but instead belongs to you, you,
69 posts
Woodenanemone - My Heart Is Not My Own. - Tumblr Blog
Anyway, I'd like to remind everyone that genocide is still being committed in Gaza, not just guns and bombs but with disease and starvation.
Please take a moment to support humanitarian efforts there:
Islamic Relief Fund USA
Medical Aid for Palestinians UK
Palestinian Children's Relief Fund
Medecins Sans Frontiers
a love language
Support dignity kits for displaced Palestinians as well as other medical aid!
And if you're looking for a more global approach, there's Days for Girls!
You love choso, I love choso. I sense a pattern which means we should definitely be mutuals
no you’re so right … done n done
"you’re so precious to me.”
you look up at choso, who in turn was looking back at you. you didn’t realize he had been staring at you, quite invested in the meal he had just prepared for you two. looking down at his plate, you notice that it was untouched. shifting your gaze back to him, you had to physically flinch at the pure, unadulterated adoration in his tired gaze. looking back down bashfully, you pushed your food around on your plate, unable to help the smile that bloomed on your face.
before you could react, choso had reached over the small table, soft hand wiping at your cheek faintly. you look over to see him withdrawing, a tender look in his eyes. “did I have some food on my cheek?” you questioned, wiping the other side of your face, observing your hand for any crumbs.
“no.”
you look back at him in slight surprise. “oh.” was all you could lamely say. it was hard having such an affectionate boyfriend at times; he was constantly outperforming you in terms of love. you know a relationship was supposed to be anything but a competition, but he couldn’t even speak straight. its literal pure poetry falling from the mans mouth. how could you measure up to that?
“i love you, you know.”
you look down at your plate intensely as you say this, unable to look him in the eyes. even his mere eye contact felt deeper than your simple words of, “i love you”. you see him rise from his seat out of your peripheral, but you still stubbornly stared down at your warm plate of food, which you’re sure he poured some of his literal soul and spirit into (even food outdid you…). feeling a warm hand guide your face, you look up to see that familiar soft gaze on you once again, filling you with the type of warmth only felt by a million suns.
he cupped both of your cheeks, bending down to look at you closer. you didn’t even have to say anything, his eyes already telling you that your love is enough. more than he needed, than he deserved. leaning forward, his warm lips placed themselves between your brows, longer than he needed to. he pulled back, only by a hair, to whisper his professions.
“i want to say you have my heart, but you are my heart.” he kisses your face once more, a little further down from the last kiss.
“there’s nothing and nobody else that I need.” another kiss, further down again.
“i surrender my everything to you.” another kiss, landing on your cheek.
“do you know how long I’ve prayed, begged, for your lips?” your other cheek.
“you own me. you, and you alone. you own me.”
you at first thought choso to be a quiet man, shy even. a person unskilled with his words. and yet… you’ve never seen anyone more assured, confident, and certain than him when he spoke to you like this. to know that the one thing this man was undisputable about was his adoration for you… well, it spoke to your soul in a way no store bought flowers ever could.
he punctuates the absolutely devastating confession with one last glance to your lips. you notice his eyebrows are furrowed, his voice strained. you swear these confessions hurt him somehow.
he plants his lips on yours with a sweet inhale, slowly breaking away just to reconnect his mouth to your own, over and over. the kiss was languid, syrupy, and filled to the brim with adoration. he pulled away slowly, his nose still brushing against yours.
"i love you.”
yeah. he was better at this than you.
i need to stop and go study omg
The scent of the man you love is gonna calm your nerves every time.
ur choso posts make me tear up dude- genuinely. makes me feel all soft and warm inside.
ahh, this is literally the goal. I’m glad my writings make you feel that way anon, thank you so so much for the kind words.
snoopy of the day
+ the name is read as wooden anemone (the wood anemone is a flower).
+ 18, she/her, in university at the moment so i'm not as active as i'd like to be.
+ i am taking requests right now.
+ i don't write smut, dark content, or anything that you'd think of as dark content.
+ i enjoy jazz, reading, fuzzy animals, and poetry.
+ masterlist.
enjoy my page~
+ choso
choso I.
choso II.
choso III.
choso IV.
choso V.
choso VI.
choso VII.
valentines day.
choso was a full-grown man.
a man who takes cares of his brothers, is employed, and pays his taxes. a man who can share his ideas and his thoughts with professionalism and skill. a man who can admit when he’s wrong, who can let his resentment go for the better.
so imagine his confusion when he acts like nothing but a developing teenager when you were around him.
he truly felt like his body had relapsed back to puberty. he can’t control his sweat around you, he’s switched his deodorant three times before finding something long lasting enough (although he barely spends more than a couple hours around you a day, if even that, and yet he still manages to produce so much sweat—). he can barely make eye contact with you without feeling his face grow hot (shooting down his neck, goodness, he has to fan at his face soon or he'll start sweating and he just showered for you—), a tremble in his hands, a trip in his words. the sentences that so ridiculously tumble out of his mouth are ineligible and humiliating, as if he forgot every single word he’s ever learned.
