Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
• Subway, Samsung, Swarovski, and other PPL
  
• A Kim Tan Worthy Sweater^TM and more!
  

Share your love or frustration or rage or annoyance or amusement at seeing these things. You are not limited currently airing Kdramas or even Kdramas at all but please be mindful of spoilers.
Please remember to use spoiler tags when discussing major plot points or anything you think should be redacted. If you are using Markdown and not Fancy Pants Editor, the easiest way to create spoiler tags is to use > ! spoiler content ! < without spaces to get spoiler content. For more detailed guidance on spoiler tags and when to use them, check our Spoiler Tags Tutorial.
Just In Case Resources
FAQ and Netflix FAQ Glossary Latest On-Airs and On-Air Roster Rules and Policies Where To Watch aka Legal Sites Everything In Our Wiki aka Wiki Homepage Get Recommendations For Your Next Watch

TLDR: my ex is hard core mimicking my personality and aesthetic now that we're both in a new community program. I don't think anyone else can see it, but it feels so threatening/disturbing and I don't know why. I also am very concerned others will notice but wrongly view me poorly instead of her. I get the theory behind it, but not sure how to handle it or if I should even worry about it.
My (30sf) uBPD/NPD ex (30sf) showed up to a meeting for a new community program we're both in...dressed in my "uniform" of 10 years, which is completely different from how she dressed when we met. I learned when we dated that she had been mirroring for years of friendship. She had conditioned me to "give her the benefit of the doubt," so even when I got little gut feelings, I just assumed we had more in common than I thought. Note that her sister is diagnosed BPD.
Over the course of the friendship, she adopted all my hobbies and interests. Some things she became so obsessive about they became more "her" thing than "mine." While dating, she bought the same car as me, and on multiple occasions I was surprised seeing her suddenly dressed so much like me. The mimicry accelerated as the relationship failed and she got similar piercings. One week she said she didn't want tattoos, the next week she was planning a similar themed tattoo to mine...at my shop. That's when it hit me like a truck and I stopped thinking it could be coincidence.
We were sitting unfortunately close at this community meeting (been no contact nearly a year) and I hear her talking about how she "just climbed a tree yesterday" and how it was "very Alice and Wonderland." The thing is...tree climbing as an adult was a quirk I talked about lots, and I have a deep childhood connection to Alice in Wonderland - I even recited the Jabberwocky poem to her once. She never, at any point, indicated she related to this stuff, just enjoyed me sharing it.
I get all the theoretical stuff about fractured personalities, secondary structural dissociation (she seems to border on having multiple personalities and changes personas/operating systems faster than I change underwear), but how do I deal with this?
I feel kind of petty and insane, because you could explain away every individual thing as coincidence or the fact that I'm not that unique. But it feels like she's trying to be my doppleganger.
I'm so afraid people in this new community are going to think I'm the copy-cat and shun me wrongly. I hate feeling like I don't get to be my unique self. I'm painfully cognizant of the things she's mimicking and feel the need to not be myself in that way, in order to self-differentiate.
The relationship failed 11 months ago, and she hasn't moved on - she's mimicking me harder. I knew this was coming too. I half expected to see a rip-off of my custom tattoos I designed - I kinda still am.
Will other people see through it? Will I be wrongly judged? Should I just not worry? Why does this feel so threatening?

Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
• Subway, Samsung, Swarovski, and other PPL
  
• A Kim Tan Worthy Sweater^TM and more!
  

Share your love or frustration or rage or annoyance or amusement at seeing these things. You are not limited currently airing Kdramas or even Kdramas at all but please be mindful of spoilers.
Please remember to use spoiler tags when discussing major plot points or anything you think should be redacted. If you are using Markdown and not Fancy Pants Editor, the easiest way to create spoiler tags is to use > ! spoiler content ! < without spaces to get spoiler content. For more detailed guidance on spoiler tags and when to use them, check our Spoiler Tags Tutorial.
Just In Case Resources
FAQ and Netflix FAQ Glossary Latest On-Airs and On-Air Roster Rules and Policies Where To Watch aka Legal Sites Everything In Our Wiki aka Wiki Homepage Get Recommendations For Your Next Watch

