#the getaway car imagery

[torturedpoetdeptchair]

But Daddy, I Love Him!

Okay, so yes, the obvious little mermaid reference (anyone noticing MORE WATER on this album?!) this song is most obviously a Love Story with a twist—what if the man you thought was Romeo, is in fact, no Romeo?

And it’s got a story arc like Love Story, mostly defined by reactions to her fame/judgement of her choices, leading to a happy ending but I think the line “Time, doesn’t it give some perspective” which I think it SO INTERESTING.

So along with her rebelling against what is expected of her as a dutiful daughter of fame (these people only raise you just to cage you), we get the Getaway Car imagery, and see her presenting herself as totally out of control—running with her dress unbuttoned, telling him to floor it through the fences, that she would rather burn her whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning!—and while there is the fake happy ending, where she convinces her parents to love this man—it’s followed by the line about perspective!

(obligatory TAyriel drinking Aviation gin for Ryan Reynolds pic)

And I think it’s perspective on so many things—her younger self romanticizing a forbidden relationship, that she can change a bad man, that a wild boy and wild joy are what she wants! And perspective on fame, and how living up to the image and standard of all the “vipers in empaths clothing” is just as toxic and horrible as what she thought she wanted. One way or another, whether you agree with her choices or not, they’re hers, even the mistakes, and she wants to own and grow from them.

(i love this song)

[daisyswift3]

YESS I noticed this too! With all the religious imagery in TTPD I’m now thinking the “HEEL damaged” is actually a biblical reference as well as a reference to Achilles’ heel (a weak spot).

The first prophecy ever written in the Bible, Genesis 3:15, is about how even though Satan (the serpent) will temporarily defeat Jesus by arranging his physical death (bruise his heel), Jesus will mortally wound Satan by rising from the dead (crush his head). This prophecy comes after Eve is tempted by the devil to sin. All of these things show up in Taylor’s music which I will explain in detail.

In TTPD Taylor references this biblical story and symbolism several times:

“I don't cater to all these vipers dressed in empath's clothing”

“What if I roll the stone away? They're gonna crucify me anyway, What if the way you hold me is actually what's holy? If long-suffering propriety is what they want from me, They don't know how you've haunted me so stunningly, I choose you and me religiously”

“So they filled my cell with snakes”

And probably the most important allusion to this story is in The Prophecy. And actually I’m pretty certain now that all of The Prophecy is a play on this biblical prophecy abt Eve’s descendant crushing Satan’s head and I’ll explain why.

“Hand on the throttle, Thought I caught lightning in a bottle, Oh, but it's gone again, And it was written I got cursed like Eve got bitten, Oh, was it punishment?”

THIS IS LITERALLY EXACTLY WHAT THE 1ST 🎃 MESSAGE IS TALKING ABT. She was going full throttle on her bike when suddenly her heel is bruised by Satan (think of all the lyrics abt devils in her music) just like how Eve was bitten by him. And interestingly she slightly tweaks the biblical story so that Eve is now the victim of a curse and essentially blameless; Eve was never bitten in the actual story but was tempted to sin and was therefore kicked out of the garden of Eden. I’m pretty sure this is abt her failed coming out. And I think it actually might not be abt the 2019 lover era failed coming out but perhaps a rep era failed coming out instead based on the mention a bike (LWYMMD and Endgame mv) and Getaway Car (3rd 🎃 message) and the allusion to the serpent Satan (rep era was full of snakes). I think it’s possible she’s tried many times to come out and failed -> “Oh but it’s gone again.” I think she’s begging for the curse of always having her coming out plans foiled (the prophecy) to be changed. In this case, “brand new, full throttle” might mean that for once in her life she’s actually gonna be able to come out w/out any obstacles.

And going back to rep era, I think it’s very interesting how she referred to herself as a snake since she was being treated like she was the devil, but in reality she was Eve or Jesus, just a victim being cursed and crucified for no reason. “Honey I rose up from the dead I do it all the time…I’m sorry the old Taylor can’t come to the phone right now. Why? Oh cause she’s dead.” In the LWYMMD mv she stretches out her hands like she’s Jesus being nailed to a cross which is when his “heel was bruised” and likely when hers was as well. Everyone thinks this was just abt the kimye drama but I think there was more going on behind the scenes.

