#franz kafka's it's a wonderful life

[petercapaldi-press]

INTERVIEW

The List

21 Apr – 4 May 1995

It’s a wonderful life

With the dust only just beginning to settle on PETER CAPALDI’s Oscar, the Scottish actor is regaining his sense of perspective. He speaks to Kathleen Morgan.

[transcript under the cut]

For someone who has just been catapulted into the world of Oscar winners, Peter Capaldi is sounding rather tetchy. Days after the golden award was thrust into his sweaty palms under the gaze of a worldwide television audience of about a billion people, the actor is desperate to inject some reality back into his life.

That has involved beating off a string of journalists he believes are determined to wrap his achievement in tartan. The fact that Capaldi’s directorial debut Franz Kafka’s It’s A Wonderful Life attracted a coveted Hollywood accolade is utterly divorced from the small matter of his Scottish roots. Anyone who dares suggest otherwise is likely to feel the rough edge of a nippy sweetie.

‘Scottish journalists want your Scottishness to be what people love, but it’s in a kind of kitsch way,’ says Capaldi in an impeccable Bishopbriggs accent. ‘It’s liberating to be Scottish, and also to be appreciated as a creative person.’

Behind his reluctance to play the Scottish card, Capaldi is immensely proud of winning the award for best short live action film with Franz Kafka – a black comedy starring Richard E. Grant and Capaldi’s wife Elaine Collins. Funded by the Scottish Film Production Fund and BBC Scotland, the 25-minute Tartan Short has attracted not only a lump of metal for his London mantelpiece, but the attention of Hollywood executives, craved by any aspiring filmmaker. It is not the blissful memory of thirty seconds of fame Capaldi relishes, but the prospect of directing a full-length feature film. Without the tartan bows.

In the days before his Oscar-winning performance at the Los Angeles event, Capaldi was busy touting the script for Moon Man – ‘a sort of film noir comedy fantasy.’ Days afterwards, he believes he has bagged a deal which would see his dream become a reality. Until it is signed and sealed, he is unwilling to divulge the details, but he stresses his commitment to using Scottish actors if – when – it goes ahead.

Capaldi is in no doubt where his loyalties lie. They are certainly not rooted in a  dewy-eyed devotion to Scotland. ‘I would like to do a large section of the film in Glasgow, but I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to do that,’ he says. ‘I will certainly use a large number of Scottish people, but my loyalty is to the project. It’s a bit difficult to be curtailed by meaningless nationalistic instincts. I don’t see the point in filming something in Glasgow when it’s more economic to film it somewhere else.’

Tough talking from the 33-year-old actor who in 1983 captured the heart of a nation in Bill Forsyth’s gentle comedy Local Hero. The film that put the north-east fishing village of Pennan and its public phone box on the cinematic map, also proved a turning point for Capaldi. An aspiring actor, Capaldi had caught the eye of Forsyth, who decided he was a safe bet and plunged him into the role of the blundering Oldsen. ‘I was thrown in at the deep end, doing something I had wanted to do five years before,’ says Capaldi, adding in typical monotones: ‘It was scary.’

It was also a triumph for someone who had been rejected for drama school in London and had gone to Glasgow School of Art instead – a move that pleased his parents, who believed his career prospects had improved as a result. ‘They always supported me, but were worried for me because they were just ordinary folk,’ says Capaldi. ‘You move into a world they don’t understand – it saddens and hurts them because it’s not as if they can talk to someone who might be able to get you a wee job somewhere. They really wanted me to go to art school and do the drama on the side like any other responsible, normal person.’

On Oscar night, Capaldi’s family was no doubt relieved he had chosen to ignore his responsible, normal impulses and pursue a career in film. Since his often hilarious face was launched on the big screen in Local Hero, he has had a few memorable, if sporadic successes. In 1988, he was John Malkovich’s Machiavellian side-kick in Dangerous Liaisons and in 1992, he wrote and starred in the wonderfully frustrating feel-good movie Soft Top, Hard Shoulder. Based unashamedly on his own Italian-Glasgow family background, it captured the agonies and ecstasies felt by anyone who has made a long, nostalgic journey from London to Glasgow.

Ask Capaldi about his roots and you are likely to get a scathing reply. ‘People would rather like to imagine you have a family with the mother cooking spaghetti,’ he says. When pushed, he reveals his Italian grandfather moved to Glasgow from a village south of Rome: ‘He started off as a shepherd. His business was vagrancy and he moved into ice cream.’

Capaldi has lived in London for eleven years, but wants to move back to Glasgow with Collins and their young daughter. He will do so when he feels he can tap into the film world and make money, without having to apologise for his home address. For now, he is still dealing with what he regards as the patronizing attitude rampant in London television and film circles – something he escaped from briefly in Los Angeles. ‘Your Scottishness is not an issue there,’ he says. ‘People are not discreetly saying you should be going off making a wee Scottish film people don’t want to see, whereas in London, there’s an instinctive agenda.’

It has not been easy so far. Capaldi freely admits there have been mistakes along the way, largely obscured by a lack of media interest: ‘No one wants to hear stories of miserable mediocrity.’ For a few people in the Capaldi household and in the film industry, his most recent achievement was a complete surprise. Bishopbriggs or Beverly Hills-bound, Capaldi sounds like he is capable of a few more like it.