Hey, Reddit! I just wanted to give you guys some more stories about my Kevin, who is, unfortunately, the supplier of my genetic material (ie, he’s my father.) For those who missed the first stories, you can find the link here: https://www.reddit.com/StoriesAboutKevin/comments/16byk04/my_dad_the_kevin/
There were some excellent responses to the first post, including several requests for a part two. Myself and my brother (who goes by the username u/undercookedbrotato for the purposes of this thread) sat down together and cobbled together some more memories of Kevin, along with our Mom. And you know what? It truthfully was kinda painful. Kevin was cruel and selfish. He sacrificed the financial stability of his family for his own short-term happiness and actively tried to sabotage his spouse’s and his children’s academics and careers for no other reason than he was jealous. We’re just thankful that Kevin is also unbelievably moronic, and so most of these ploys ended quickly. We laugh now, because what else is there to do?
Anyway, just a quick note about me and u/undercookedbrotato. There’s a big age gap between us. I was born in the early ‘80s, and I wasn’t born until the mid-90s. The end result is that both of us have stories of Kevin that span 40 years. Kevin, himself, is a Baby Boomer, and has been inflicted upon this world for nearly seven decades.
A few things to remind our readers of: Kevin failed to achieve much of anything due to his ineptitude, laziness, and sense of entitlement. He is horrible with money and was frequently unfaithful during his marriage. He successfully summited the peak of Dunning-Kruger’s “Mount Stupid” and took pride in never descending. Summiting ANYTHING was amazing for Kevin; he only stood at 5’1”, and his vertical challenges would send him into a sputtering rage if anybody made a comment about it. He loved weather, porn, and amateur radio, and drove everybody nuts with his obsessions.
And here’s one more thing about Kevin: the man was made of teflon. We’re not quite sure why providence likes him so much, but he seemingly is always escaping from the consequences of his bad behavior–or he is at least able to foist them off on somebody else.
Kevin is still alive, but this entire thing is written like he’s not. You see, Kevin has developed Alzheimer’s, and now he spends his days in a memory care unit. A rather inglorious end to a life defined by snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. And maybe that’s for the best.
As before, we’ve selected only the juiciest bits. If this update seems a little more bitter than the last, I think you’ll see why. Apologies in advance. So anyway, without further ado . . . the continuing adventures of our Dad, the Kevin.
*Kevin had done a stint of active duty in the Air Force. The fact that he had managed to complete a term of enlistment without getting himself or somebody else killed still mystifies us. We’re even further gobsmacked when we realize that he somehow got promoted a few times, which is proof of the statement that God looks out for drunks, children, and the incompetent. Our father probably was smack dab in the middle of that particular Venn diagram.
*I once got a betta fish for Christmas. Since the family lived in Arizona at the time, it could get pretty cold. Mom once showed Kevin how to put the betta’s glass bowl on a small heating pad and turn it on low to keep the fish warm. Mom was very clear to put it on “low,” and never, ever “high.” She then went out of town on a conference and OH COME ON YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING.
*At least the new betta fish was pretty.
*While in the active duty Air Force, Kevin decided to prank his unit First Sergeant. Said First Sergeant had a specialty baseball cap that read “1SGT”, or at least had similar lettering. Kevin snuck into his NCO’s office, carefully peeled the letters off the “S” and “T” from the hat, and inserted, “E” and “G” in their place. The hat now read “1EGG.” This had the potential for being a funny prank had Kevin not raided the key when he was pulling staff duty and then destroyed his superior’s personal belongings. Kevin got in trouble and was always mystified as to why people were mad at him.
*Kevin loves weather. When Kevin got sent on temporary duty (TDY) to Montana, he was ecstatic when a tornado formed above the dormitories. So he ran outside and took pictures. The pictures were cool, but the fact remains that Kevin is fucking stupid.
*When the Cold War ended, Kevin took a separation bonus from the Air Force. The intent was that he would use the money as a cushion until he found a new job and his wife finished grad school. Instead, Kevin moved the family out to New Mexico because he had a job interview (no, not an offer . . . an interview.) Yes, it’s as idiotic as it sounds.
*When Kevin separated from the Air Force, the guys in his unit decided to celebrate his departure. They did this by grabbing Kevin, handcuffing his hands behind his back, drenching him with a garden hose, dumping flour over him and then smacking him with water-filled condoms from the roof of the building. Then they left him out in the sun for a little while for good measure.
*This hazing ritual was Kevin’s own idea. He had wanted to do it to the last guy who left the unit, but nobody would go along with it. Kevin was, as Shakespeare would say, hoisted by his own petard.
*Kevin’s chain of command not only knew about his upcoming hazing, but they actively participated. To his credit, Kevin thought it was hysterical . . . until his wife pointed out that friends don’t really do that to each other, and the last guy who left had gotten a cake instead of a face full of condoms. Kevin was then salty about it for decades.
*A year after leaving the Air Force, Kevin had to move into his mother-in-law’s house because he was legally bankrupt. We don’t know where his separation bonus went, and we’re afraid to find out.
*In our previous post, we erroneously stated that it took Kevin nine years to get a Bachelor’s degree. This was incorrect, and for that, we apologize. You see, we just found his transcripts while cleaning out the storage unit, and have found new information. It actually took him twelve . . . if we mark from the completion of his Associate’s. His transcripts show him starting college in 1983 and graduating in 2004. It’s a pity they don’t offer pensions for being a student. And this doesn’t even cover all the degree mill places he likely signed up for . . .
*At the end of his Bachelor’s degree, Kevin had withdrawn from seventeen(!) classes throughout his collegiate career.
*As stated in the previous post, Kevin spent much of our childhoods unemployed. In a bid to get money, Kevin went back and joined the Air Force Reserves. The only income he made for years was his “one weekend a month, two weeks a year” dough. Despite this, he somehow managed to not get kicked out, even though he was frequently passed over for promotion, laughed out of his commander’s office when he asked about being promoted, and once had an entire skit at an Air Force Reserve unit black tie event devoted to mocking him.
*Kevin was sensitive about his short stature. When the eHarmony website launched, Kevin went on a long diatribe about the website’s “heightist” policies and how shorter men were excluded from the dating pool. He disintegrated into quiet grumbling when Mom pressed him as to how he knew this. He blamed it on a friend complaining to him about it. Too bad that guy was 6’1”.
*Mom made all the money in the house due to working three jobs. Kevin figured that his money was his money, and so what little money he did make–as well as a good chunk of Mom’s–disappeared on ham radio equipment, guns, penny stocks, MLMs, hookers, porn, and, bizarrely, musical instruments. WE HAVE SO MANY FUCKING VIOLINS.
*Kevin had played in his high school orchestra. Kevin took this to mean that he was good at the violin. Kevin once showed up to a college jam session. We don’t know what happened, but Kevin came home, went to his bedroom, and cried. He never played the violin again.
*Kevin decided to save money for Christmas one year by getting into wine making. He Googled it and then set jugs of fermenting grapes behind the toilet. Then, on Christmas Eve, he slapped floppy disk labels on the front, wrote “Kevin’s Valley” in big block print on the sticker, and slipped them into gift bags. That shit made my aunt barf. Kevin hated to be reminded of the time he made bad pruno for Christmas and got people sick.
*Kevin was obsessive about floppy disks. He downloaded grainy .jpeg porn images onto them and then labeled them with names like “Big Blondes in Double Trouble” or “Mother Does Her Duty.” I mean, literally, he wrote these on the sticker labels, alphabetized them, and kept them in a disk caddy next to the family computer. Our father was . . . weird, and not in a good way. This has made cleaning out his storage unit tremendously unfun.
*Do you know those scuzzy payday loan places? They’re usually run out of old Pizza Huts and have pawn shops attached to them. They may even have bullet proof glass when you talk to the cashier. Most people avoid them. Our father, on the other hand, looked at those places and would think, “yeah, that’s a GREAT idea.” He seriously borrowed money from those lenders for fun and then wondered why his shit would get repossessed.
*Kevin had a credit score in the 300s. He didn’t know why.
*Back in the early 2000s, there were commercials that would run late at night. They were by a guy called Matthew Lesko, and he would obnoxiously scream at you to buy his book to “get free money!” while wearing a garish suit adorned with question marks like he was some sort of Great Value Riddler. You can see it for yourself here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NECn-uohptg . Anyway, I saw this commercial and said, “what type of idiot would buy that book?” and then walked into the living room to find Kevin reading his.
*Kevin once came home with a “family film” on video tape and put it on in the middle of the day. That “family film” was “Death Wish” with Charles Bronson. He got mad when mom made him take it back to the video store.
*Kevin and his wife were fighting one night and Kevin specified that he was going to go get a divorce attorney. Mom told him to go right ahead, because he didn’t have money to hire one anyway, and that she was willing to pay for his. This shut him up.
*Later on, Kevin became obsessed with the book “Rich Dad, Poor Dad,” despite the fact he never read it beyond the introduction. I received at least three copies as Christmas gifts, and undercookedbrotato is sure to have at least one floating around somewhere. Spoiler: the book is now regarded as inaccurate feel-good self-help schlock.
*When Kevin finally got a full-time job again, he was quickly removed from day shift due to his incompetence and put on night shift. He complained about being “punished” and would not tolerate any discussion that it at least allowed him to keep his job. Kevin went to work on night shift and was immediately written up for watching movies and sleeping. His argument was that if they didn’t want him watching movies or sleeping, then they shouldn’t have put him on the night shift.
*Kevin left work one day to find a coworker putting a computer in his truck. Kevin asked his coworker where he got his computer, and he said that he got it from the company. Kevin went running back inside and grabbed HR and told them that his coworker was stealing computers. As it turns out, his company had a program where employees could buy outdated hardware and equipment, and that’s what was going on. Kevin didn’t understand why his coworker was mad.
*Kevin’s Air Force Reserve detachment deployed to Jordan in the spring of 2005 and they stayed at the Ryatt Hotel in Amman. He came back in early summer. On November 9th, the hotel he had stayed in was attacked by a suicide bomber. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2005_Amman_bombings . Kevin claimed that the fact that the hotel he stayed in was destroyed six months after he left gave him “war PTSD.”
*Do you know that Kanye West episode of South Park where Cartman steals Jimmy’s joke about fish sticks and every time Cartman tells the story, he makes himself look better and more heroic? That was how the hotel bombing was for Kevin. Every time he told the story, the bombing happened closer and closer to his departure from Jordan, until the last time we heard it, he was “running around trying to get people to listen to him about an imminent attack” but that “nobody would believe him.” Amazingly, the attack happened “just a few hours after they left”and not the six months that actually occurred.
*Kevin bought tickets for an Ollie North book signing. He didn’t understand why nobody in the family was impressed.
*Kevin is a bit of a hypochondriac. He once came home from the doctor screaming that his kidneys were failing and that he was going to die soon. He had the entire family riled up and had Mom crying. It turns out that, while he does indeed have kidney disease, it’s nowhere near fatal and can be controlled with medication.
*Kevin once woke up, went to the bathroom, and exited the bathroom shaking. He then called out of work and reported to the emergency room due to finding a “reddish, bloody discharge” around the head of his penis. He was terrified that he had some sort of cancer. What was this mystery secretion, you ask? Lipstick.
*We’re horrified by this story on a number of levels. First, there’s the idea of dad getting a blowjob, which is terrible. Secondly, now that his infidelity has come to light, we must acknowledge that said lipstick could have belonged to any number of women. And then, finally, we must face the realization that Dad didn’t wash his dick. This world is garbage and I hate it.
*Years later, a kid in our hometown got arrested for breaking and entering somebody else’s house, and he happened to have the same last name as us. Dad cut the clipping out of the newspaper, scanned it into his computer, and emailed it to his friends and associates claiming that he had cheated on Mom and that this kid was his illegitimate offspring. He said this was a “joke.” Mom did not find this funny. In retrospect, we don’t think he was joking. We wonder how many half-siblings we have.
*Kevin decided he wanted new ham radio gear. Kevin had no money. Kevin decided he was willing to trade for it. What did he trade? The dog. We’re still pissed.
*Kevin got mad at me for “marrying outside my race” (I’m white, my wife is Filipina.) He then told me that I was being cut out of the will. I told him to go ahead, because there was nothing to inherit anyway. The idea that his son was willing to go no contact hurt him less than the realization that he had no wealth.
*Mom once went up to Alaska to visit me out, as my wife had just had a baby. This left u/undercookedbrotato at home with Kevin. Kevin decided that he was grown and needed to be out on his own, so he gave him a week to leave the house. He was only fifteen. When Mom and I called him and gave him an earful, his claim was that he forgot how old he was and then rescinded his edict.
*In our last post, I wrote about how Kevin had decided to start a real estate company despite not having any money. Or real estate to sell. Or clients. Or a real estate license. But there were some things I forgot to mention–Kevin had gone out and bought a car to advertise his latent business, and even tried to get a car wrap put on it. On top of that, he registered as an LLC and used my social security number to register me as a co-owner with the IRS. I did not give him permission to do this and only found out when I was fucking audited. Fortunately, the business never made any money and I got out of the audit without having to pay any money, so yay?
*Kevin then decided to start a self-defense business, but he didn’t want to put any time or effort into marketing or sales or researching laws. Instead, he just bought a bunch of tasers and pepper spray online and then shipped them to my house. When I called and wondered why there were a bunch self-defense weapons of nebulous legality sitting on my porch, I was told to go sell them and pass along the money. I refused, and the next time Kevin visited, he was given his box back. I don’t know how Kevin got rid of them, and I’m not sure I care.
*Kevin was well-known for mangling popular idioms. His most famous was “hindsight is 100%”, although he also encouraged people to be “fair and objectionable.” When pressed about his philosophy about the human condition, Kevin was not shy about sharing how he felt the world was out to get him–despite the fact that people around him spent most of their time protecting him from himself.
*Kevin likes space stuff and Kevin likes women. So Kevin really likes women astronauts. He could barely contain himself when he met one. He friended her on Facebook and was then, unsurprisingly, creepy. He got blocked and he was crushed.
*Kevin once had a wet dream involving his female supervisor. He told her about it.
*When Kevin was finally fired from his job for having porn on his computer, a group of women met him at the door and told him they were thankful he was gone.
*Kevin registered for Truth Social and was buying Donald Trump gold coins from randos on the Internet. He never received any of them.
*After Kevin got caught cheating on our Mom, he claimed that his “war PTSD” made him do it and that we “couldn’t begin to understand the horrors of war” when confronted. Unfortunately for Kevin, I served in the Sunni Triangle with the 2nd Cavalry during OIF 1 and have actual PTSD (seriously, there’s a slip of paper signed by a doctor and pills and appointments and everything. It’s awesome.) Kevin didn’t have a good explanation for why I hadn’t cheated on MY wife.
*Kevin then (badly) tried to defend his infidelity by texting me advertisements for local Craigslist hookers. His logic was that he would prove how “irresistible” they were, and then people would sympathize with him! At best, this was him grasping at straws–at worst, it was him actively trying to sabotage my marriage. Anyway, and on a completely unrelated note, Kevin hasn’t seen his grandkids in a long time.
*After Mom left, Kevin told me that he’d just move in with me. He got a courtesy ride to the retirement home instead.
*After Kevin was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I started getting collections calls from one of those tribal payday loan places. It turns out that Dad had borrowed money from them at some point in the past. When I called them up and explained that my father was mentally incapacitated, they then shared that his account age was ten years old and he was a “gold tier customer.” I don’t know what that means, but I’m horrified, especially since they’re not regulated by the FDIC and charge 300% interest.
“But hey!” you might be thinking, “this just sounds like the venting of a pair of maladjusted adult children with daddy issues taking their umbridge to the internet.” And you would be right, of course. But you don’t have to just take our word for what a menace Kevin was.
While cleaning out the family storage unit, I found Dad’s old high school yearbooks. Let’s see what Kevin’s peers had to write, shall we?
Farewells and Salutations Left in Kevin’s Yearbooks
“You are the only person I know who’s temper is shorter than he is. You’re nuts.”--Allen
“Kevin, to a very nice guy. Even though you cut me down, I don’t mind. Nice knowing you.”--Ricky
“Kevin, you’re a real nice guy that works at a store and is obscene.”--Barbara
“You’re a strange Lithuanian dwarf.”--Eugene
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The joke here, of course, is entirely on Eugene. Kevin’s not Lithuanian.
“To Kevin, alias Shorty; I am sorry that I have to disagree with you on the little matter of who is taller. I am, Shorty, and you had better start facing life the way you should.”--Cathy
“Good luck. You’re going to need it!”--Carol
“Kevin, you have certainly added ‘life’ to the classroom! At times, however, wouldn’t it have been better to divert your energy to studying?”--Mrs. Frey
“To a nice guy I wish would go somewhere.”--John
“Good luck with your girlfriend who’s coming back from the Azores.”--Sue
Author’s Note: Kevin apparently decided to one-up the kid with a girlfriend that you wouldn’t know, because she lives in Canada. I gotta give Kevin this–the Azores were a creative touch.
“To the dumbest guy in electronics class that I still hate.”--Daniel
“A real weird kid in my driver’s ed class. Good luck when trying not to hit people (so far you’ve been lucky).”--Byron
“Kevin, I guess you’re alright so I give you the privilege of having my autograph. To a very small punk who can’t keep his feet off anybody’s desk.”--Michael
“Kevin, you’re a real slob, but outside of that you’re alright. You’re lousy in math, but I guess you can’t help it.”--Bill
“Kevin, even though you call me fat, I still consider you a friend of mine.”--Laurie
“A screwy guy that has just about as much sense as a pervert in an elementary school.”--Tim
Author’s note: Ouch, Tim.
“Kevin, we expect you to come in and sand down the desk.”--Mr. Bell, Woodshop
“To a little squirt tattle tale.”--Samantha
“Kevin, how have I stood it?!? You could go so far if you’d only use your capabilities. Remember the parable of the man and the talents? Good luck.”--Mrs. Siwa
Author’s note: Mrs. Siwa seems to be referencing a Biblical story (Matthew 25:14) wherein a master gives three of his servants bags of gold to see what they will do with them. Two of the servants invest the gold and then give their master the earnings, which makes him happy, and he allows them to keep some of the gold. The third servant buries his gold in the ground like a fucking idiot and so gives his master back a bag of dirty, muddy coins. The master, unsurprisingly, is unamused, and so orders his servant to be bound hand and foot and thrown out “into the dark where there will be a weeping and a gnashing of teeth.” Mrs. Siwa got no chill.
“Kevin, you’re really weird. That’s the only way to describe you.”--Deb
“To a kid I wish would go and play in traffic sometimes.”--Lance
“I hope you go far in this world. And soon.”--Larry
“To a very nice friend, even if you are short. And if the world is lucky, you will fall over dead.”--Lee
Author’s note: Goddamn, Lee. Saying the quiet part out loud, are we?
Kevin, Kevin, Kevin. Percy Shelly once penned a poem that reminds us of him so very well. One stanza in “Ozymandias” states, “look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair!” Of course, the reader is then treated to imagery of Ozymandias’s fallen kingdom.
And that’s Kevin for you. A monarch is his own imagination. A maladaptive malcontent in the public’s. A life defined by failure, incompetence, rage, and laziness, with only the detritus of his own failed enterprises to keep him company in his declining years. No thing beside remains, indeed.
Rest well and rest quietly, Kevin. We’ve earned it.

