no but the best anxiety/hyperactivity hack i accidentally discovered was singing. even if you're shit at it. preferably a nice long comfort song you know all the lyrics to with a lot of fast words or a song that's barely within the top of your vocal range (it doesn't matter if you mess up or your voice breaks) because 1) it's familiar 2) it forces you to control your breathing very specifically and 3) it really takes your mind off things? maybe even make a playlist of songs that work for you and karaoke. I started singing whenever I feel an anxiety attack coming on a couple years back and i swear nothing works better
the love we endure | hanahaki au | angst, romance
fic teaser | mingyu/reader | est. 40k | mature
status: rough plot finished, 3.5k written
tw: this is a grimm style fairytale that i’ve written for the fic, there is blood, death, and a tragic ending
“have you ever heard of the story written by a dead flower? it’s beautiful and tragic all at the same time. and—it’s the story of how hanahaki first began.”
there once was a man who had never been in love before. many times he had tried, but his heart would not give. he spent his lonely days sitting underneath a willow tree watching young couples walk by, admiring the one thing he could not have. wishing that maybe someday—he could join them.
then one day a young woman took a seat beside him, and in her hands were a beautiful bouquet of peachy orange roses. as she gazed upon them, unaware of his presence, she whispered sweet nothings to the flowers she held. she— loved them. she loved them in a way he had never seen before.
in that moment he finally fell in love.
but no matter how many times he tried to speak to her, she ignored him. she was completely fixated on her flowers, nothing could tear her gaze from them. he wanted her to look at him like she did at them. her eyes brimming with a love she couldn’t hope to contain.
so each day he brought her flowers in some attempts to distract her from her own. he would find her in the same spot everyday, as if she hadn’t moved an inch. no matter what he presented her with, none of them seemed to catch her eye. to her, nothing but the peachy orange roses would do.
then, one day, he had an idea. he found the flowers she cherished so much and sat down beside her. still, she didn’t stir. not that he had expected her to. he began to eat the flowers, one by one, until he was sure that he could eat no more. then he ate another, and another, and even more still. once he had eaten them all, they began to sprout from his skin, perfect roses for the picking.
and she finally looked at him.
she looked at him with all the love in the world.
“they are so pretty, may I have one?”
he nodded, excited to have her attention after days of trying. with a twisted smile she threw her old and tattered bouquet to the ground and started picking the new ones from his skin until there were none left. his skin was raw and tattered, the roots of his love had been torn out. he thought that she would be satisfied, that he had given his love to her and that she would be happy.
“can you get me some more?” she asked innocently, her hands and lap soaked in his blood. “i do so love these flowers.”
with a reluctant smile, he said quietly, “if you love them, you can have as many as you like.”
at the beginning of everyday after that he would get a bouquet of flowers and present them to her. he would again find that she was too entranced by the ones in her hands to pay attention to him at all. she didn’t care that they were covered in blood, and in fact seemed to love them more for it. but he needed her to look at him, he needed to feel the love she possessed.
so he ate them again.
and again she picked them from his skin.
and again his blood ran thick at his feet.
she continued to pick them long after he died from the wounds her love had caused. she sat there and admired her flowers, not caring at all for the man who sacrificed everything he had just to steal her gaze for even a second. still, he did not die full of resentment. because for a brief moment in his life, he was loved.
Looking around, she wasn’t surprised that there weren’t any flowers in sight. It was an unspoken understanding when it came to Hanahaki patients. No one wanted to be reminded of how death would take them. And those who did, had enough flowers in their lungs to fill a room.