Peter Capaldi stars in Runway One, a comedy thriller due to be broadcast by the BBC in August.

[letterboxd-loggd]

Franz Kafka's It's a Wonderful Life (1993) Peter Capaldi

May 16th 2025

[amtskind]

franz kafka's it's a wonderful life (1993)

a wonderful short-movie by peter capaldi, depicting franz kafka stuck in a creative crisis while writing "the metamorphosis", not being able to come up with a creature gregor samsa transforms in - due to his loud environment.

so bizarre and full of little details and references. i enjoyed it a lot. kafka's guilt, about the life and death of an insect - that he himself killed, was an interesting thing to observe.

[petercapaldi-press]

ARTICLE

1995

Richard E. Grant tells the story of how the oscar-winning short film Franz Kafka's It's A Wonderful Life, written and directed by Peter Capaldi came to be.

[transcript below the cut]

Peter Capaldi calls me up on Valentine's Day, sounding distressed. I assume someone is dead. Turns out he can barely stifle back the tears of shock at the news that the short film he wrote and directed two years ago has been nominated for an Oscar. 'YOU BRILLIANT BLOODY BASTAAAARD!' I yell. Peter is calling from Glasgow, where people are apparently 'going nuts, as I am the only Scotsman since Sean Connery to be nominated'.

Peter's wife Elaine Collins, co-star of his feature film Soft Top, Hard Shoulder, is too tear-loaded even to talk. 'It was all her idea in the first place.'

'What was, Peter?'

'The title - Franz Kafka's It's a Wonderful Life.' Elaine blurted out Kafka instead of Capra, triggering Peter's lightbulbs and starting him writing his own version of how Metamorphosis might have come about. He accompanied his words with drawings and started to ferret out funding. With each rejection, he literally went back to his drawing-board and sketched in more of what the film would look like. In the end, he had the whole film storyboarded like a comic book.

To his surprise, the film was funded by the Scottish Film Foundation in conjunction with BBC Scotland. They gave him £30,000. He met costume designer Hazel Pethig, who got him connected to the art team that had realized the Monty Python films. What followed was a short-circuiting of human connections: Val Chiltern (Dark Crystal, Baron Munchausen) said she could produce an insect head for £100 (previous quotes had been £2,000). Production designer John Beard (Last Temptation of Christ and Absolute Beginners), espied in the bar at Shepperton Studios, was pursued until he agreed to design and have the sets made 'for whatever you have budgeted'. Deal. Cameraman Simon Mags agreeed to shoot it for free and offered the proviso, 'I'll never let you shoot anything you can't use!' Done. For producer, Peter got Ruth Kenley-Letts, an old friend. But who to play Kafka?

I saw the drawings for the first time, whilst nosing around Peter's study after dinner there. 'What's this?' I asked. 'Oh, just some drawings for a little film I'm trying to put together about Kafka.' On the way home, I said to my wife, 'what a pity that Peter is stuck for a lead actor.' 'Don't be a daft arse,' she replied. 'You're probably too old for the part, and too tall.'

Then a phone call. 'It's Peter, I hope you don't think this is presumptuous, but would you consider playing Kafka? Equity minimum and a week's shooting.' 'Of course, you stupid bastard!'

Peter then charmed his way round the manager at Shepperton Studios, and with the spirit of Dunkirk dambusting through our veins, we convened there for a week. Peter and I were both in West End plays by night (he in Murder Is Easy, I in The Importance of Being Earnest) and committing Kafka to comedy by day.

The 20-minute film was shown on BBC2 at 11 o'clock on a Monday night, after which it toured film fests around the globe, picking up awards almost everywhere it went. Curiously refused - twice - by the London Film Festival ('It wasn't up to standard'), it managed to win both Scottish and British BAFTAs.

Fast forward another year and it is selected for the Sundance Film Festival. Peter is besieged by mobile-phoned agents from LA declaring 'we're in the business of acquiring talent and we wanna do business with youuu'. Robert Redford offers his congratulations. This was three weeks ago. Now an OSCAR nomination and whether Peter 'wins' or not, it feels as if he already has. What worries is the all-too-likely prospect that his talents and intents - honest, decent and true - will be brain-drained away to the big USA where a guy with the 'doughball' will bankroll his snowball away.

From February 1995.

[petercapaldifan1]

HAPPY OSCARS DAY : PHOTO SECTION OF PETER CAPALDI WINNER IN OSCARS AWARD IN 1995🔥

[papas-majadas]

‘The First Power’ is so underrated.

[beanytuesday]

Hey, I love your art -- I was wondering if you ever posted your illustration for Kafka's "A Hunger Artist" on here? It's really evocative and gorgeously framed, and I find myself thinking of it frequently!!

Thank you for the kind words. A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka is one of my favorite short stories of all time, and it’s a very quick read. You can read it right here:

https://www.kafka-online.info/a-hunger-artist.html

Go ahead, I’ll wait here.

I’d like to take us opportunity to talk a little bit about the story, if I may.