Sometimes, those fighting for the end of speciesism encounter indifference or disdain, which can sometimes shake one's self-confidence and self-esteem. It’s essential we discuss this. Let's openly share our feelings about these experiences.
At times, our confidence is so undermined that we spend years pushing for minor reforms, fearful of demanding what we truly desire: respect for animal life. What if, instead of settling for half-measures that barely satisfy us, we had spent that time telling people the truth? Simply expressing our sadness that animals are killed for simple food habits—wouldn't this have fostered a more profound societal improvement if we had candidly shared our feelings?
Often, we hold back because we lack confidence in ourselves. Day in and day out, we face indifference and scorn, storing up these micro-traumas instead of discussing all the feelings linked to them to heal. By not voicing these accumulated hurts, we sometimes further damage our self-confidence and self-esteem. However, research shows that even when a person is correct, by being confident, they can more easily convince others of their stance’s validity. Let’s support each other—it will help the animals too. Let’s respect ourselves. Let’s talk. Remember, we too are animals. Woof woof. Tweet tweet.
Respect yourself. Communicate your feelings, your needs, and the solutions necessary to ensure these needs are met.
This mirrors the past when animal-friendly people avoided to tell they refused meat for the animals, instead claiming it was a matter of taste. Gradually, we began to admit it was to prevent suffering, though we still hesitated to say it was to avoid killing. Now, our movement is doing the same, not on an individual level but a societal one. It takes courage to explain that one is vegan for the sake of animals, and even more courage to communicate that we want society at large to establish rules respecting animal life and interests. We lack confidence, so instead of expressing our sadness over the killing of animals, we merely ask for bigger cages. But perhaps we should break out of these cages. Maybe we should speak up. It's time for our abolitionist coming-out, to declare our sadness that animals are killed for mere dietary habits, and to voice our hope that society will respect animal life and ban killing.
We envision a society where the lives and interests of all sentient beings are respected. Such a society will have rules that ensure this. But for such rules to be established, citizens must first demand their creation. Let's build this society. Let’s demand a ban on killing animals.
●●●●●●
Everyone's freedom must be respected, including that of animals. Locking them unwillingly in trucks heading to slaughterhouses and cutting their throats against their will violates their freedom. Respecting each individual’s freedom thus requires the closure of slaughterhouses.
🐰🐮🐷🐔🦆🐴🐥🐸
If you are looking to boost your self-confidence and self-esteem, consider the following texts:

Self-Confidence Text #1

As a trained lawyer, I've observed that this profession is highly respected in society. Yet, let's ponder a question. Which of the following activities is more distinguished, elevated, worthy, respectable, and honorable?
Is it helping an individual who has promised money in return, or is it dedicating oneself to helping all suffering beings purely out of kindness?
This comparison reveals an overlooked truth:
The work of activists fighting for the end of speciesism is indeed more distinguished, elevated, worthy, respectable, and honorable than that of lawyers. Embrace this truth and recognize that you are far more valuable than those merely dressed in suits. Acknowledge your ability to identify injustices that often go unnoticed by these people, your courage to stand against the majority to drive change—just like the abolitionists of human slavery—and realize that you are a magnificent being!
❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

Self-Confidence Text #2

Picture yourself walking on a path through a tranquil forest. Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow upon the ground. With each step, feel the firm earth beneath your feet, bringing a sense of stability and security. The air is fresh and invigorating, filled with the soothing sounds of nature. This path you are on symbolizes your journey towards deeper and more enduring self-confidence.
As you continue, you come upon a mirror standing in the middle of the path. This mirror does not reflect your current image, but rather the most confident version of yourself, the one you aspire to be. Look at this version of yourself, notice the way you stand, the light in your eyes, the confident smile. This image represents your potential, what you can become by nurturing your self-confidence.
Take a moment to speak to this version of yourself in the mirror. It tells you that the key to this confidence already lies within you; you only need to recognize it, welcome it, and let it express itself. These words engrave themselves in your mind, becoming a constant source of inspiration.
As you proceed on your forest path, you feel lighter, as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Each step strengthens your belief that you can handle any situation with assurance and tranquility. You now understand that confidence depends on your relationship with yourself and comes from within.
Exiting the forest, you feel revitalized, with a new perspective on your own ability to cultivate and sustain strong, solid, and consistent self-confidence. Just as you have visualized this path in the forest, you realize you can chart the path of your life with the same confidence and determination.
❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

Self-Esteem Text #1

Beneath the starry veil of our consciousness lies a secret garden where the seeds of our self-esteem bloom. Imagine, if you will, that each word of this text is a drop of morning dew, nurturing these delicate flowers with love and care. This garden is uniquely yours, wondrous and reflective of the inner beauty patiently waiting to reveal itself to the world.
In this garden, there's a path paved with luminous stones, each engraved with a positive affirmation about you, a hidden strength, an inner light. The first stone you pick up shines with a specific message: "I am worthy." Hold it for a moment, let this affirmation seep into your consciousness. "I am worthy" is not just a collection of words, but a truth resonating throughout your being.
As you continue your walk, you find another stone, warm and glowing to the touch. It bears the inscription: "My mistakes are my lessons." Looking at it, you realize that each mistake has been a step toward growth, a sign of your commitment to evolve and learn. Take a deep breath and let this understanding fill you with gratitude for your journey, for every fall that has made you stronger.
Further along, you discover a third stone, pulsing with a reassuring glow. "I deserve love and respect, from myself and others." Hold this thought close to your heart, as it is the key to unlocking a strong and solid self-esteem. This love and respect are the birthright of your unique and precious soul.
With each step, your confidence grows, fueled by these truths you've always known, and now feel within you.
As you advance, you also feel the gentle caress of the grass under your feet, a reminder that each step is an affirmation of your presence in this world, your birthright to shine and to deeply love who you are.
Let the whispers of the wind remind you of the songs of your soul, sweet and powerful melodies speaking of courage, compassion, and the wonderful ability to grow and thrive. Each breath of wind is an inner voice encouraging you, reminding you that you are capable, worthy, and remarkable.
At the heart of this garden lies a mirror of water, clear and tranquil. As you lean in to see your reflection, look not only at the surface of your being but dive deeper into your own eyes, into the soul that sparkles behind them. This reflection shows you not what you think you are, but what you truly are: a being of infinite beauty, wisdom, and worth.
Imagine now that each thought you choose to nourish is a light illuminating this secret garden, revealing brighter colors, sweeter scents, a deeper harmony. These thoughts, these lights, are the guardians of your self-esteem, beacons guiding your path through the shadows of doubt and uncertainty.
As you walk through this garden, let your fingers brush the petals of the flowers, each touch a reminder of the tenderness with which you can treat yourself. Each flower is a part of you, a quality, a dream, an aspect of your being that deserves to be seen, honored, and celebrated.
And when the time comes to leave this secret garden, take with you the light, peace, and strength you have found there. Let them be constant companions on your journey, stars that illuminate your path, anchors that remind you of the beauty and power of your own self-esteem.
Thus, share with the world the poem of your being, an ode to the strength, resilience, and self-love that resides in each of us. For by recognizing and celebrating our own worth, we invite others to do the same, creating together a symphony of light that illuminates the darkest corners of our world so that even these may be filled with light.
❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜

Self-Esteem Text #2

Visualize yourself at the heart of a dense and vibrant forest, where each tree tells a story of growth, resilience, and self-discovery. Imagine that you are one of these majestic trees, your roots deeply embedded in the nurturing soil, drawing strength and stability from your very essence. Your branches, tall and proud, reach towards the sky, symbolizing your aspirations, dreams, and immense potential.
In this forest of existence, every leaf of your being captures sunlight, transforming it into vital energy. This light represents the awareness of your unique value, a light that shines brightly through life’s seasons.
Now visualize a source of clear, pure water at your core. This source is your internal reservoir of self-esteem, fed by the streams of your successes, efforts, and passions. Each drop of water reflects the light of your soul, creating a rainbow of possibilities. As you drink from this water, with each sip, you feel stronger, more confident, and at peace with yourself.
As seasons pass, you watch the leaves of your doubts fall, one by one, making way for new sprouts of confidence and self-love. You realize that each fallen leaf is a lesson learned, each new sprout a victory over the shadows of the past.
There, in the tranquility of this forest, you find a mirror leaning against a tree. Looking into this mirror, you see not just your reflection, but the essence of who you truly are: an admirable, resilient being, worthy of love and respect.
As you leave this forest, carry with you the certainty that your self-esteem depends on what is already within you, on the depth of your roots, the height of your branches, and the clarity of your inner source. Remember that you are the master of this forest, the guardian of your soul, and that your inner light is eternal.
Read these words and let them guide you toward a robust internal self-esteem, perfectly and enduringly anchored. For, like the majestic tree of the forest, you possess everything necessary to grow, thrive, and radiate.
❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜
And as you radiate, remember to communicate your feelings, needs, and the solutions to ensure these needs are respected.
Thank you for what you do for the animals! I love you!

Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
• Subway, Samsung, Swarovski, and other PPL
  
• A Kim Tan Worthy Sweater^TM and more!
  

