-in-chief!kafka

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When BoJack Horseman (2014-2020) said "you can't keep doing shitty things and then feel bad about yourself like that makes it ok. you need to be better" and "all we have are the connections we make" and "I really should've thought about the view from halfway down" and "sometimes you have to take responsibility for your own happiness" and "you do the hokey pokey and you turn yourself around, you turn yourself around, THAT'S what it's all about" and "things have to get worse before they can get better" and "in real life, the big gesture isn't enough, you need to be consistent" and "if we hadn't met each other until now, we wouldn't be the people we are now" and, my personal favourite, "every day it gets a little easier, but you gotta do it every day, that's the hard part, but it does get easier".

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(source)

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GILMORE GIRLS CHARACTERS as TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUMS ( insp x x )

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feeling like her rn because i also had potential to write professionally but now i'm offering deadpool fanfiction

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me

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GILMORE GIRLS 02.07 | Like Mother, Like Daughter

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sometimes a found family is a sociopath, a homicidal amnesic, a gamer girl, a 7ft tall robot and a god in cat form

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i’m too alternative to be a trophy wife which sucks because i have to think about my future now

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“A God’s Creation”

[crying]

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They see right through me

Always an angel, never a god

time for some repeating song lyrics everybody! after absolutely scrutinizing the archer and not strong enough i've decided they're both each songs equivalent

you can see Ei's and Focalor's hands right there which now i'd like to share the headcanon that Archons have painted nails alongside their glowing hair, which can back up potential future fanarts of Scara having black/dark purple nails. i was debating on Nahida or Ei for the hand cupping Scara's face, went with Ei because i made Scara's eyes purple with a swirl of cyan and it'd match with Ei's painted nails, totally not some form of symbolism in his eyes or anything lol.

(i posted this for the first time in tiktok and it sort of flopped 20 mins in but who knows! + the text feature in csp is so hard to use. whats up with that)

Here's the full picture!