Although there are a couple different interpretations of the story's meaning, it unambiguously read to me as an allegory for the plight of the creative, likely drawing from Kafka’s own experience. The ‘starving artist’ comparison is obvious, but there’s much more to it than that. In a departure from most other depictions in media, the plight of the artist is not depicted as something noble or redemptive, but as a sort of self-destructive madness. The hunger artist dies alone and in obscurity, his impact on the world ultimately being completely marginal and insubstantial. When questioned about why he chose a life like this, he reveals that he doesn’t even enjoy fasting, he simply couldn’t find any food he liked. That is to say, a true creative does not select this kind of self destructive lifestyle because they enjoy it; rather, it is because they cannot possibly bear to do anything else. Kafka himself, It should be mentioned, supposedly despised pretty much every job he ever had.

As some of you may know, I developed severe tendinitis a couple months ago. Mentally, September was probably the worst months of my entire life. I reflected on this story a lot –I had wrought my own self destruction, and for what? A couple of bucks? A few comics that i’ll become embarrassed of in a year’s time anyway? Unsure about my prospects for recovery, I became incredibly depressed.

But having been starved of the ability to write or draw, I had a genuine epiphany. Standing at the corner of Boston liquors in Allston, I resolved that I would muster the strength to endure this, regardless of how long it took, because what awaited me at the end was nothing short of the greatest prize a person could ask for: That very thing derided by Kafka –the life of an artist.

There is no greater pleasure than making art. I mean that genuinely, I mean that literally. No, it isn’t noble, no, it isn’t redemptive, but in a totally hedonistic and self-serving way it is simply the greatest thing that life can offer, ambrosia in the mouth, better than sex, better than drugs, better than anything that money can buy, and I feel pity for anyone unable to experience it. I am not being hyperbolic, I am not being metaphorical. I am stating this in the plainest of terms, having lived a life without it for the last couple of months.

So although my personal relationship to the story has changed in the past couple months, Kafka was right about one thing; nothing else tastes good, at least not by comparison. We must imagine the hunger artist happy.

[sinligh]

It’s early summer,

the hopeless romantic in me found her way to the surface when the heat melted couple of my overprotective layers.

so here i am, allowing her a moment of spotlight and myself some vulnerability.

it’s past midnight, I’m sitting in floor of my kitchen eating fruits with a knife

wondering, if it’s really safe to romanticize life?

I indulge myself anyway, and think about how fruits can be considered a love language if you’re starved enough to taste love that’s throughly stained with muted apologies. 

I trust, that when the sun rises tomorrow all my attempts to romanticize life will sublimate and create a thick fog of melancholy that I’ll have no other option but to get lost into.

even so, tonight I’m tired enough to let it be and so i write this, my own report of pathology

officially it’s untitled, but I’m thinking: the pathology of love.

i start by resecting pieces of all the habits that i define my existence based on along with some of the heartache that i held onto for too long

deep down, i know some of it belongs to my mother

At least its mature flavor says so, that, balanced with the sweet essence of an overly ripe fruit that never belonged

Young and brash and an acquired taste.

it’s a poorly fixed microscopic tissue, preserved in a high percentage of feminine rage

Low expectations stained with love and paranoia alike and the question that asks itself:

is it benign or malignant?

is it infiltrating my soul, taking away from my potential to grow ?

It stays unanswered, an unforced error

because i always carry those little versions of me that vary in the percentage of their belief in my own bone marrow

a core biopsy will always show that i still believe.

•••

•Quotes: Anaïs Nin/ Sylvia Plath/ Virgina Woolf/ Franz Kafka/Marcel Proust/ Simone de Beauvoir/Anne Carson/ Andrea Gibson/Anaïs Nin

•Original context:

•Art reference:

1. British School - Head of a girl, c. 1850. 2. Painting ( details) by Richard E. Miller. 3. Paintings by Jen Mazza. 4. Neil Carroll Original Oil Painting Realism Impressionism. 5. The Gross Clinic (details), by Thomas Eakins 6. Wounds of the Earth by xis.lanyx. 7.painting by Herbert James Draper.

[absenceisaformofwinter]

At the age of 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, was walking one day in a park in Berlin when he came across a little girl crying because she had lost her favorite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll without success.

Kafka told her they would meet there the next day and look for it again.

The next day, when they still hadn't found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter "written" by the doll that said: "Please don't cry. I went on a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures."

Thus began a story that continued until the end of Kafka's life.

During their meetings, Kafka read the carefully written letters from the doll, filled with adventures and conversations that the girl found delightful.

Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he had bought one) that had returned to Berlin.

"It doesn't look anything like my doll," said the girl.

Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: "My travels have changed me."

The girl hugged the new doll and took it happily home.

A year later, Kafka passed away.

Many years later, the girl, now an adult, found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka, it read:

"Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way."

Accept change. It is inevitable for growth. Together, we can turn pain into wonder and love, but it is up to us to create that connection consciously and intentionally.

[maryflorlovyblog]

"Everyday life itself is wonderful. I do nothing more than record it."