Share your love or frustration or rage or annoyance or amusement at seeing these things. You are not limited currently airing Kdramas or even Kdramas at all but please be mindful of spoilers.
Please remember to use spoiler tags when discussing major plot points or anything you think should be redacted. If you are using Markdown and not Fancy Pants Editor, the easiest way to create spoiler tags is to use > ! spoiler content ! < without spaces to get spoiler content. For more detailed guidance on spoiler tags and when to use them, check our Spoiler Tags Tutorial.
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“It's me, Brianna. Not you.”
That's what my latest boyfriend told me before walking directly into the path of a truck. There was barely anything of him, just enough to peel off of the sidewalk. I thought our relationship was going well. It's not like I'm desensitised to my boyfriend's dying (or ceasing to exist), but it's almost become the norm.
Ben was my first boyfriend in high school, and my longest relationship to date. Fluffy haired Ben with his dimpled grin and freckles. He was the type of guy who should have been popular, but chose to keep to himself.
I met him in the principal’s office. Ben was being lectured for ‘sneaking around’ and I was handing in a late assignment. All he did was wink at me, and I fell.
Hard.
We dated for two years, and I really thought he was the one. Ben told me he loved me, and every Friday he introduced me to a new restaurant. I was in love. I loved *everything about him.
On the night before our senior prom, a drunk driver t-boned my boyfriend's car, killing him instantly. After his funeral, it's like he stopped existing. His parents left town, and every time I mentioned him, my parents would slowly tilt their heads and act confused when I brought him up.
My brother was the worst for it, considering he and Ben were best friends.
But he just looked at me with this weird fucking look in his eye, like his soul had been ripped out. Eyes are the windows to the soul, apparently, and my brother's soul was MIA. “Ben?” His expression crumpled. “Wait, who?”
Alex was my emotional support, who later became someone closer.
Funny Alex.
Blonde-but-not-quite-blonde, Alex.
I met him in group therapy. My boyfriend was dead, and he had just lost his mother. We didn't label it, because he had a girlfriend, and I didn't want to move on so quickly. I think we just found comfort in each other.
Eventually, though, Alex became something I wanted to label.
His sense of humor was a breath of fresh air. I didn't go to college because of Ben’s death, settling for a mediocre barista stop in town. Alex came in every day with fresh coffee and a sugar cookie. I think I loved him. I told him that. Half asleep, I told him I wanted to try and be something more with him. Alex looked taken-aback, but happy.
We spent the night together.
The morning after, I woke to my mother screaming.
Alex was dead in the bathroom, his blood splattering, staining pristine white. According to the first responders, he died of a self inflicted head injury. The exact same thing followed. I attended his funeral, and Alex’s family disappeared.
This time, I went back to his house. But according to a neighbour, his house had been abandoned for ten years. I had eaten pancakes in his kitchen just days earlier.
I broke in to see myself, but my neighbor was right. The hallway was piled with ancient mail and threats of eviction. Alex’s room didn't exist, instead, a storage room filled with boxes.
When I got home, my family had already forgotten Alex’s existence.
The town had forgotten him, and yet his blood still stained my bathroom.
Following Alex’s death, I was terrified of getting too close to people.
But Esme made it hard.
She was my third relationship. We met at a bar. I was extremely drunk and convinced I was cursed to kill all of my romantic partners. Esme. Cute Esme. Crooked teeth and smudged lipstick and warm Esme.
Do you know that person you meet and you instantly connect with them? The person you're sure is your soulmate?
That was Esme.
I told myself I wouldn't get close to her. But I was already talking to this girl, already pouring my life out to her. Esme sat and listened, her chin resting on her fist. She was a first year creative writing student, and she had a cat called Peanut.
I didn't remember much after that. We hit it off, and next thing I know we’re curled up in the back of her car watching Buffy on her iPad. I told her about my exes, and she nodded and smiled, but I don't think she was listening.
I told her all of my exes have died, and then been erased from existence.
Esme called me cute. She wanted to base a story around the concept, sitting up and grabbing her phone.
I have this memory of the girl I fell in love with at first sight.
She's nodding along to a Smith’s song spluttering from my car radio, typing on her phone. I can hear the tapping of her nails, her lips curving into a smile. I can see the exact moment she gets inspiration, pulling her knees to her chest. She's wearing fishnet tights that are torn, and a jacket that doesn't fit her.
She is fucking beautiful, and I don't want to lose her.
Alex was beautiful.
He had pretty eyes and brown curls that I liked running my hands through. Ben was beautiful. He made my heart swim, my stomach swarm with butterflies, when I first met him. Ben was my first love.
The realization woke me up one night, three months into dating Esme.
Both of them were dead, wiped away like they never existed.
And Esme would follow.
At first, I tried to break it off with her without sounding crazy. I told her it was me not her, and I wasn't in the mindset for a relationship.
Esme understood, but her eyes didn't. I didn't want to lose her. Esme lit up every room she entered. Her obsession with thrifted clothes and badly written poems, and her irrational fear of pandas, made her someone I wanted to be with.
So, I stayed with her. I told myself Ben and Alex were just coincidences that were nothing to do with me, and I wasn't indirectly fucking killing the people I fell in love with.
I avoided the ‘L’ word for as long as I could.
It slipped out on my way to work. Esme was driving.
I just said it, and her eyes lit up. She reached out and squeezed my hand.
At work, one of my colleagues, Jasper, caught my eye. When I twisted around to ask him to grab something, I glimpsed his phone screen. It looked like Tinder, though I didn't recognise the layout. It reminded me of Twitter, in dark mode. Jasper was leaning against the counter, his thumb hovering over a photo of Esme, chewing his bottom lip.
I watched his thumb prance across the screen, before he gave up and swiped left.
Finishing up the woman's coffee, I handed it over.
“Uhh, I asked for cream.”
Ignoring her, I sidled in front of my colleague, hyper focused on whatever app he was playing around with. “What's that?”
Jasper looked up, his eyes widening, lips parting, like a fucking goldfish.
“Clearly nothing.” Jasper side-stepped me, opening the refrigerator and pulling out milk. But he already had milk. The bastard was stalling. We had zero customers waiting, so it was the two of us, and a long, dragged out pause.
Jumping up and down on the heels of his feet, he shot me his usual grin, slipping his phone in his apron.
Jasper may have been smiling, though there was something twisted in his expression.
I couldn't stop myself. “Was that a dating app?”
“Dating app?”
“Excuse me, can I get what I ordered?” The woman demanded, waving her coffee in the air. “I asked for whipped cream.”
Jasper saw that as an excuse, an escape, and nodded, fashioning a grin. He saw an opportunity, and took it. “Of course, Ma’am! I'll get that for you!” He said, with a little too much sarcasm. The boy took her coffee with a spring in his step, ducking in the refrigerator for the whipping cream. Jasper added too much whipping cream, dumping the drink on the counter with a little too much force.
It was a good thing my colleague was marginally attractive guy with cropped blonde hair, and a deadpan voice that somehow attracted the ladies.
Jasper could insult someone directly to their face, and they would just blush and get all tongue tied. I had seen it happen in real time. A girl was flirting with him, and used a bad pick-up line, which was something along the lines of, “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?”
He laughed, and her eyes brightened. She giggled along with him, nudging her friends.
But he wasn't laughing with her. I saw the gleam in his eye.
He was laughing at her.
Still laughing, Jasper plonked her milk latte down so hard half of it spewed out.
And, with that exact same charming smile, he deadpanned, “Did it hurt when you dropped out of a drainpipe?”
Yeah, my colleague was blessed with good looks.
Otherwise, he would have been punched in the face by now.
Presently, he was being his usual asshole self. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
The woman shook her head, pulling a face.
Jasper had, essentially, ruined her drink. It was more cream than coffee.
When she left the store, I situated myself in front of him when he was counting cash. “What were you just looking at?” I nodded to the guy’s phone sticking out of his pocket. “Was it like… a dating thing you were on?”
Jasper didn't even look at me, his lip curling.
“That's kinda rude,” he hummed, “I don't peek at your phone.”
“Esme Hope.” Was all I could hiss out. “Was she on that dating app?”
My colleague proceeded to stare at me like I'd grown a second head, before his half lidded gaze flicked behind me. Jasper’s expression brightened.
“Oh, Hanna is calling me!” He said, choking out a laugh. Hanna was not calling him. She was in the break room getting high. Jasper slowly backed away, maintaining his smile. “I'll be back in a sec, all right?” He grabbed that same carton of milk with a grin. “Don't you just love when your milk stays fresh?”
“What?”
“Fresh milk!” He grinned. “Mulberry Farm’s finest.”
Jasper was darting away before I could coerce a sentence.
After work, I texted Esme as usual. She was my ride on Fridays.
Esme didn't reply.
I texted her again, a little more panicked.
Hey, are you okay?”
When I called her, an automated voice told me she wasn't available.
Already feeling sick to my stomach, I drove to her place myself. I could see the flashing lights before anything else, blurred red and blue sending my thoughts into a whirlwind. It took me ten minutes to muster the courage to jump out of my car, and ask a pale looking deputy what was going on.
I tried to jump over the yellow tape, only to be politely pulled back.
“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” the deputy told me. “The whole family is dead.” he sighed. “Mom, Dad, and their daughter in college.” I think he was trying to be sympathetic, awkwardly patting me. But I was already on my knees, all of the breath dragged from my lungs. “Luckily, it's just like going to sleep. Monoxide is a silent killer.”
Monoxide is a silent killer.
Was that the same as, “I'm sorry. Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
And, “Alex was silently suffering. He did what he thought was best.”
I didn't go to Esme’s funeral. Mom and Dad and Will had already forgotten her, just like the others. What I did do, several days later, when her name wasn't even a memory anymore– I bought flowers from the store. Roses were Esme’s favourite.
The seller was around my Mom’s age, a plump looking woman wearing a floral dress, long red hair tied into a ponytail. She was on her phone, humming to a tune on the radio.
The Smiths.
“I hope she likes them.” The woman said, wrapping the flowers in red ribbons. She had a strong southern accent that immediately annoyed me.
I took the roses, stuffing them in my bag. “What did you say?”
The seller cocked her head. “Hmm?”
“How did you know they were for my girlfriend?”
The woman sighed, placing her phone on the counter. I glanced at whatever she'd been so interested in, but the screen was faced down. “Esme came in here a lot,” Her lips broke out into a sad, sympathetic smile. I was quickly growing sick of them.
“Esme. She, uh, she told me you guys were dating. Esme was always buying roses for her room. Sometimes she would stand in here for hours, and just stare at flowers. I think she found comfort in them.” The woman sighed, fixing me with what I could only describe as a pitiful pout.
Urgh.
“I hope you can find the same comfort,” she murmured. The seller handed me an extra rose, and I found myself reaching out for it, my eyes stinging. Fuck.
I hadn't cracked in at least fifteen hours, and that was a record. But now I could feel myself splintering, tears trickling down my cheeks. The Flower lady squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If it makes you feel better, it's just like going to sleep. Monoxide is a silent killer.” Her words were familiar.
Exactly what the deputy said. Before I could speak, she dumped weed killer on the counter. “Did you know our plant killer is ten dollars ninety nine?”
Her sudden bout of energy took me off guard.
I tried to smile. “I don't want any plant killer.”
The seller nodded, handing me another rose. “Oh, of course, Darling! But it is five ninety nine! Just for today!”
Something pricked me, and I hissed out, wafting my hand.
Damn thorns. I could already see a single spot of blood.
I nodded, sucking my teeth against a cry. “Thanks. But I'll skip it this time.”
I took the roses to what used to be Esme’s grave. Now, it was an empty headstone with no name, no memories, no flowers, nothing. Just like Alex and Ben, Esme had been reduced to dirt under my feet. I stayed at her ‘grave’ for a long time, long enough for the sky to grow dark, and my thoughts darker. I tried to find a logical explanation for the sudden deaths of the people I got close to, but all I could think of was a curse.
So, I started googling curses, leaning against Esme’s headstone, my knees to my chest. Had I been cursed?
Was my family cursed?
According to Google, a cursed object connected with the curse itself.
Which could be anything. Though I didn't remember visiting any ancient ruins, or an old church. With zero answers, I headed home. I passed a guy playing The Smiths in his car. Then a group of older women wearing ripped fishnets.
Esme was following me. Just like Alex’s smell. Fresh coffee and rich chocolate.
Ben’s cologne filled my car last summer. His favourite band was playing all day on our local music station. I drove around with no destination, listening to each one on repeat, until I was losing him all over again.
The sweet aroma of flowers followed me all the way home, and I was tipsy on the smell, when I found myself face to face with a boy. Under the overexposed streetlight, this guy was almost ethereal, thick brown hair and freckles.
He reminded me of Ben. Which wasn't fair. I thought I was hallucinating him, before he came closer, bleeding from the shadow. I saw more of him, white strips of something wrapped around his head.
Wrong.
The word slammed into me when I glimpsed his clothes. Filthy. The guy was wearing a white button down, a single streak of bright red ingrained into the material. His white pants were torn, glued to his legs.
He was barefoot, the soles of his feet slapping on wet concrete.
I didn't realize he was in front of me, nose to nose, until he shoved me. Hard.
“Josie.” His voice was a whimper, despite his narrowed eyes, his lips twisted into a scowl. He was crying, and had been crying, every heaving son sputtering from his mouth. The boy shoved me again, and I staggered. His ice cold breath grazed my cheeks. “What the fuck did you do to my sister?”
“Sister?” I whispered.
Something wet landed on my cheek, suddenly.
Rain.
I wasn't expecting a downpour. The weather was forecasted to be clear.
To my surprise, the guy let out a harsh sounding laugh. The two of us were slowly getting drenched, but neither of us were making a move to get out of the rain. My hair was glued to the back of my neck, my clothes sticking to me.
But somehow, I wanted to stay in the rain. It was refreshing.
When a thought hit me, telling me to get out of the rain, it was shoved to the back of my mind. The guy spat water out of his mouth, shaking his head like a dog.
“Of course,” he muttered, “Drown me out with the rain.”
I found my voice, my gaze glued to intense red seeping through the bandage stapled to his head. He looked like he’d escaped an emergency room. “I don't know anyone called Josie,” I said, “I think you've got the wrong person.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, grabbing my shoulders, and I noticed how hollow his eyes were, empty caverns carved into his skull. Eyes are the windows to the soul, and this guy was completely soulless. “I'm only going to say this once,” he whispered, “What did you do to my sister?”
Before I could respond, the guy was being violently grabbed, and dragged back.
Figures who appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
“Let me go!” He cried out, struggling. “You fucking assholes! Let me go!”
His screaming became muffling, when his cries were gagged.
“You promised!” He yelled, his cries collapsing into a sob. “You said if you took me, she wouldn't get hurt! So, where is she?” he met my gaze, his expression crumpling, something inside him coming apart, splintering by the seams. “You can't take both of us, this wasn't in the agreement!” When he was dragged further back, I noticed a car parked at the side of the road.
The boy was pulled inside. At first, he refused, before an extra pair of hands shoved him. “You fucking– mmmphmmhphmmm!”
I heard his fists slamming into the windows.
“Don't take me back there! Please! Just let Josie–” His cries once again collapsed into angry muffle screaming, and I felt my hands moving towards my pocket for my phone. This was a kidnapping, right? I was witnessing a kidnapping in broad fucking daylight.
A shadow was suddenly in front of me, and I jumped, tearing my eyes from the car. Jasper, my colleague. He was still wearing his apron, and to my confusion, was swinging a carton of whole milk.
“Sorry, Bree,” He winked, speaking in a single breath. “As you can see, our friend here had a little too much to drink.”
I nodded, craning my neck. Jasper stepped in front of me, maintaining a grin.
“Who is he?” This time, I side-stepped away from him, only for him to copy.
“Just a guy.” He said. “As you can see, he's a little…” Jasper prodded his right temple. “Let's just say he's got a few too many screws loose.” Jasper laughed, staying stock still, blocking my way.
When I made a move to counter him, he stepped in front of me, his eyes hardening. “I heard he lost his family a while ago in a…” He pretended to think. “Oh, yeah, a car crash. Maybe a gas explosion, I’m not really sure.”
I could hear the car behind him, and once again I tried to dart past him. But he was quick to block my way. He was getting closer to me, very subtly backing me in the opposite direction.
“Anyway, this guy is kiiiiind of nuts. Dude still thinks he's got a sister.”
When I lost patience and shoved him out of the way, the car, and the guy, was gone.
“See?” Jasper rolled his eyes. He was still holding milk from work. My head spun. It was 8pm, we were in a suburban neighbourhood, and Jasper was holding half a pint of milk. His apron was stained with coffee, and when I really looked at him, I realized he was out of breath.