he talks to himself often.
whether it’s him walking on the way back home from your hangout, or when he’s alone at work, choso talks to himself. he walks alone and speaks your name out loud, a small awkward smile on his lips (even hearing the splendid name from his own throat dusts his cheeks pink.). he rants and analyzes how physically impossible it was for anyone to be as lovely as you. frustrated muttered outbursts of his incompetence around you. questions about if he was normal, if what he was feeling was normal (he concluded no.). these thoughts are too much to be confined within his mind, overflowing so much at the seams, he was afraid he would accidentally speak them aloud to you. so, he verbally lets them out when he’s alone, before his mouth gets the best of him. he never feels further from sanity when he talks to himself. but since it’s about you, well… it makes him feel better pretty quickly.
he writes about you.
talking to himself and thinking about you only helped him so much. he still feels a nervousness in his chest, needing to convey these feelings in some other form. so, he started scribbling little notes about you on napkins at restaurants and cafes, soon throwing them away; but he soon garners a deep hatred for this. anything that reminds him of you, anything at all, whether it be from his own hand or out in the world, has to be cherished. If not, what sort of insult is it to you? so, he buys a notebook. it’s a small one, black and dull, pocket sized so he can write about you whenever he so pleases. the first few entries are sloppy and messy, hurried so he could get the thought out before it slips his mind. but he soon grew a hatred for this as well. even thoughts written about you must be written with such a delicacy and care, even though you’ll never see it.
012324
When you look at me,
I forget that this world is capable of hatred and misery.
How could a being so light and pure,
Exist next to a miserable soul such as I?
the more i write about choso the less i feel i should be walking the streets as a free citizen. put me in a padded room, im not okay
choso loves to listen to you.
not only do you seem to talk about the most interesting things he’s ever come across (i.e., what you had for dinner last night.), but your voice creates a warmness in him he didn’t know was possible. he used to think he didn’t like to listen to people talk, chat, or rant. hearing the pointless murmuring chatter in public transportation or at some random restaurant only proved this point further. but the moment you started to review your day with him for the first time, he couldn’t get enough. he truly wishes you never stop talking.
it's so pleasing to him, a precious sound that he couldn’t hold closer to his heart if he tried. You’re like his little songbird, the melody being your sweet, sweet voice. how much more loveable could you get? there isn’t a single aspect about you that he couldn’t see himself daydreaming about for hours straight. he loves the idea of you being a cute little songbird, truly, but he’s sure that the word… siren is better suited.
you lure him in, hypnotizing him with your smiles and your charm. your call alone beckons and seduces him, drawing him deeper and deeper into the trance that was your voice. he’s powerless to fight the allure of your call, wrapping him in a blanket of dulcet melodies and tuneful cries. but in actuality, sinking him further into the depths of you.
he could drown, for all he cares. if it meant being consumed by nothing but the essence of your voice, he welcomes death with open arms and a smile.
i wanna write for other characters but choso is the only one i can write as mentally ill for his lover n it still feels canon idk
kamo choso, who can’t stand to look away from you, afraid on the possibility that he might somehow forget what you look like. every time he glances away to look back at the tv, or the food that’s slowly but surely charring to an inedible state on the stove, he misses you. he misses your eyes, your lips, the gentle flutter of your eyelids (it’s worrying how fascinated he is even with the way you blink.), the continual rise and fall of your chest as you steadily breathe in that oh so blessed air. and when he realizes he’s starting to envy a mixture of gases, he looks back at what he’s doing. but it’s as if you’re subconsciously calling his name, swaying him to once again look at you. it becomes so overwhelming that he hasn’t the faintest idea what he was preoccupied with before... and before he knows it, he’s staring at you again, and he’s back at square one.
any moment he’s not looking at you are moments spent in anxiety and unnecessary panic, scared to miss even one lazy yawn from you. he misses you so intensely, he feels with his whole self. even when you’re just a few feet away from him.
“did you need something?” your pretty eyes are now set on him. it’s almost comical how fast he works up a sweat under his arms, paired with an urgent pounding in his chest. he’s embarrassed to be caught staring, nervous under your precious gaze, but he can’t help but observe you even more intently. how can one’s eyes be so complex? it’s such a simple color. plain, really. but a sting in his heart calls your orbs anything but ordinary, so soothing and yet, so agonizing—
“oh, no. no… just— keep doing what you’re doing, hm?” he looks back down at his phone from the opposite couch where he sat, the screen black from its inactive state (he much rather prefers to watch you. and if you aren’t near, he prefers to think about you. …his screen time is astonishingly low.), cold and heavy in his hands. he quickly, but subtly, glances back up to see your reaction.
you throw him a small smile, looking back at the television.
oh, he’s gone, gone, gone.
sext: i’ll always have time for u
all i need is a warm beverage, a cozy blanket, and a good book
snoopy of the day
“I have no need for a world without you in it.”
— Claudia Gray, A Thousand Pieces of You
I will recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and deaf. I will recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times and I will love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion.
— Achilles