Franz Kafka

[petercapaldi-press]

INTERVIEW

Peter Capaldi Talks Doctor Who

05 August 2014

The ‘all-swearing eye’ is about to bring us a very different Doctor Who. Peter Capaldi chats fanboys and fanfare with ShortList's Andrew Lowry

He may not bestride the Hollywood hills (not yet, anyway), but over the past 30 years, Peter Capaldi has steadily become one of Britain’s best-loved actors. The 56-year-old has done everything from play a transvestite on Prime Suspect to a stuffy academic on Peep Show to a Songs Of Praise presenter on The Vicar Of Dibley. Nine years ago, however, he wowed the nation – and won the hearts of swearing fans – with the debut of his famously abrasive spin doctor Malcolm Tucker in Armando Iannucci’s masterpiece The Thick Of It. He’s the definition of the 20-year ‘overnight success.’

Now, though, not content with redefining insults – and annoying Alastair Campbell into the bargain – he’s been awarded one of British TV’s most cherished berths: the leading role on global juggernaut Doctor Who. As he took time out from shooting the series, ShortList sat down with the man to hear about about hanging from wires, being a geek and his trip to the Oscars...

You have said you were into Doctor Who growing up – how big a fan were you?

Doctor Who was part of my upbringing in the Sixties, with The Beatles and Sunday Night At The London Palladium and school milk and bronchitis. It’s part of me. I had a huge collection of books and autographs and pictures, but when you reach the age of 17 or 18, you move on and discover sex and drugs and rock’n’roll. I’m ashamed to say I had a kind of bonfire of the vanities. I was quite a major geek, I had a huge collection of wonderful stuff, but I threw it all away to go and drink lager and eat curries. That was silly, wasn’t it?

The Doctor isn’t a role the BBC would give to just anybody – what was the casting process like?

Early last year, Mark Gatiss made a Doctor Who drama called An Adventure In Time And Space and he invited me to the set. I went down, I saw the old Tardis and met all the actors, got my photo taken and all that. And Mark said to me, “How would you feel about being Doctor Who?” I said I didn’t really know, and that I thought that ship had sailed. He just said back, “Oh, I don’t know.” I thought that was an odd question to be asked, but I didn’t like to think that it was in any way relevant, and perhaps it wasn’t. I haven’t talked to him about it, but I suspect they might have been checking me out.

What came next?

Later, I got a call from my agent asking if I would go and talk to them about it, so I went in and auditioned. It took a long time to get everybody that needed to be there in the same room, because I was in Prague doing The Three Musketeers. Steven Moffat wrote a specific scene for this Doctor, so I did that. It was difficult to get a place where nobody could find us – I think they’d been rumbled the time before with Matt Smith, so we did it at Steven’s house. I have to say, when I did it, I thought I’d missed the target.

Clearly not. How did you find out you’d got the part?

I was back in Prague when they called, and I was dressed as Cardinal Richelieu. We were shooting and I was torturing someone, or something – when I got to my phone, I had all these missed messages. I finally got on the phone to my agent and she said, “Hello Doctor…” and I couldn’t tell anyone. I had to just stand in a corner and scream, and then I was walking around Prague singing the Doctor Who theme tune to myself.

You’re an experienced actor, but the work rate on Doctor Who is on a whole other level. Were you ready for the sacrifices?

I don’t think I’m going to go mental. I had my going mental years, and I kept them under wraps. I like getting on with the work, and it’s extremely challenging – at the moment we’re on the eighth consecutive week of filming, and it’s been going on since January. You go in and you have to find new ways of making it all work, and sparkle and twinkle, and I enjoy that – but it’s not like I’m sitting wishing I could buy a Ferrari, or get into this or that club. My life is fairly in place and I’m not going to go off the rails. It would be unbecoming for a man of my age.

How have you been finding the physical side of the role? No offence, but you’ve a few years on your predecessor…

I took Matt Smith to lunch before we started and he came in on crutches. I said, “What happened to you, mate?” and he said “It’s this show, it’s this show…” I was just – he’s younger than me, what am I going to do? But it’s been fine, I try to keep myself fit and healthy and I enjoy it. I’ve done a lot of running up and down corridors – I don’t want to be an old Doctor just standing in the corner with the young people doing all the action for me. It’s great, you don’t have to do any exercise because you do a lot at work during the day.

Have you had a favourite stunt?

Funnily enough, the other day I was on wires falling through the air – well, skydiving. People kept worrying about me, asking if I was OK. I was loving it, I didn’t want to get down – it was like being nine, because you don’t normally get to play Doctor Who and Superman at the same time. How many other guys get a chance to do that?

You’re known for darker roles – have you had to rein it in for what’s essentially a kids’ show?

I was laughing the other day because I used to do voiceovers – I say I used to, I’m not doing it at the minute because I’m doing this all the time. I was doing one for butter and they said, “Can you be a little less sinister?” So that’s how far it’s gone. I’ve gone from an amiable geek in my early films to a sinister butter salesman.

Why do you think Doctor Who has endured?

It’s a mystery. I have lots of theories. To me, it’s a fairy tale. It embodies some key human desires – the desire for people to escape when their life is crappy. When things are going wrong, it would be very nice if you had a blue box you could use to disappear to another world. People love monsters, as well. There are very few shows with monsters in them, surprisingly – people like men in rubber suits. But there’s also something melancholic at the centre of it, I don’t quite know what it is. There’s a sense of mortality to it – the constant death and rebirth engages people, I think. Rebirth and rubber monsters. That would be a good title for a book…

You’ve done some directing in the past – would you be tempted to direct an episode?