He was doing a good job of hiding it, exhaling in intervals, swiping at his forehead to clear sweat. When I noticed, he pretended to run his hands through his hair. “I, uh, I feel for him! Like, I'm sorry his family died, or whatever, but attacking random girls isn't cool, y’know?”
Instead of replying, I stumbled home. It was sunny.
At 8pm.
And when I took notice, I wasn't even wet.
Esme was my last straw. I made a promise to myself to not get close to anyone. The guys and girls I met were friends, and nothing more. Weirdly enough, the only guy I was getting close to was my colleague. I don't know if it was brain damage, or I was finally losing the plot.
But Jasper’s shameless cruelty towards customers, and that quirk in his lips when he made them cry, was kind of hot.
However, he was playing hard to get.
And I mean REALLY playing.
I was in storage trying to find vegan milk, and he was suddenly a fucking expert, spewing milk facts.
When I slammed the refrigerator door shut, he was inches from my face.
In the dim light from a single spluttering bulb, his eyes reminded me of coffee grounds. I thought maybe he was going to kiss me, judging from his softening expression. I felt his hands go around my waist, and I felt myself immediately melt.
I don't know what came over me. It's like, one minute I hated him, and the next… I was suddenly hot. Really hot. And I really wanted to take my clothes off. I thought that's what he wanted to do too.
I mean, his gaze followed mine, piercing, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt. Before he leaned forward, his breath in my face.
“Did you know that Mulberry Farms is an award winning brand of milk in our town and ONLY our town? Mulberry farms was bred and made right here."
And suddenly, I was no longer hot and bothered.
“I didn't.” I said, ducking into a crouch to search the shelves. “Have you seen our vegan milk? We did have some.”
“Three time winner,” Jasper continued. When I jumped up, he stepped closer, and I felt my cheeks spark. His smile was rare. In fact, Jasper was only smiling when he was talking about milk.
“Mulberry Farms have the best pasturization. It's suitable for everything! Coffee, cereal, or maybe you just want a glass of fresh milk to yourself! Perfect for kids, too! Breakfast time is Mulberry Farms.”
“Are you having a stroke?” I whisper-shrieked.
“Nope!”
Jasper twisted around, shooting me a grin.
I left the storage, however, with butterflies in my gut.
There was no way I was falling for my asshole colleague.
Somehow, though, I was.
Just standing next to him filled me with electricity.
The way he talked down to customers, insulting me to my face… I was thoroughly, and disgustingly, in love.
I tried to stop myself.
I showered in ice cold water.
I ate (choked on) a ghost pepper.
I even asked my BROTHER for advice, who told me to go for it.
I told him Jasper had one (of several) flaws, but this particular one was off-putting.
“He’s obsessed with milk.” I told my brother.
Harry lifted a brow. “Is that a euphemism, or…”
He paused, for way longer than necessary. “So, your would-be-boyfriend has a milk fetish?”
I left his room before he could take that conversation further.
I wanted to say Jasper was the only one who acted weird.
But over the next few weeks, I noticed it in quite a few people.
I was having breakfast with Mom, and she lifted up the box.
“Choco Flakes.” She blurted, “Aren't they just the best?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, Mom. They're great.”
I prodded the box with a smile. “Only a dollar ninety nine.”
There were so many townspeople on their phones. They walked around with groceries or briefcases, their eyes glued to whatever they were swiping through.
I was serving an old woman, when I caught her phone screen.
I could have sworn there was an image of Jasper.
She swiped right, and I had a hard time looking her in the eye.
The woman was at least in her 80’s. And I'm talking, can barely walk, and needs assistance.
Was she seriously hitting up 25 year old guys?
Walking home, everyone was on their phones.
I stopped at a crossing, stabbing the red light.
It started to snow the second I stepped out onto the road, white flakes dancing in front of me. It didn't even cross my mind that it was almost June. The snow was pretty, accumulating on the ground.
“Oh shit, sorry!”
Lifting my head, a guy was standing in front of me holding an umbrella.
I knew him.
But not from whatever was trying to pollute my mind.
I knew him from a while ago. I knew him from the rain. I knew the bloody bandages wrapped around his head, and soulless, seething eyes I couldn't understand. It was the boy who was dragged away three months prior.
He looked different, his hair was shorter, his face carved into a thing of beauty.
The white strips of gauze bleeding scarlet were gone, his filthy clothes replaced with a white shirt and pants, a trench coat flung over the top. I didn't remember him being this handsome. His dark brown hair had been tamed and curled.
It was his expression that sent shivers sliding down my spine.
His too wide smile and unblinking eyes made me suddenly conscious of two bright lights on the two of us.
So bright.
Something shattered in my mind, and I was aware of a lot of things.
The snow under my feet was too soft.
I glimpsed a single streak of red seeping from his nose, his hands trembling around a takeout coffee cup.
Behind me, people were staring. I could see a group of teenage girls giggling.
“It's him,” one of them squeaked. “It's the new love interest!”
“Bree?” His grin widened, snowflakes prancing around us. His teeth gritted together. I could tell he hated every word. “Holy shit, long time no see!”
He held out his hand, and I could see visible pain contorting in his eyes.
Help me. He was screaming through a twinkling smile.
“Don't you remember me? It's… it's uh, it's Sam!” he laughed. “From eighth grade!”
The lights blinked out, and the thought crashed into my mind. Static images filling my head. I shook them away.
Oh, yeah, it was Sam.
My childhood friend.
But I didn't reply. Instead of saying, “Sam? It's been so long!” I found myself walking, stumbling over to the girls.
Who were rapidly swiping left on their phones.
“What's that?” I demanded in a sharp breath.
I grabbed for the phone, only for Sam to step in front of me. He settled me with a smile.
Behind me, one of the girls fainted.
Sam’s smile didn't waver. Though he did side-eye the girl being carried away. “Why don't I take you out for coffee?”
Apparently, coffee was the code word for hooking up.
Sam dragged me into the nearest coffee store, straight to the bathroom.
When he shoved me into a stall, I didn't know what to say.
“Take off your shoes,” he said in a hiss, and after hesitating, I did.
Sam pulled off his jacket, shook snow out of his hair, and got real close.
“Look up.” He murmured.
I did, my gaze finding the ceiling.
“To your right, a camera is very well hidden, but can be seen with the naked eye if you catch what looks like a red laser,” Sam said. “To your left, another camera, as well as a vent that is currently pumping the stalls with aphrodisiacs. And right now, we are in the red zone. Meaning, you should be conscious.”
He prodded me, and I flinched.
“Mostly conscious.”
His words went right over my head, my mind was foggy.
I couldn't think straight.
I think I asked him what he was saying, but my mouth was filled with cotton.
“Snap out of it,” he said, “Like I said, they're making you feel like this.”
He shoved me against the door, which broke me out of my trance. Slightly.
“I hate what I'm going to say right now,” Sam groaned, tipping his head back. He was sweating, I noticed. Bad. I glimpsed beads of red pooling down his neck. He noticed me staring. “I'm okay, for now. I’m faulty, so the connection is severed. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I…think.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sex.” He said, blinking rapidly. I wasn't going to comment on his slurring voice.
Sam stumbled, fresh blood dripping from his nose.
“We need to do the sex. Like…” His eyes rolled into the back of his head, but he managed to stabilise himself. “Nooooow.”
“What?!”
“Is everything okay in there?”
The voice was a woman. She knocked on the stall.
Sam’s eyes widened, coming back to life a little. “They're paranoid,” he whispered. When I could only stare at him, he pounded his fists into the door. “They think we’re fucking,” he hissed, “So, we need to make it believable.”
“They?” I mouthed.
He didn't reply, swiping at his haemorrhaging nose. “Just… move around against the door. That'll fool ‘em.”
I did, doing my best to shuffle around, slamming my back against the lock.
When the metal clanged, he shot me a look. “Sex!” He hissed, “Not murder!”
Sam jumped onto the toilet bowl. There was an open window above him.
“That's enough.” He mouthed, hoisting his way through.
He helped me through, and I expected to land on concrete.
What I did land on, however, was something… squishy.
Something wet sliding between my bare toes.
Looking closer, I recognised the beaded anklet.
Fishnet tights.
Something animalistic clawed from my throat. I was standing on Esme. Or what was left of Esme. She was just a torso and legs, the rest of her ripped away like doll pieces. I couldn't see her face. I looked for it, digging through what could only be old flesh and pieces of limbs.
I felt suffocated. I grabbed half of Ben’s face that had been ripped off, and then Alex’s tattooed arm. There was so much of them, piles and piles of the same heads, the same filthy and rotting clothes. I was screaming by the time I shuffled back on my hands and knees, trying to wipe them off of my skin.
They were all over me, staining me, painting me.
Sam’s hand slick with blood gently covered my mouth.
“Stay calm, all right?” He whispered. “I would tell you everything is going to be okay, but the truth is, it's really not, there's like, a 99.9% chance you're going to… understandably freak out.”
He pulled me to my feet, letting out a heavy breath.
Blinking rapidly, I could only see… pieces.
Pieces of people.
Legs and heads and torsos all piled into one mass of gore.
“We’ve got maybe five minutes before they realize we’re not doing the devil's dance,” Sam sniffled, “Maybe ten, before my brain short circuits and I bleed out.”
I didn't know I was hyperventilating, until I couldn't fucking breathe.
Closer towards the door, and I could hear… machinery.
I couldn't stop myself. Even when I was aware I was standing in congealing blood.
Rotten bodies.
The dim light led me into what could only be described as a factory. There were three levels, and we were on the highest. Sam stepped forward, gripping the metal bar in front of us. I felt my legs buckling, a thick, pukey slime filling my mouth.
“Soo, I guess it all started when Brianna Timberman was seventeen years old, and rejected by her childhood best friend, Sam Thwaites.”
Sam’s words collapsed into a low buzzing in my ear.
All I could see was a conveyer belt, filled with… people.
Boys.
Girls.
But most noticeably, Ben’s, Alex’s, Esme’s, and Sam’s.
But they start as Ben’s, Alex's, and Esme’s.
I could see regular people, their hair stripped away.
Their skin sliced into, cruelly moulding them into the exact same four faces.
When a large looming needle plunged into the back of an Alex’s head, I couldn't not watch. I waited for the guy to wake up, but I don't even think he was alive.
He stood, unblinking, letting this thing twist and contort his face. And it was then, when I realized these things weren't even human. I could see the mechanics built under their flesh, both living tissue and metal melded together. “Brianna’s father, who is a liiiitle on the crazy side, with too much cash and not not enough logic, took his daughter’s rejection a little too personally,” Sam continued.
“So, he promised his daughter he would find her the perfect match.”
I started to speak, the words coming out before I could stop them.
“My father would never–”
“I didn't say it was your father,” Sam said. His eyes darkened. “Anyway, as I was saying, the townspeople became unhealthily obsessed with who Brianna would choose. So obsessed, in fact, that the girl’s day to day life was broadcasted across town, while her potential love interests were ranked, week after week. First, there was Ben.”
Sam’s smile thinned. “Her high school boyfriend.”
Sam shrugged. “She grew bored of him. Also, he kinda did something unforgivable.”
He continued. “Then… Alex. She liked him, but sometimes, he was a little too unserious. The guy was a clown.”
I backed away, but he was quick to grab my shoulders.
“Finally? Esme. Who she truly fell for.”
I swallowed. “Esme is–”
He cut me off. “But I didn't mention that they hurt her, did I?”
Sam leaned against the bar. Behind him, I could see a figure in white pushing a gurney with a Ben strapped to it. “Ben tried to rape her, insisting she wanted it. Alex dumped her on her birthday. Esme ended their relationship with a one word text. Goodbye.” Sam mimed an explosion. “That was the nail in the coffin.”
I caught blood sliding down his nose. “You're still bleeding.”
Sam gingerly prodded his nose.
“Urgh. Yeah, it's an effect of the severing. I've been in the red zone too long. I should probably speed this up.”
He talked faster, his voice collapsing into a mumbled slur.
“Brianna couldn't take it. Her best friend was ignoring her. Everyone she had fallen in love with hurt her. Esme wasn't returning her calls. Ben was sleeping around right in front of her, and Alex was still being a clown. Brianna’s poor parents found her hanging from her bedroom ceiling fan.”
I shook my head, my thoughts screaming.
“No–”
He held a finger up to shush me. “Let me talk. Jeez.”
Sam folded his arms. “A grieving father would do anything to avenge his dead child, buuut… Mr Timberman took ‘finding a perfect match’ and ‘the show must go on’ a little bit too literally.”
His sickly smile found me. “Which also means going stark fucking crazy. The town wanted more of Brianna, and her life, so he turned his daughter’s failed love life into a town wide TV show, sending the entire teen and young adult populace into here,” he gestured around him. “To make the perfect suitors. Who wouldn't hurt his new Brianna.”
Something ice cold crept down my spine.
He cleared his throat. “Mr Timberman grew, let's say, obsessed, with getting revenge on these specific four people. So, he started killing them–” He coughed.
“Sorry. Us. Killing us for the funny ha-ha, ‘Look at how many times I can fuck with them!’ bit. And then recycling us into someone completely different. Our names are gone. Then our personalities. Finally, our bodies ripped to pieces and sculpted into Brianna’s exes.” Sam poked me in the cheek.
“The cycle continues. They reset your ticker and the town eats it up. They can bring back Esme, Ben, and Alex whenever they want and add curveballs. Like the bad-boy colleague who becomes the fan favorite.” Sam’s lips curved. “For… some fucking reason.”
His eyes flickered open. “However, Brianna will never find a suitor because her father is a fucking sociopath. To him and the town, his dead daughter’s pathetic love life is entertainment.”
He held out his arm.
“See?”
I tried really hard not to look through the makeup.
At noticeable skin grafts.
“I was a Ben.” He said. “Then I was an Alex, and then I was an extra.” His eyes found mine, sad, suddenly. “But who I was originally is kinda gone. All I remember is a deal to protect Josie. I gave myself up so they wouldn't take her.”
“Your sister.” I said.
Sam nodded.
His earlier words hit me. He was talking like Brianna Timberman was dead.
But I was Brianna Timberman.
I was rejected by Sam, yes, but I found Ben.
As if he could read my mind, Sam shook his head.
“Look at yourself.” He said, his voice shaking.
“And I mean really look at yourself.”
Sam stepped closer.
“Because, underneath all of that make-up and the prosthetics and surgery, and fucked up memories, you're just another recycled lump of flesh.” He prodded my temple. “Who thinks she is Brianna Timberman.”
His voice was slurring again, a fresh stream of scarlet seeping down his chin.
“Don't you want to know?” His eyes rolled to pearly whites.
Before he could finish his sentence, Sam dropped to the ground.
I remember warm arms grasping hold of me.
Shadows with no faces.
They pricked me twice in the back of my neck.
A familiar voice in my ear, almost a hiss.
Jasper.
“You are the worst fucking Brianna.”
When I came to, I was standing up, somehow.
At work.
I am Brianna Timberman.
The thought floated around in my head, my memory hazy.
“Hello?!”
A man was waving his hands in front of me.
“I asked for iced coffee, lady!”
Jasper was serving another customer. “Bree, wake the fuck up.”
They were trying to make me think I was hallucinating.
Which was crazy, because my fingernails were still tinted with Sam’s blood.
The marks he'd left on my wrist when he was yanking me, were still there.
Bruised on my arm.
“Bree!” Jasper snapped. “Snap out of it and make the dude his drink.”
“Right.”
The word slipped out of my mouth.
He caught my eye, winking, and Brianna Timberman internally squeaked.
I half wondered what he was. Was he recycled, or an unwilling performer?
Throughout the day, I was fully aware my words were not mine.
Like I was on autopilot.
But not just that.
My thoughts weren't mine, either.
I spent half of my shift staring at my colleague’s biceps.
During my break, I went into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror.
I am Brianna Timberman.
But even when I told myself that, my eyes were too blue.
My smile was too perfect.
My teeth.
Too white.
My shaking hands prodded at my face, at someone else's face.
So many faces, so many skin grafts.
The thought was violent, sending tremors through me.
How many people was I wearing?
I started to claw at my arms and legs, my face.
How many fucking people had I been?
I grabbed a knife and tried to slice at my face.
But there was no blood.
How could there be no blood?!
When I got home, I found my family waiting for me.
Mom, Dad and Harry, all of them beaming.
“Bree!” Mom stood up, her lips stretching into a grin.
My mouth was already moving, but they were not my words.
“Mom!”
I didn't know why she was smiling so much, until I saw Sam sitting at our dining room table. His smile was too big. His over-expensive shirt and pants did not suit him, and looked fucking gross, but somehow my brain thought it was hot. The worst part is, I couldn't and still can't tell which Sam he was.
Was he the guy who told me the horrific reality of my existence?
Or was he another recycled, mindless suitor?
“This is Samuel.” Mom said, and Sam slowly stood.
He took slow steps towards me, and kissed my hand.
I saw the slightest smudge of scarlet in his lip, but his eyes were blank.
In the corner of my eye, my ‘father’s’ eyes were glittering.
“Hello, Brianna.” Sam said, and I swore Now that I was awake, the walls were wolf-whistling. Laughing.
"Ooooooooooooooo!”
My town is a blip on the map.
We’re so small, so insignificant, not even a Google search will find us.
I keep thinking if I tear at my skin, I will find who I am underneath. But I'm so fucking scared. I don't bleed. I don't think who I was still exists under so many layers. But even if this is just a cry into the void, please help us.
I don't want to be Brianna Timberman.