Cassandra is likely talking abt the same thing as The Prophecy which is probably why she connected the two thru the story of Apollo and Cassandra in Greek mythology and has them right next to each other in the album. I think this song is abt the lover era failed coming out while The Prophecy is abt a rep era failed coming out due to how these metaphors and allusions are used—she, like Cassandra, had the gift of prophecy and knew her plans would be undermined once again like a never-ending cycle.

Also notice how similar Cassandra is to mad woman lyrically and sonically

The Prophecy also seems to be related to mad woman and the mastersheist w the mention of witchcraft and sorcery. This makes sense considering how this feud w her record label likely started before rep era and inspired it and maybe even caused a failed coming out before the lover era one. “Fifteen years, fifteen million tears, Begging 'til my knees bled, I gave it my all, he gave me nothin' at all, Then wondered why I left.” I think Scott B not wanting her to come out was a large part of why she went to a different record label.

I believe these lyrics are yet another one of Taylor’s clever double entendres. It refers to both the stonewall riots “who threw the first brick at stonewall” which is very lover era AND it refers to Jesus’ saying “let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her” and this connects to the biblical reference in the chorus “so they filled my cell with snakes.”

That was all a really long-winded way to say that basically I think the reason why Taylor uses sooo much biblical imagery in TTPD (especially related to Genesis 3:15) is bc she sees her story going the same way as Jesus’. She was the victim of a curse (being stuck in the closet), got her heel bruised (foiled coming outs), was killed and became a ghost (we hereby conduct this post-mortem; the old taylor is dead), but she’s eventually gonna rise from the dead as a new version of herself in this next chapter of her life. And she’s probably gonna take down the devil/serpent which is the music industry as a whole while she’s at it (see this post for more info on that). And this is even more proof that 🎃 anon is legit and was hinting at TTPD a yr ago.

Submission:

Interesting…

“Heel” and 🎃…. I see you

SR: 🫚 CHAOS too

[seospicybin]

TILL DEATH DO US PART.

Lee Know x reader. (s)

Synopsis: You and Minho head to a cabin for a weekend getaway but beneath the seemingly normal relationship, both harbor dark secrets and hidden desires to end the marriage by any means necessary. (13,1k words)

Author's note: Happy birthday to the poster boy to my spooky Halloween fics, Lee Know 🦇

Content warning: Violence, graphic imagery, blood, toxic romance. Readers discretion is advised!

Minho wants to kill you.

He’s reached the point where he can no longer tolerate you. You've crossed the line of things you shouldn’t do and checked off every item that finally leads him to this decision: he wants to kill you. He carefully crafts a plan, asking himself all the basic questions.

What? A plan to kill you.

Minho has been holding back his rage, but it keeps mounting and mounting. He believes that ending your life will release it all, finally bringing him peace. He thinks of it as a purge, sending you to your demise to purify his soul.

Who? It’s you.

You'll be the victim of his plan. His wife, the one he no longer wants to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. But the ‘till death do us part’—he’ll gladly do that himself, with his own bare hands.

And it’s him who's going to kill you.

Minho considered hiring a contract killer—it would’ve been easy, and he could have kept his hands clean. But the little compassion he has left for you tells him this needs to be done personally, and in private. No one has to know the terrible things you've done to make him want to kill you.

As a husband, the least he can do is protect your dignity as his wife.

And as a killer, he’ll try to make it quick and painless.

When? This weekend.

Last night, before bed, he told you he wanted to spend the weekend together. You didn’t ask why, just agreed right away. You needed time away to memorize and practice your lines for the short film you’ll be starring in at the end of the month.

Minho has barely begun but his plan is already in motion.

-

Minho sees you lugging a duffel bag in one hand and your purse in the other. Without hesitation, he strides over to help.

“Let me take that,” he offers, snatching the duffel from your hand.

You flash him a smile and plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, honey.”

While you settle into the car, Minho places your duffel in the trunk next to his own bag. He unzips his bag briefly to double-check the contents: all the tools he needs for the weekend—sharp, heavy, and metallic—gleam in the sunlight as it hits them. He zips it up and slams the trunk shut, ready for the three-hour drive ahead.