No, it’s so challenging for the directors. I was interested in that kind of world for fun, and it’s very good for actors to do it so you can learn about the pressures directors are under. When I see what they have to do, I simply couldn’t do it – you need a technical skill that’s way beyond me. You have to handle the day-to-day running of the set, all the pressure, how to spend the money wisely, the time management – I couldn’t do it.

You’re very modest – after all, a short film you directed in 1994 (Franz Kafka’s It’s A Wonderful Life) won an Oscar.

I got lucky – that was when I did something outside the pressures of big money or TV, it was just a short film we made for no money. There was nobody saying, “This is costing $12m, it has to be this way or that way.” We knew it would never be that simple again.

Still, a trip to the Oscars must have been nice…

I didn’t know there were Oscars for short films, but there you are – there were. It was a big surprise. I liked directing, but, really, it’s a big job. The things I’ve directed have all been quite modest. The ceremony itself was all a blur. It was like a drug. You get up on that stage and look down and think, “There’s a bloke who looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger, there’s a bloke who looks like Steve Martin, there’s a bloke who looks like Tom Hanks,” and then you realise it is Arnold Schwarzenegger, it is Steve Martin, it is Tom Hanks. I felt I wasn’t ready for it – I wasn’t a director. It confused people, because I’m an actor really. But I had a go at this other thing, and it was recognised in this very dramatic way – I wasn’t waiting with a stack of scripts or anything like that. But it was a blast.

The Doctor isn’t the only iconic role you’ve had – Malcolm Tucker is up with David Brent in the annals of millennial comedy. Did you expect The Thick Of It to resonate the way it did?

None of us knew it would take off in that way. It was one of those jobs where, had I been 10 years younger, I may not have had the flint about me – I may not have been knocked around enough by life to give it the sort of attack it needed, to understand the highs and lows of life. It was a great gig. Of course, people stop me and ask me to tell them to eff off, so I shout at them on demand. I was so lucky to do Malcolm – I never thought for a minute something else as big would come along.

You shared a memorable scene in In The Loop with James Gandolfini, which is primarily made up of threats. What memories do you have of him?

I was a huge fan of his, so to find myself in a rehearsal room with James was exhilarating and terrifying. What you see in the film is distilled from a couple of days of rehearsals where we really were arguing – we improvised a lot of intense arguments all day long. To find yourself doing heated exchanges with Tony Soprano all day was quite something. But I had to stop myself from being a fanboy – you have to turn that off and just be Malcolm. He was the most gracious of men. When we were in New York, people would appear and ask for photos, and he dealt with it with such grace and elegance. I really admired that – it’s a lovely thing for somebody to be so successful and to turn that outwards. I always think of him.

Finally, what do you think Malcolm Tucker would make of Doctor Who?

He wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. But if he could use it for an insult for someone, he definitely would.

Doctor Who returns on 23 Aug on BBC One

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday Peter Capaldi born April 14th 1958 in Glasgow.

Peter grew up in Glasgow and attended the Glasgow School of Art, while studying there he secured his first breakthrough role in Local Hero (1983). He has also had roles in Dangerous Liaisons, The Crow Road, The Devil’s Whore and Torchwood: Children of Earth but it was his brilliant portrayal of political spin doctor, Malcolm Tucker that got him noticed.

In 2010 he won the BAFTA Television Award for Best Male Performance in a Comedy Role and the BPG Best Actor Award. In both 2010 and 2012, Peter won the British Comedy Award for Best TV Comedy Actor. A film spin-off from The Thick of It, entitled In the Loop, was released in 2009.

As well as appearing in front of the camera, Peter is an award winning film maker. In 1995, he won the Oscar for Best Short Film (Live Action) for Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life. He also wrote Soft Top, Hard Shoulder, which won the audience award at the London Film Festival, and wrote and directed Strictly Sinatra. Peter’s stage credits include Professor Marcus in The Ladykillers at the Liverpool Playhouse, which saw the play transfer to the Gielgud Theatre in London.

I was thrilled when he became the 12th Doctor Who in 2013, but disappointed he didn't stay longer.

We last saw Peter in the thriller series The Devil's Hour,he is also the voice of Seamus MacGregor in the animated show, Big Mouth. Peter also starred peter cin an Apple TV show, Criminal Record, an 8 part thriller set in London. Look out for our birthday boy in the new series of Black Mirror, which just aired on April 10th, Devil's Hour series three is also due out later this year.

[genz-kafka]

some days you wake up and you just feel... wrong. not sick. not tired. just wrong. like your body doesn't fit, like your skin isn’t yours. like you're glitching in a life that moved on without you.

the people you love glance at you like you're background noise — tolerated, not heard.

they don’t ask if you’re okay. they just want you to be less. less sad. less messy. less you.

so you start shrinking. quietly, carefully, like maybe if you take up less space, they’ll make some for you. but it doesn’t work. it never does. and then you wonder if they ever really wanted you there at all.

maybe you’ve always been the extra piece. the heavy sigh in their otherwise perfect day. the reason they leave the room.

you try to explain it, to ask for help, but your voice feels like white noise. so you go silent. and they call that peace. and that’s when it hits you — they didn’t stop loving you. they just stopped pretending.

this is what gregor felt like. this is metamorphosis. – franz kafka, if he was 22 and chronically online.