I don't know why I had trouble finding this sub earlier. With Abuse locked, and AITA excluding violence, I wasn't sure where to go for more perspective and advice. I swear I still remember calling the Domestic Abuse hotline and being told how their services and advice are more geared towards Spousal situations... but I also remember the first time I called them, after being recommended them by my work ERP, and how all of the symptoms of what I'm going through point directly point towards an abusive situation.
This is hard to work through, so I'm gonna just repost something I already posted in /AITAH. But I'd be happy to post any additional information; I'd do just about anything to get through what I'm currently dealing with.
I'm about to be 33 years old, male. I'm adopted since birth, and I've lived my whole life with my family so far. I have clinical depression and chronic anxiety, to the point of extreme intrusive thoughts and That kind of ideation.
My parents both come from horrible families themselves. Going into the military was a blessed relief for each of them from what I know of their pasts. They met each other, got married, and eventually adopted my siblings and then me.
Mom is a fixer. And regardless of everything that happens, I love her. She has always had my back, always been in my corner, always bent over backwards or fought for me. When I was younger, we used to struggle a bit here and there in regards to some moments, but once we realized how badly the entire family had been ignorant in regards to mental health, and started trying to be willing to talk about our different perspectives while being civil, our connection has never been stronger. Or at least I'd like to say that, and I'd like to keep it that way.
The man who I will keep calling Dad, for lack of a better term... is not the worst man in the world. He paid for things growing up. He's present for a decent amount. We had some bonds over video games and dragon ball and godzilla. There was love there. And Mom has made it clear that love is still there, at least from her point of view. She says he's gotten better, and the problems aren't as frequent, true.
But for me, the negatives have started eclipsing the positives in my memory. Particularly as my problems started manifesting while I struggled with life, and my opinions stopped being so simple. Particularly politically, where they come from a different time, and I couldn't be more opposed to them.
With Mom, we can still talk and honor each other's right to have differences.
With Dad, because of his past and mind, he doesn't do well with opinions that don't match his own. Even when he's being civil, he'll give politician type answers to yes or no questions while never addressing the point. It makes him insufferable to talk to. And he hates being challenged. He gets shouty. He gets angry. He gets threatening.
I'm 6'2, 260lbs of mix between fat and muscle, with 2 permanent injuries and struggling with fitness. He's taller than me, a veteran, a former prison guard, and can still weight lift like double his weight in his old age.
When we've had disagreements, he gets terrifying. Looming over me while yelling with his deep voice; that's his go-to, but sometimes there's violence. Folk needing to wrestle him off me. Him punching me in the face. Chasing me down a hill while I was in crutches and on the phone. Busting down my barricaded door and screaming at me, then holding my dog (18 long years, RIP) by her neck when she (a rescue in and of herself) got between me and him and started barking at him.
The last time Mom and I talked, she mentioned that I shouldn't still be holding these against him, both that it's not good for me and because the relationships would never mend, particularly that I'm not blameless in regards to family drama. But I've never hit anyone. I've never threatened to kill anyone, regardless of the invasive voices. I've never said "I"M GONNA SQUEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU" while pressing my elbow into someone's neck, over a literal quarter.
I sincerely could be being too sensitive about this. It could be me not remembering enough of the good, and still being too bothered by the bad. Mom mentioned me hurting folk as well, so it's not like my emotional outbursts are that much better than his, even if I'm actively trying to deal with mine with antidepressants and trying to acknowledge and understand my behavior, and trying to avoid touchy subjects in general to help keep the peace.
Mother's day 2024; I come downstairs, read Mom a poem I came up with, and small talk is made. Eventually Mom jokes to me and my sister (who I also find troubling to talk with because she can be bitchy at times, though never to the point of intimidation and violence) that we should have married for money, not love, so that we'd have an easy life. I reply that I could never do so, particularly because I'm too ugly to do so, and the conversation shifts to recent therapy and my mental health, to which I say I have to battle with my lack of confidence every day.
To which Dad says "[my] problems are [my] choice". To which I start getting heated in the moment, and tell him "No, you're wrong." We both repeat, louder. He assumes his 'rearing Grizzly' stance, yelling "I'M NOT GOING TO ARGUE WITH YOU!", and after Mom tries to use Mother's day to coo him down, makes another scathing comment from the kitchen that I could hear.
I go upstairs, and when Mom follows me, I try to talk about other things. But she's determined to ask me if I hate him. I keep trying to dodge, and beg her not to push me into answering, to which she just confirms the unspoken and walks off.
Fully triggered, I try to leave before I make things worse, but when Dad tries to ask me not to go, I tell him to Fuck Off before just driving. Apparently while I was gone, he punched and broke a door in his rage that he still can't connect to me. And when Mom went to buy a new door, their truck hit a pole. And then when I come back, and she tries to talk to me, I scream at her. (I couldn't handle being told "Oh, it's okay. I don't deserve a mother's day because I didn't birth any of you.") Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.
While I was gone, the family called me almost 30 times. I wanted to leave, to de-stress, to get this venom in my arms to settle, to not lash out. I ended up calling multiple emergency phone numbers to try to vent. And I tried to go to the arcade to vent. Invasive thoughts about stabbing a family member? Terrible. Thoughts of shooting zombies for a few hours? Much better. But I couldn't at all relax and distract myself as Mom and sister wouldn't stop calling me.
Next day, Mom and I try to talk again. With her wanting me to find forgiveness and peace, even as I both despise him for these lows, and myself for this guilt I feel about the family dynamics. And we fail to reach a resolution, with her depression and my own only making each other worse. Thinking I wouldn't be allowed to leave the house to cool-down, I go upstairs, max out my music, and scream. A bit of floor slamming, but largely screaming as much as I can, to try force out the venom I can feel inside me. Understandably, Mom came up to stop the noise. Unfortunately, that noise was the only think suppressing my worst thoughts, and the feel of venom in my arms. Fortunately, Mom came back quick enough that my first (and hopefully only) scars are largely scratches that will fade. If anything, her pulling the work knife out of my hand nicked those fingers even worse. And understandably, even as her former Marine tried to force more conversation that day, I just remember feeling defeated inside. I contact as much of my support group as I can muster, take a sick day, and go to sleep.
Next morning, my therapist calls me, and we talk. And I share all of my feelings. All of this. Unfortunately, the appointment was later in the morning than normal, family were up and about in the living room, and I didn't realize they were basically all just listening. And they heard. Every. Word. Everything of this. Apparently I reduced Dad to tears, let alone offending everyone else.
For the second time in multiple days, I thought I was going to get kicked out. Mom did offer me my own place, but being trapped with my mixed feelings would make that a complete waste of money and effort. I'm basically just not on speaking terms with the family, and I feel like a Pariah.
To the point where after crying about it for an hour at work, I eventually sucked it up, called Mom, asked Dad to be on speaker, and suggested family counseling, at an attempt at an olive branch.
But isolated in my room away from everyone else (to the point of not even showering, eating, and largely not even touching my computer), and then at my next day of work, I've had time to think. Think about how these lows still keep happening. About how the schism between me and the family has always been growing politically. How previous therapists, emergency numbers, friends, coworkers, and the domestic abuse hotline, all say it's a cycle of (unintentional) abuse. How as is, I wouldn't take back like 90% of what I expressed because it feels true. How he also used to blow up on other people as well. How his senselessness can lead him to yelling at a 2nd Rescue Dog that barks too much. Or sending pictures of Tarantulas to a cousin with extreme mental illness (think drugs in the womb type mental troubles) as just casual texting.
But I also still feel guilty. Even with personality, interest, and political opinions differing, they do still try to care. I've been with them all my life. And it makes me feel horrible when they help by trying to cook or clean or anything, when the interpersonal relationships are so low.
And as much as I reflect on the lows being so unbearably low with him, I can't pretend they've been not as frequent, nor that I grew up 1000x better than how they did. My problems are first world as all hell, and plenty would kill to be as privileged as I am. This can not be understated. I don't think it justifies his behavior, but to say that it makes sense is at least fair.
And I want to stay connected, at least to Mom. And even if my sister and I don't have a really personal feeling relationship, I like being the cool uncle to one of my nephews. Teaching him about video games and sonic and dragon ball has been great. I don't want to let that go.
And as bad as his worsts have been... others don't even have their families. And others still have been hurt even worse by family, or outright thrown out by now, and similar...
I keep having these crying episodes. I'm struggling with mixed feelings of love and hate, indignation and guilt, and I don't know how to proceed from here.