You, already comfortable in the passenger seat, put on your sunglasses and prop your feet against the dashboard. Flipping through the script in your lap, you chew gum obnoxiously, popping bubbles every few minutes, each burst louder than the last.

“There are snacks in the backseat,” Minho says, hoping to distract you from the gum.

You turn just enough to see the stash of chips, drinks, and bottles of wine. Supplies he bought for the weekend in the cabin. Without much interest, you go back to reading.

“I bought your favorite,” he tries again.

“I concentrate better when I’m chewing gum,” you respond flatly, flipping the page.

Minho grits his teeth but stays silent. You hear the scoff he doesn’t manage to suppress.

Dropping your feet to the floor, you snap the script closed, marking your place with a finger. Turning toward him slightly, you say, “It’s scientifically proven that chewing gum improves concentration in visual memory tasks. Surprised you didn’t know that, being a doctor and all.”

Though you aren’t looking, he knows you're wearing that condescending smile, the one that implies you’re smarter than him. It’s a look he’s grown used to over the years, but today it grates more than ever.

Minho’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. He fights the urge to jerk the wheel into a tree—just one hard turn would wipe that smug grin off your face. But no, that’s too messy and he’s not ready to blow his plan just yet.

He inhales deeply to steady his nerves. “What kind of movie are you working on this time?” he asks, pretending to show interest.

You raise a brow at his sudden curiosity but answer anyway. “It’s a thriller.”

“What’s it about?” Minho presses, not because he cares, but because he needs to keep you talking. Anything to shut you up about the gum.

“A girl gets kidnapped and held in a basement,” you explain briefly, scribbling notes in your script.

Minho forces himself to feign interest. "And what’s the catch?"

You plainly chuckle. "Like I’m going to spoil it for you."

"Because I probably won’t get to see it anyway," he retorts with a laugh, the irony not lost on him—after all, you won’t be around to finish it.

You sigh but eventually give in. "The girl tries to make her captor fall in love with her."

Minho holds back a laugh. He already knows it's going to be another bad movie. Lucky for you, he’ll be saving you from further embarrassment.

"Let me guess. You’re going to get naked again?" he asks, sneering.

Your deep, frustrated sigh is all the confirmation he needs. “So what if I am? It’s my body.”

He shrugs, eyes fixed on the road. “Sure, but haven’t you done it enough already? That’s like what… your fifth movie in a row?”

Your pencil scratches violently across the page. “Are you bored of my tits now?”

Minho stays silent, gripping the wheel tighter. Your next comment stings more than you know.

“Remember when you used to be obsessed with them? Oh, wait—when was the last time you even touched me?” You sneer, adding a little “tch” at the end of your sentence that makes his blood boil.

He once again pictures slamming on the brakes, imagining your pencil impaled your eye. But no. He breathes deeply and reminds himself that you’ll be gone soon enough.

“I need to pee,” you grumble, shifting in your seat.

“We’re almost there. Hold it,” he snaps, not caring about your discomfort.

“I'll pee in the car then,” you retort, already unbuttoning your jeans.

With an exasperated sigh, Minho jerks the car into a sudden U-turn, sending your head against the window. He pulls into a gas station, parking roughly by the entrance.

“Go ahead. Do your business.”

You storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you as you head inside. After a few minutes, Minho watches as you return from the restroom, only to stop and flirt with the cashier.

He taps the steering wheel impatiently, his eyes narrowing as he sees you and the cashier sharing a laugh. His patience runs thin, and before long, he exits the car, marching over to you.

"Let’s go," he growls, grabbing your hand.

You pull away, smirking. "Let him guess first."

"Guess what?"

The cashier laughs, clearly amused. "Trying to guess which movie I’ve seen her in," he explains.

You lean against the counter, offering the man a flirty smile. "I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with the color blue."

Minho’s eyes darken, his anger bubbling beneath the surface, he knows exactly that you’re doing this just to annoy him.

The man’s face lights up as he gets the answer, "Blue Daisy!"

You clap softly and smile brightly, "That’s right! What did you think of my tits in that movie?"

The cashier falters, his smile faltering as he glances nervously at Minho. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on. There's a scene where I take off my bathrobe," you tease, toying with the lighters on the counter.

"They’re... nice," the man replies and then looks away, clearly uncomfortable.

You sigh dramatically, glancing at Minho as you say, "Apparently, my husband doesn’t think so."