[baniisharur0tte]

Dog-Eared Pages <3

chapter 1/??

You meet Suguru Geto at your local library!! There's more mysteries behind the front desk in chunky black boots than you found poking through the shelves.

content: fluff!! academic-esque topics, this story will include smut but not in this chapter (will note when it will occur) Fem!Reader x Suguru Geto, slow burn if you squint?

word count: 4.5k <3

authors note: sorry for being inactive!! health issues + generic life chaos kept me chronically offline (rip) this was inspired by a lottt of different things. i wanted to write a dark academia-ish geto story, and then i was reading kafkas metamorphosis + the castle and i was like 'rip suguru, u would've loved kafka' and then i watched Whiplash and then i was watching Your Lie In April and THEN i saw photos of st. paul's cathedral library and i was like 'oh bitch. it's all coming together.' so yeah!!! i hope u like it!!! it's v plot heavy so if ur just here for smut i'll be posting some more geto shortfics in the future so stay tuned!!

(geto smut: here)

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

perusing the aisles of the quiet, warm library, you thumb through the books on the shelves.

life had snuck up on you so quickly. once, an avid writer, reader, and painter. now a morning manager at a clothing boutique in the heart of the city.

a college dropout and a doomscroller.

you got into almost every one of your dream schools upon high school graduation, but generations of familial poverty does not soften its heart for a budding scholar. so, you worked 2 jobs to put yourself through your first semester. by the time you threw in the towel and dropped out, you were 30lbs lighter with protruding ribs, anemia and $40,000 in debt.

but life carried on without you paying attention.

working, sleeping, working, sleeping.

menial job to menial job, countless pointless promotions with no added pay, drafty apartments and off-brand dish soap.

suddenly, 5 years went by.

when was the last time i read?

when was the last time i painted?

when was the last time i felt proud of what i did?

you thumbed through the books, looking for a familiar title.

"The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka"

you spot, the green spine standing out against a slew of brown and red books lining the shelves.

i know this one, i wrote a paper on it my senior year in high school.

you picked it up, inspecting the cover.

it's the same as you remember it, a large beetle on his back struggling to get out of bed.

it would be almost comical if you hadn't known how the story ended.

you walk over to a round table with 2 chairs tucked in the corner of the empty reading area. it's no bigger than a small table you'd find inside a cozy diner that's just shy of enough space for the plates you'd share with someone across from you.

soft warm lighting and a dusty smell of paper and pen ink filled the air in the library.

the dark wood of the table was nostalgic to you, it pulled you back to all those years spent toiling over stories, filling your head with adventure and heartache.

reading so ferociously, you'd find yourself sat at a table much like this one for hours. getting up for food and to stretch, only to find that your back was aching and your elbows red from leaning on them.

the last one in the school library, the first one at the door in the crisp fall mornings outside the public library on weekends, the last one up in the house at night.

yellow, dusty reading lamps and a heavy backpack full of books.

why did i let go of that so easily?

it was almost nerve-wracking, beginning a book again. it felt almost like trying to rekindle an old love, what if it's not the same this time?

you crack it open, taking a deep breath.

it's going to be okay.

☆☆☆☆☆☆

roughly 70 pages, and a few tears later, you finished the story. regardless of your concerns, you were just as enthralled by the story as you had been any other book you read before. the wonder and passion of a child had not left you, and the comfort in knowing that made you all the more emotional. you were swirling with thoughts,

why didn't i do this sooner?

can i go back to school someday?

why did they hate the poor bug man!!!

you close the book, leaning back in your chair with a sigh.

pushing yourself back between the table and the top of your chair, you crack your back.

rubbing your eyes, and pushing your hair out of your face, you look up at the room around you for the first time in a little over an hour.

to your shock, there is a man across from you at the small table. his legs crossed, a knee propped up on the edge of the table. long dark hair curtaining his face, one hand holding his head up, cupped under his chin balanced on the arm rest. the other holding a small blue book titled 'The Castle, Franz Kafka'. he read intently, eyebrows gently furrowed.

when did he get here?

how could i not have noticed?

funny, he's also reading kafka.

funny, he's also very pretty.

as all these thoughts flood your mind, you find yourself staring.

without looking up, he speaks for the first time.

"sad, isn't it?"

you clear your throat, wondering if he's speaking to you. "sad? what is?"

"the story, the one you read. it's sad. some critics say excessively so." he say coolly, turning the page.

you stutter for a moment, and reply "yeah, it was. i don't understand why they were so angry with him." you take a beat, and continue "i'm trying to get back into reading again, so i picked a book i read in high school to start with. i decided i'd read my favorites again and see where that takes me."

he looks up at you.

dark catlike eyes examine your face. his skin was a pale, almost a sickly shade, but his high cheekbones had a light dusting of pink. his silky black hair wafting around his angled face, his full lips drawn into a delicate smile.

he was, objectively the most beautiful man- maybe person- you had ever seen in your life.

sitting back in his chair, tucking his hair behind one ear, he says "do you feel differently about it now than you did in high school?"

you take a moment to examine him before answering.

a large, black, waffle knit sweater with a white button up poking out the collar, and grey corduroy trousers with the cuff rolled up exposing black, shiny boots. he looked very clean and neat, long elegant lines mapping his frame.