The first flurries of snowflakes began to fall at Westbridge at about 0440 in the morning, seen only by the late night/early morning sentries. By the time the next watch came to relieve them at 0600, they were already halfway up to their knees in snow. By 0800 the watch had been moved indoors due to the hazardous conditions. “The blizzard is in full effect now, ma’am,” reported an adjutant to Major Emily Potts. “Very well, thank you,” Potts replied, signing the new plan of the day. Until further notice, there was to be no outdoor physical activity beyond that which was absolutely operationally necessary. PT was cancelled, including the newly-introduced swimming exercises that the boat crew personnel had been leading, and all sentries were moved indoors, standing watch in the corners of buildings overlooking the barriers that had been pushed across the gates. Transit through the town was exclusively by truck, Taurox, or Chimera now, and the motor pool was kept busy trying to keep the heaters running. The Newcastle was tied to the pier with doubled-up lines and the crew had walked out the anchor underfoot, just in case the lines didn’t hold her, while all the small motor boats they could find had been covered with heavy tarps to protect them. “Not quite the course of events I think any of us were expecting,” Potts commented to Commissar Lion as she walked back into the command center from her office. “But I suppose the weather is keeping us all on our toes once again.”

A communique arrived from Colonel Braithwaite, text only, likely due to the scrambling effects of the heavy storm, which read:
CONFIDENTIAL//LIMDIS
PERSONAL FOR: POTTS, MAJ. EMILY GRACE
Major,
The assault on Fort Ko’Var is scheduled, and we will need all our resources available. As soon as the storm has sufficiently cleared, detach a vehicle to transport them and direct ARTEMIS to make best speed toward Waycross Road. Inform them to expect an intelligence brief en route of their task and maintain radio guard on 157.1 MHz for instructions.
Keep me informed regarding any further rioting in town or any resurgence of discontent among your troops. I do not wish to have to hear of any further brawling between regiments – you have full authority as garrison commander to take what matters you need to.
For the Emperor and Praetoria,
Colonel Penelope Braithwaite
CONFIDENTIAL//LIMDIS
PERSONAL FOR: POTTS, MAJ. EMILY GRACE

Everyone, from enlisted to officer, well-behaved or troublemaker alike, was now stuck in barracks, waiting out the storm. This meant that Beaumont and her valet were going to be waiting in close quarters for some time with the Praetorian officers of Uniform Company, sharing what had once been a small family home (before the family had either evacuated, relocated, or been lost in the fighting) and was now an improvised condo for officers. Muller was doing paperwork of some kind, having largely left her platoon lieutenants to go about their own business. One of her roommates, who was currently ironing her extra uniform (probably the only other one she had), looked over to talk to Elodie. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we got to meet earlier,” she said politely. “I’m Beatrice Williams. My troops and I came back from the fight at the crossing to bring back the wounded. What’s your name?” She was maybe twenty or so, clearly fresh out of the schola, with curly blonde hair and bright cornflower blue eyes, and she clearly had no idea about the age-old strife between Praetoria and Saunoit.

Meanwhile, partway down the road to Waycross, the 27^th were digging in, building shelters and dugouts at the direction of the regiment’s veteran cold weather soldier, Commissar Jensen. The vehicles of the regiment were parked in tight patterns to block the wind, idling their engines occasionally to keep the fuel lines from freezing and cracking. With snow already falling heavily, the sentries heard a roar of engines as a Chimera at max speed careened toward the camp, narrowly avoiding the heaviest of the blizzard. Lieutenant Lenore McPherson wrapped her scarf tighter around her face as she staggered out of the back of the vehicle and into the comparative warmth of the command dugout, which was rapidly being surrounded by white snowbanks. “Colonel,” she reported with a salute. “The group I took to Waycross is back. Nothing further to pass, my last message to the colonel before the Ork attack was that we’d be in touch once the snow cleared.” “Thank you, Lieutenant. Go get warmed up,” Braithwaite ordered with a nod.
Once the blizzard conditions calmed down a little, the regiment could finally take stock of their new position. They hadn’t taken too many equipment or personnel casualties, though they had a few dozen cases of frostbite. Less than ten of those turned out to be fatal exposure, mainly unlucky sentries who hadn’t prepared for the weather until they found themselves going pale and no longer shivering. The bad news, though, was how heavily they were snowed in. The encampment was almost totally buried in several feet of snowdrifts, and so was any trace of their path – meaning that it would take them likely a day or more just to dig themselves out, and their passage would be greatly slowed. And as the first Chimera mounted a dozer blade and began to plow a path through the center of the camp, Merina Saxton finished copying out her poem once again, folding it carefully and leaving it out where one of her squadmates would find it. She hadn’t expected “Jennie” to be such a hit – in happier times, she’d have gotten it published in the paper and maybe return to that writing career she’d always dreamed of. That was, of course, impossible now. But a little press never hurt anyone…

Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
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Karoly Szakmary was conscripted to serve in the Hungarian infantry after making anti nazi writings at University and served on the Russian Front. He later worked for Radio free Europe as a youth radio host during the Hungarian Revolution but immigrated to the United States in 1958. This poem is translated to the best of my ability:
THE NOISE IS OUT
The noise outside is the noise of 6 years in this new life.
It doesn't stop for a minute. The monotonous dull noise which enters through this window.
New York is roaring outside, panting and rattling pipes, and a moment of silence, a breath of calm, nowhere to be found in the cold noise of the clapping of ears.
And it gets on your nerves.
Like a bloodsucking market, air cooling equipment and spine-tingling sadness answer to city trumpets.
Screeching songs of brakes and sirens, I wander into the Babel of monotony, dizzy with the big New York night.
And the garbage trucks at dawn weigh down my heart, just like the tracked tanks during the war.
Which I still hear in my soul.
With a lost screech here and there, a human voice - a laugh. The deep scream of a "call girl" filters through the window.
And the neighbor's phone rings in vain. Con Edison erupts at the East River, hissing like a monstrous volcano.
While the neighbor below fades away, a hackneyed Chopin tune breaks through the wall just before the climax.
And the other neighbor is under her husband. Her scream is muffled like the forest's humming voice or the soft barking of whining dogs.
And I need that too.
I dig my head into my pillow because of the noise, the noise — the technology.
Now, I have learned to put up with it like this: the noise that, for years, has not stopped for a minute, the monotonous dull noise that enters through the window and clings to my nerves like a parasitic leech.
There is simply something unspeakably monstrous and great I have to say about the noise.
The thing to say about this grave noise is that it blends in all around into an endless roar, and these artificial brains will never be able to comprehend it with reason.
What's going on inside?
Perhaps the abandoned Neutron fibers of another circuit are looming on the wires, in the circle of nerve cells, on its tiny switch, a self-destructing cell vibrating, circling IBM computers, and on the magnetic grand pointer of pendulum clocks a dull ache inside.
Like the thud of a silent corpse.
Which is a noise I know well but keep locked away in my closet of dreams.
And the heavenly formula of my grinning self is my mind that has been torn apart by toothy fingers and the noise, noise, noise.
1970 Karoly Szakmary

