aphy-izz

[aphy-izz]

THE 27TH OF EACH MONTH.

𓂃Back n forth emails between you and your “friend.” ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Kageyama Tobio.

🎐 timeskip au , fluff , angst , reminiscing , yearning kageyama , tba. warnings will be posted with each chapter!

JANUARY 27TH draft.

FEBRUARY 27TH draft.

MARCH 27TH draft.

APRIL 27TH draft.

MAY 27TH draft.

JUNE 27TH draft.

JULY 27TH draft.

AUGUST 27TH draft.

SEPTEMBER 27TH draft.

OCTOBER 27TH draft.

NOVEMBER 27TH draft.

DECEMBER 27TH draft.

🎐 taglist is open!

[aphy-izz]

EAT MY DUST .ᐟ

tokyo is a city of many things: business, cinema, racing, and anything else under the sun. rumour has it that hit actress yn ln and tokyo’s star racer tobio kageyama are finding love in the big city, too. take a look behind the scenes.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA X F!READER

CONTENTS ◟ HAI SOPHIE THIS IS FOR U, fame au, f1 driver kageyama, actress reader, likely substance consumption, crude language/humour, kageyama is a loser, possibly ooc (because kageyama would be an unbearably dry texter), individual chaps have specific warnings, warnings may be added over time

STATUS ◟upcoming (far future)

TAGLIST ◟ open 15/50

› gen tags (only for masterlist) @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @gumims @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @aldebrana @kameyyy @cancelledkat @wizzzierr @jadeyaps

always looking for twt users!

every movie has its own SOUNDTRACK.

ON SET › certified stanky legz 👅

ON THE TRACK › sorta fast super furious

YN LN ◟

TOBIO KAGEYAMA ◟

AND… ACTION! (🎬 for written content)

TAKE 01 ◟ tba TAKE 02 ◟ tba TAKE 03 ◟ tba

produced by @fushiguruuzzzz . no copying or sharing permitted lest you receive an eternity of warm pillows in return.

[aphy-izz]

[aphy-izz]

The Complexities of Love and Words

Love is an emotion that sets one’s body on fire. It begins from your heart and gradually spreads until you feel that scorching heat on every inch of your skin as it imprints itself onto your soul. Love feels like falling down a cliff; it leaves your heart pounding so loud you can hear it ringing while you cling to tiny threads on the ropes of fate, and as they all say tread carefully with it as it shares a very thin line with madness. Or at least, that’s what I remember them saying in fiction.

With love being the inspiration of so many poets, artists, and heroes. I was naturally bound to get curious about it as I grew up. It started innocently, as most curiosities do. I would listen to the songs my mother would tune in on the radio on Sundays, watch characters as they fall for each other in the movies, and cry when they would break up in the novels.

What started as a childish curiosity grew into a hidden obsession. I consumed everything I could find about it, and I also learned to start yearning for it. I wanted to feel what the singers felt as they sang love-filled ballads. I wanted to see the world like the painters who filled their canvases with colors do. I wanted to be written as an enigma by a poet who fell infatuated with me. I yearn for it so much that when I started looking for it, I learned that I could not love the way they do.

I found that I could not love the way they do because I could not let go of my heart the way they do. It’s probably because of my pursuit to consume everything I could find about love; eventually, the tingling feeling that I would feel left me so nervous, that I would leave my heart behind castle walls of logical thinking because I learned early on that the very thing that brought inspiration to those poets, artists, and singers, are oftentimes the very source of their downfalls.

Ever since then, I thought the burning flames of love would feel too scorching on my skin, and that there would come a moment when it’ll burn my soul to ashes when all it will leave are the traces of what it used to be; T thought then that falling would then feel like flying until your bones crush, as the thread I’ll cling on to will snap achingly slow, and that line I’ll try to tread carefully will disappear leaving me to slowly descend into madness.

At this point of realization, I slowly began to accept that maybe I was just bound to love in mediocrity, with me always in love, but never falling; always loving, but never entirely in ways I can show my true self to another. It’s self-preservation, I think; it’s a way to control myself so that when it ends, I wouldn’t hurt myself as much, just like how the heroines in my books seemed to always do. After all, love is scary, and it’s easier to dream of fictional love and protect my heart from real love while I fantasize about falling in love in the safe confines of my story’s turning pages.

But here I am writing this in hopes that you'll make me think I was wrong; I hope you'll make me feel that real love isn’t as scary as I thought it would be, and that real love isn’t as fictional as I do now. Please tear down all my barbed wires and destroy my logically built castle walls because you've already crawled into the deeper parts of the labyrinth that holds a kid who still hopes to fall in love. I’m still scared, and I tremble, fearing that this feeling is just my delusion and imagination, while I don’t think I’m ready for that free fall, I think that if I were to fall entirely for the very first time, I would like it to be with you. Maybe all I’m really asking is if I fall, will you fall with me too?