"i think..." you begin slowly, scrunching your eyebrows in contemplation, "i think it's unfair for me to act like i haven't examined this story from an academic perspective. i wrote a paper on it at the time. back then, i took the stance that kafka was trying to get people to understand what it's like to be sick or disabled, to understand what it's like for you to, for whatever reason, no longer be the same as you were yesterday. i think his sympathy, whether it be because of his own illness or simply an empathetic approach to the topic, is relevant and well crafted."

you pause for a moment, before continuing.

"you said many critics condemned the story for how sad it was, seemingly overdoing it. personally, i disagree. i think that the neglect of those who are ill or disabled is something we often ignore for the same reasons- it's too upsetting to look at. so, i don't think my thoughts have changed. i can't seem to understand why they all hated Gregor. i never have. he was just a bug man!!!!" you laugh lightly, "he's just a poor little-well, very large- bug!!!!! he didn't deserve how he was treated, and the point is to make us feel that way."

he raised an eyebrow, his smile growing slightly. "i couldn't have said it better myself."

he looks you up and down slowly, before returning to his book. his gaze was piercing, as if he could see straight through you to the back of the chair.

you shuffle in your seat, feeling his eyes leave you. finding a reason to talk to him again, you say "i noticed you are also reading kafka, but i never read the castle. do you-do you like it?"

your voice cracks a bit at the end, flustering you. you nervously fidget with your hands before quickly stopping and instead folding them on the table, back straight.

he looks up at you again, flicking his eyes up.

"yes. it was the last story he worked on before he passed, it was never finished actually. i've read it a few times."

his face doesn't turn away from the page, but his eyes held a steady wash over you.

"can you tell me what it's about?"

he smiles again, leaning back in his chair once more. "i can't, i'd hate to ruin it for you. but i'll talk with you about it after you read it."

he snaps the book closed and set it on the table, getting up from his chair.

standing over you, you notice just how tall he his. his long, broad frame towers over you in your chair- you are eye level with his belt buckle.

you feel your face grow hot as you stumble over your words, "i'd love that! i mean- that would be nice. how will i know how to tell you when im done?"

"i work here, just come back and tell me." he smiles over his shoulder, as he turns to walk away.

looking down at the table, he had set The Castle down on top of The Metamorphosis.

you sit for a moment, digesting your conversation.

picking them both up, you return your book to the correct shelf and bring his to the front desk to check it out. as you approach, you see him leaning over the desk, his hand cupping his jaw as he draws on a small pad of lined paper. as you approach, he covers the paper swiftly with a small stack of books. with his sleeves pushed up, you notice a thick, silver, flat-chained bracelet on his wrist. distinct veins running from his knuckles up his forearm catch your eye. long, slender fingers decorated with a handful of chunky rings twirl his pen in fluid circles, the other hand pushing into his pocket. as you set your book down, he flashes you a smile.

"find what you were looking for, miss?" he said in a bantering tone.

you laugh lightly as you hand over your library card, "i think i did sir, thank you."

he takes a moment to look it over before scanning it. handing it back to you, he says "your name, it's pretty. id like to see it again here soon."

your eyes snap up at him, a hot flush washing over your face. he's gently sliding your book inside a small, brown paper bag.

as he hands it to you, you nod and squeak out a feeble "of course, have a good day, sir."

you quickly turn and begin to walk away.

you stop and look back over at him.

"can i ask yours?"

"suguru geto."

"your name, it's pretty."

he smiles and looks down at the desk, a faint wave of pink over the bridge of his nose. a hand raises to rub the back of his neck, nodding.

"i see, okay. have a good day, miss."

he waves gently, a blush across his cheeks. you wave back, and walk out onto the bustling street.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

authors note #2: I LOVE HIM GRRR I CANT WAIT FOR U TO READ MORE EEE !!!

[pokechbi]

I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could write about könig and ghost finding out that y/n is a couple years older than them! How would they react? If you’re not taking requests feel free to ignore this!!! Thank you!!

Hi ♡ Anon ♡ !!! Tysm !!! I'm so glad you love my writing. Thank you for the very unique idea !! I was so lost at how to even go about this at first but once i started i literally could not stop! So ty! Ya'll are bringing me out of my writers funk fr im so so grateful 💗

JSYK: I know zilch about military stuff so forgive me for any inaccuracies!

WC: 1.1K ♡

Enjoy 🎀

♡Konig & Ghost find out you're a few years older than them...♡

König

During the time that the KorTacs and T141 had joined forces, you had gotten pretty comfortable around the newcomers. Specifically one big, mountain of a man named König. He was a no-nonsense man when it came to his work, but aside from his duties he fared to be a pretty decent friend that you often hung around in your free time. You often asked him about his life in the military, learning many skills of the trade since he was a Colonel, and you had only managed to grow yourself to second lieutenant, the lowest commissioned officer rank.

While you were on the topic of years spent in the army, somehow your ages came into play and while he was still protective of revealing his exact age to anyone, he lead you on with the fact that he was in his mid-thirties. You were no priss, so talking about your age was something you didn't mind. When you revealed to him that you were a few years older than him over lunch, he paused, taking in your new revelation.