TW Self Harm, TW Abuse.
There is a lot to unpack here.
I'm in my low mid 30s. I'm adopted since birth, and I've lived my whole life with my family so far. I have clinical depression and chronic anxiety, to the point of extreme intrusive thoughts and That kind of ideation.
My parents both come from horrible families themselves. Going into the military was a blessed relief for each of them from what I know of their pasts. They met each other, got married, and eventually adopted my siblings and then me.
Mom is a fixer. And regardless of everything that happens, I love her. She has always had my back, always been in my corner, always bent over backwards or fought for me. When I was younger, we used to struggle a bit here and there in regards to some moments, but once we realized how badly the entire family had been ignorant in regards to mental health, and started trying to be willing to talk about our different perspectives while being civil, our connection has never been stronger. Or at least I'd like to say that, and I'd like to keep it that way.
The man who I will keep calling Dad, for lack of a better term... is not the worst man in the world. He paid for things growing up. He's present for a decent amount. We had some bonds over video games and dragon ball and godzilla. There was love there. And Mom has made it clear that love is still there, at least from her point of view. She says he's gotten better, and the problems aren't as frequent, true.
But for me, the negatives have started eclipsing the positives in my memory. Particularly as my problems started manifesting while I struggled with life, and my opinions stopped being so simple. Particularly politically, where they come from a different time, and I couldn't be more opposed to them.
With Mom, we can still talk and honor each other's right to have differences.
With Dad, because of his past and mind, he doesn't do well with opinions that don't match his own. Even when he's being civil, he'll give politician type answers to yes or no questions while never addressing the point. It makes him insufferable to talk to. And he hates being challenged. He gets shouty. He gets angry. He gets threatening.
I'm 6'2, 260lbs of mix between fat and muscle, with 2 permanent injuries and struggling with fitness. He's taller than me, a veteran, a former prison guard, and can still weight lift like double his weight in his old age.
When we've had disagreements, he gets terrifying. Looming over me while yelling with his deep voice; that's his go-to, but sometimes there's violence. Folk needing to wrestle him off me. Him punching me in the face. Chasing me down a hill while I was in crutches and on the phone. Busting down my barricaded door and screaming at me, then holding my dog (18 long years, RIP) by her neck when she (a rescue in and of herself) got between me and him and started barking at him.
The last time Mom and I talked, she mentioned that I shouldn't still be holding these against him, both that it's not good for me and because the relationships would never mend, particularly that I'm not blameless in regards to family drama. But I've never hit anyone. I've never threatened to kill anyone, regardless of the invasive voices. I've never said "I"M GONNA SQUEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU" while pressing my elbow into someone's neck, over a literal quarter.
I sincerely could be being too sensitive about this. It could be me not remembering enough of the good, and still being too bothered by the bad. Mom mentioned me hurting folk as well, so it's not like my emotional outbursts are that much better than his, even if I'm actively trying to deal with mine with antidepressants and trying to acknowledge and understand my behavior, and trying to avoid touchy subjects in general to help keep the peace.
This where I ask AITAH.
Mother's day 2024; I come downstairs, read Mom a poem I came up with, and small talk is made. Eventually Mom jokes to me and my sister (who I also find troubling to talk with because she can be bitchy at times, though never to the point of intimidation and violence) that we should have married for money, not love, so that we'd have an easy life. I reply that I could never do so, particularly because I'm too ugly to do so, and the conversation shifts to recent therapy and my mental health, to which I say I have to battle with my lack of confidence every day.
To which Dad says "[my] problems are [my] choice". To which I start getting heated in the moment, and tell him "No, you're wrong." We both repeat, louder. He assumes his 'rearing Grizzly' stance, yelling "I'M NOT GOING TO ARGUE WITH YOU!", and after Mom tries to use Mother's day to coo him down, makes another scathing comment from the kitchen that I could hear.
I go upstairs, and when Mom follows me, I try to talk about other things. But she's determined to ask me if I hate him. I keep trying to dodge, and beg her not to push me into answering, to which she just confirms the unspoken and walks off.
Fully triggered, I try to leave before I make things worse, but when Dad tries to ask me not to go, I tell him to Fuck Off before just driving. Apparently while I was gone, he punched and broke a door in his rage that he still can't connect to me. And when Mom went to buy a new door, their truck hit a pole. And then when I come back, and she tries to talk to me, I scream at her. (I couldn't handle being told "Oh, it's okay. I don't deserve a mother's day because I didn't birth any of you.") Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.
While I was gone, the family called me almost 30 times. I wanted to leave, to destress, to get this venom in my arms to settle, to not lash out. I ended up calling multiple emergency phone numbers to try to vent. And I tried to go to the arcade to vent. Invasive thoughts about stabbing a family member? Terrible. Thoughts of shooting zombies for a few hours? Much better. But I couldn't at all relax and distract myself as Mom and sister wouldn't stop calling me.
Next day, Mom and I try to talk again. With her wanting me to find forgiveness and peace, even as I both despise him for these lows, and myself for this guilt I feel about the family dynamics. And we fail to reach a resolution, with her depression and my own only making each other worse. Thinking I wouldn't be allowed to leave the house to cooldown, I go upstairs, max out my music, and scream. A bit of floor slamming, but largely screaming as much as I can, to try force out the venom I can feel inside me. Understandably, Mom came up to stop the noise. Unfortunately, that noise was the only think surpressing my worst thoughts, and the feel of venom in my arms. Fortunately, Mom came back quick enough that my first (and hopefully only) scars are largely scratches that will fade. If anything, her pulling the work knife out of my hand knicked those fingers even worse. And understandably, even as her former Marine tried to force more conversation that day, I just remember feeling defeated inside. I contact as much of my support group as I can muster, take a sick day, and go to sleep.
Next morning, my therapist calls me, and we talk. And I share all of my feelings. All of this. Unfortunately, the appointment was later in the morning than normal, family were up and about in the living room, and I didn't realize they were basically all just listening. And they heard. Every. Word. Everything of this. Apparently I reduced Dad to tears, let alone offending everyone else.
For the second time in multiple days, I thought I was going to get kicked out. Mom did offer me my own place, but being trapped with my mixed feelings would make that a complete waste of money and effort. I'm basically just not on speaking terms with the family, and I feel like a Pariah.
To the point where after crying about it for an hour at work, I eventually sucked it up, called Mom, asked Dad to be on speaker, and suggested family counseling, at an attempt at an olive branch.
But isolated in my room away from everyone else (to the point of not even showering, eating, and largely not even touching my computer), and then at my next day of work, I've had time to think. Think about how these lows still keep happening. About how the schism between me and the family has always been growing politically. How previous therapists, emergency numbers, friends, coworkers, and the domestic abuse hotline, all say it's a cycle of (unintentional) abuse. How as is, I wouldn't take back like 90% of what I expressed because it feels true. How he also used to blow up on other people as well. How his senelessness can lead him to yelling at a 2nd Rescue Dog that barks too much. Or sending pictures of Tarantulas to a cousin with extreme mental illness (think drugs in the womb type mental troubles) as just casual texting.
But I also still feel guilty. Even with personality, interest, and political opinions differing, they do still try to care. I've been with them all my life. And it makes me feel horrible when they help by trying to cook or clean or anything, when the interpersonal relationships are so low.
And as much as I reflect on the lows being so unbearably low with him, I can't pretend they've been not as frequent, nor that I grew up 1000x better than how they did. My problems are first world as all hell, and plenty would kill to be as privileged as I am. This can not be understated. I don't think it justifies his behavior, but to say that it makes sense is at least fair.
And I want to stay connected, at least to Mom. And even if my sister and I don't have a really personal feeling relationship, I like being the cool uncle to one of my nephews. Teaching him about video games and sonic and dragon ball has been great. I don't want to let that go.
And as bad as his worsts have been... others don't even have their families. And others still have been hurt even worse by family, or outright thrown out by now, and similar...
So yeah; I know that's a lot to unpack, but I'm so mixed up inside I honestly don't know. AITAH for overreacting to a potentially acceptable level of family drama/not letting go of my lingering grudges and feelings in regards to my father? Or have I noticed a slowing, but still present, cycle of abuse?

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satisfy, sauce, save, saving, say, scale, scandal, scare, scatter, scenario, scene, schedule, scheme, scholar, scholarship, school, science, scientific, scientist, scope, score, scream, screen, script, sea, search, season, seat, second, secondary, secret, secretary, section, sector, secure, security, see, seed, seek, seem, segment, seize, select, selection, self, sell, Senate, senator, send, senior, sense, sensitive, sentence, separate, sequence, series, serious, seriously, servant, serve, service, session, set, setting, settle, settlement, seven, several, severe, sex, sexual, shade, shadow, shake, shall, shallow, shape, share, sharp, she, sheet, shelf, shell, shelter, shift, shine, ship, shirt, shock, shoe, shoot, shooting, shop, shopping, short, shortly, shot, should, shoulder, shout, show, shower, shrug, shut, shy, sibling, sick, side, sigh, sight, sign, signal, significant, significantly, silence, silent, silver, similar, similarly, simple, simply, sin, since, sing, singer, single, sink, sir, sister, sit, site, situation, six, size, ski, skill, skin, skirt, sky, slave, sleep, slice, slide, slight, slightly, slip, slow, slowly, small, smart, smell, smile, smoke, smooth, snap, snow, so, so-called, soccer, social, society, soft, software, soil, solar, soldier, sole, solid, solution, solve, some, somebody, somehow, someone, something, sometimes, somewhat, somewhere, son, song, soon, sophisticated, sorry, sort, soul, sound, soup, source, south, southern, Soviet, space, Spanish, speak, speaker, special, specialist, species, specific, specifically, specify, speech, speed, spend, spending, spin, spirit, spiritual, split, spoil, sponsor, sport, spot, spray, spread, spring, square, squeeze, stability, stable, staff, stage, stain, stair, stake, stand, standard, standing, star, stare, start, state, statement, station, statistical, status, stay, steady, steal, steel, steep, stem, step, stick, still, stimulate, stimulus, stir, stock, stomach, stone, stop, storage, store, storm, story, straight, strange, stranger, strategic, strategy, stream, street, strength, strengthen, stress, stretch, strike, string, strip, stroke, strong, strongly, structural, structure, struggle, student, studio, study, stuff, stupid, style, subject, submit, subsequent, substance, substantial, substitute, succeed, success, successful, successfully, such, sudden, suddenly, sue, suffer, sufficient, sugar, suggest, suggestion, suicide, suit, summer, summit, sun, super, supply, support, supporter, suppose, supposed, Supreme, sure, surely, surface, surgery, surprise, surprised, surprising, surprisingly, surround, survey, survival, survive, survivor, suspect, sustain, swear, sweep, sweet, swim, swing, switch, symbol, symptom, system, table, tactic, tail, take, tale, talent, talk, tall, tank, tap, tape, target, task, taste, tax, taxi, tea, teach, teacher, teaching, team, tear, technical, technique, technology, teen, teenager, telephone, telescope, television, tell, temperature, temporary, ten, tend, tendency, tennis, tension, tent, term, terms, terrible, territory, terror, terrorist, test, testimony, testing, text, than, thank, thanks, that, the, theater, their, them, theme, themselves, then, theory, therapy, there, therefore, these, they, thick, thin, thing, think, thinking, third, thirty, this, those, though, thought, thousand, threat, threaten, three, throat, through, throughout, throw, thus, ticket, tie, tight, time, tiny, tip, tire, tissue, title, to, tobacco, today, toe, together, toilet, token, tolerate, tomato, tomorrow, tone, tongue, tonight, too, tool, tooth, top, topic, toss, total, totally, touch, tough, tour, tourist, tournament, toward, towards, tower, town, toy, trace, track, trade, tradition, traditional, traffic, tragedy, trail, train, training, transfer, transform, transformation, transition, translate, translation, transmission, transmit, transport, transportation, travel, treat, treatment, treaty, tree, tremendous, trend, trial, tribe, trick, trip, troop, trouble, truck, true, truly, trust, truth, try, tube, tunnel, turn, TV, twelve, twenty, twice, twin, two, type, typical, typically, ugly, ultimate, ultimately, unable, uncle, undergo, understand, understanding, unfortunately, uniform, union, unique, unit, United, universal, universe, university, unknown, unless, unlike, until, unusual, up, upon, upper, urban, urge, us, use, used, useful, user, usual, usually, utility, utilize, vacation, valley, valuable, value, variable, variation, variety, various, vary, vast, vegetable, vehicle, venture, version, versus, very, vessel, veteran, via, victim, victory, video, view, viewer, village, violate, violation, violence, violent, virtually, virtue, virus, visibility, visible, vision, visit, visitor, visual, vital, voice, volume, voluntary, volunteer, vote, voter, voting, wage, wait, wake, walk, wall, wander, want, war, warm, warn, warning, wash, waste, watch, water, wave, way, we, weak, weakness, wealth, wealthy, weapon, wear, weather, web, website, wedding, week, weekend, weekly, weigh, weight, welcome, welfare, well, west, western, wet, what, whatever, wheel, when, whenever, where, whereas, whether, which, while, whisper, white, who, whole, whom, whose, why, wide, widely, widespread, wife, wild, wildlife, will, willing, win, wind, window, wine, wing, winner, winter, wipe, wire, wisdom, wise, wish, with, withdraw, within, without, witness, woman, wonder, wonderful, wood, wooden, word, work, worker, working, workout, workplace, works, workshop, world, worried, worry, worth, would, wound, wrap, write, writer, writing, wrong, yard, yeah, year, yell, yellow, yes, yesterday, yet, yield, you, young, your, yours, yourself, youth, zone.

**** TRIGGER WARNING!!! ****
This poem speaks about PTSD from a career as a paramedic. There is suggested trauma throughout the poem.
I am a very amature writer. And there are some spots in this poem that feel clunky. I would appreciate any feedback to fix that problem. It doesn't have a title yet.
~
Red and white. Red and white. Red and white flash at me throughout the night.
Transporting me to another place and time. Old memories revist me at the most inconvenient time.
Red and white. Red and white. Red and white speeding throughout the night.
To a motorcycle crash, Up by Whiskey Creek pass. A couple on a leisurely ride, Unaware this would be where one of them would die.
Ran off the road by a truck who fled the scene. A coward who didn't stay to hear their deafening screams.
Red and white. Red and white. Red and red and red Runs from his head.
The panic and fear chokes me even now. Gripping my lungs, my spine, my chest. Until I'm a crumpled ball, heaped in a mess. Tears run down because I couldn't do enough. Failing to provide life saving skills that would prove to be the right stuff.
Red and white. Red and white. Red and white and black stain my mind.
Knowing he wasn't the only one I left behind. Trauma and death of every kind, 7 years of torture keeping me confined.
Red and white. Red and white. I can't STAND to see the flashing red and white.
It cripples me with fear, and grief, and pain. Altering my life, I dont think I'll ever be the same.
A diagnosis of PTSD, And an uncertain future lay before me.
Red and white. Red and white. The life of a paramedic racing to the scene.
Who's fate will be next? God, I hope it isn't me.

Gather around everyone and let's talk about the things you spotted this week while watching dramas! This is the place to share if you spotted any of the following:

• Truck of Doom^TM and other tropes you love/hate
  
• Easter eggs and notable references to other dramas, artwork, poems, books, etc.
  
• Fun or interesting background details in a scene (e.g. in the set, props, clothing, background music, location, etc.)
  
• Ramyeon, soju, fried chicken, and other foods/drinks
  
• Puns, idioms, and other interesting tidbits about culture
  
• Subway, Samsung, Swarovski, and other PPL
  
• A Kim Tan Worthy Sweater^TM and more!
  

Share your love or frustration or rage or annoyance or amusement at seeing these things. You are not limited currently airing Kdramas or even Kdramas at all but please be mindful of spoilers.
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