"You're older than me? How can that be? You look so...young" He trails off, stabbing at his lunch with his fork. You glanced at him, a surprised look on your face as you chuckled. He wasn't the kind of man to give out compliments very often, so it scratched a new itch hearing him use them on you. "Well thank you, that's very kind of you, König" She replied, her eyes darting from his eyes to the table.

"You carry yourself very well. Physically and emotionally, so I guess it's no surprise that you're older than some of us." He continues, his German accent thick on some words more than others. You smile at him as you blush slightly, waiting for him to finish chewing so he can continue speaking. "There's a quote, by the German novelist Franz Kafka. Youth is happy because it has the capacity to see beauty. Anyone who keeps the ability to see beauty never grows old." He clears his throat. "So...never stop seeing your beauty, I guess." He pauses after speaking, standing suddenly as he walks away from the table, striding towards the door before you could begin to reply.

You knew his social anxiety had caused him to distance himself from people sometimes, but you had no idea why he was still anxious near you after all the time you'd spent together. You were only just friends, right?...Right?

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost was fond of you, unlike some of his other unit members of T141. He admired the way you carried yourself on the field, possessing a natural leadership instinct that he had worked endlessly, for years to attain. He envied you at times. He envied your ability to take risks without much thoughts of consequences, and you always trusted your gut. Which 100% of the time proved to be right. He knew it was some weird woman's instinct that always overpowered him. It sometimes embarrassed him when you outdid him mentally, standing your ground and showing him who's boss in front of his soldiers. While you were still under his command, he saw you as his right hand woman, always by his side to have his back when he needed you.

The team had just finished a debriefing for the new upcoming mission that you all were set to leave for in a few days time. You reeled at the information that was revealed, running your hands over your face in frustration. He sat by your side, trying to cheer you up with his sarcastic jokes and self-deprecative witticisms. Ignoring him, you shook your head as you flipped through the classified files once more.

"In all of my 37 years of living, I haven't come across a terrorist quite like him. Jesus." You sigh, standing to your feet as you begin to pace the room.

"Excuse me?" He stood suddenly, pacing over to you slowly. Your neck cranes as he approaches you, towering over you like a building. You hated when he did this. You placed a hand on his chest, trying to push him backwards. "Come on, Simon. Back up. You know I hate when you do that." You say frustrated, your hand meeting his hard chest as you swallow hard. He doesn't budge, staring down into your eyes as he bores a hole into your very soul.

"Never mind that." He disregards her demand, stepping closer to her. "You're...older than me? Since when?" He asks in disbelief.

You chuckle at him, the smile falling from your face as you realized that he wasn't making one of his stupid jokes. "Yeah... so? What's wrong with that?" You say, crossing your arms over your chest, causing your breasts to perk up the slightest bit. His eyes slyly graze over your covered cleavage under your tight black turtleneck, so quickly you wouldn't have caught it if you blinked. Realizing what he was staring at caused your stomach to flutter, your gaze shying away from his as you drop your arms to your sides. You were alone in the room now, the silence thickening the air between the two of you and making it hard to breathe.

"Uhh... No. Nothing's wrong with that, it's just..." He trails off, ending his sentence with a chuckle. "It's just that what, Simon?!" You press, raising your voice at him the slightest bit. Your blossoming friendship with him was on the line, and you gave him a stare that read: choose your next words carefully, boy.

"It's just that...It explains a lot. How you've always been so... confident. So right about everything. I get where that's all coming from now." He chuckles softly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, scratching under the hem of his balaclava. "Trust me, I like it more than you know." He finishes.

You smile at him slightly and nod your head, suddenly understanding why Simon had favored you all this time, the puzzle pieces all fitting together now. You realized that he liked the fact that you acted older than him. Your usual feminine maturity making him feel secured in his team. You made him feel confident in his actions, as long as he was by your side. There also might have been another reason he wasn't upset at all at this news, and that was because Simon "Ghost" Riley, had a thing for being controlled by a woman in power.

There was now a clear cut reason he'd tag along next to you in his free time more than usual, asking for your advice on career-altering and mission-making decisions. He trusted you, more than a friend, more than his soldier. He trusted you as his woman, even if you didn't know you were his yet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[dailykafka]

Strange feeling-ish, Ngl. But I find Franz Kafka, as a person, a little bit intimidating(?). Somehow? Not intimidating like omfg so scary nor that he is a bully. Ive finished rereading the trial with a huge focus on how K. interacts with people + his diaries focusing on how he interacts with women and his peers. For some reason I feel like had Franz Kafka met me in real life, he would be extremely judgemental of me... perhaps leaning towards negatively. Idk. I still adore Franz Kafka oj so much and find him a very wonderful individual, but just how the strict concrete bureaucracy builds his personality, perspectives, and interactions with people (plus most of his adult life is in Austro-Hungary, extremely different from where I live now)... I feel like we'd have extremely different temperments, judgements, and opinions even though we'd have similar interests. I love him so fucking much, but its bc of that its somehow „intimidating“. I dont even know how to explain. I might even be using the wrong word loool. But do you people get it??

Are you worried that a man from more than 100 years ago might be bit judgmental towards you…??

I'm gonna hold your hand as I say this…