The cashier looks at Minho in disbelief. "You’re married?"

"Unfortunately, yes," you answer with a fake, sad smile.

Minho takes a deep breath, trying to keep his composure, he grabs you hand tighter and asks, "Are you done?"

You yank your hand away and brush past him, your shoulder grazing his as you head back to the car.

Just a few more hours, he reminds himself. Soon, it’ll all be over.

-

Now that you've known the who, the what and the when. The next question is where?

The cabin looms in the distance, nestled deep within the woods by the lake. As he gets out the car, Minho takes in the familiar sight—the water reflecting the afternoon sun, the towering trees surrounding the cabin, the peace and quiet. It’s secluded, far from the rest of the world.

You get out of the car and head straight for the trunk to collect your things.

"I’ll take the bags inside," Minho says, rushing over before you can lift the trunk lid, "Just grab the groceries from the backseat "

Shrugging, you open the back door and gather the bags of groceries, holding them against your chest. You don’t ask questions, not when you’ve been here so many times before. You punch in the code to retrieve the key from the safety box, opening the cabin door with ease.

Minho stands by the car for a moment, breathing in the last of the summer air before the season shifts. He pauses, scanning the quiet surroundings, appreciating how isolated it all feels.

No neighbors. No signal. Just the lake, the trees, and the silence.

It’s perfect.

-

Minho drags all of your things and his inside, then drops them in the living room. He’s greeted by the musty air of a cabin that hasn’t been lived in for over a month, and the dusty framed photos on top of the fireplace—his family, his parents, a childhood snapshot, and one of the two of you spending a week here for an extra honeymoon.

He remembers taking the picture with his phone, the two of you looking so happy lying in the hammock together, your heads resting against each other. Your hair was still its natural color back then, before you bleached it for the movie role.

What he doesn’t remember is how in love he was—why he decided to marry you. His eyes, once filled with affection, now only see hatred and resentment, two black orbs filled with void.

The sound of rustling plastic snaps him out of his thoughts, and his gaze shifts to your figure in the kitchen, tossing expired food into a trash bag.

Before you can notice, Minho silently takes the small duffel bag into the basement, placing it next to the cupboard where the hunting rifles are stored.

When he returns, you’re still in the kitchen, unpacking groceries. He gathers the remaining bags to take upstairs, but as his foot lands on the first step, you call for him.

“Are you going to cook dinner?” you ask, filling a pitcher with tap water.

“Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he replies without looking.

Minho drops everything in the corner of the bedroom, noticing your makeup bag already by the sink in the bathroom. He changes his clothes quickly before heading back downstairs to cook, just like he promised. He starts preparing dinner, laying out the ingredients on the counter. While seasoning the tenderloins with salt and pepper, he watches you chop vegetables at the other end.

“You have to cut them thinner,” he says.

“What difference does it make?” you mutter, ignoring him.

Minho carefully lays the tenderloins on the hot pan, the meat sizzling as it hits the metal. “Watch the meat,” he says, swapping tasks with you and taking over the vegetable chopping.

He notices you eye roll as you reluctantly take his place by the stove. After a while, you attempt to flip the steaks and he quickly stops you.

“It’s not ready yet!” he snaps.

You immediately throw your hands up in defeat while still holding the wooden spatula in one, “You know what? I’ll just wait at the table, drinking wine,” you say, this time making no effort to hide your eye roll.

Since the sun hasn’t fully set yet, you suggest dining on the back patio, where the sunset offers its best view, even though the air is getting cooler.

It’s always been like this—sitting far apart, the space between you thick with dead air. You both eat in silence, sipping your wine.

Minho remembers that tonight possibly will be your last so he decides to start a conversation.

“How’s the script going?” he asks, wiping the sauce off his plate with the last piece of meat.

“Going well,” you reply curtly, licking your lips.

Minho leans back in his chair. “Who’s that guy… the one helping with your acting?”

You pull your jacket tighter against the cool wind. “Ryan?”

“Yeah, him,” Minho says, taking a sip of his wine. “You’re not working with him for your next role?”

“He’s busy with other things,” you answer, tucking your hair behind your ear.

Minho stabs a piece of carrot with his fork. “So, you’re not the only one he’s… working with?”

You stop eating abruptly and look at him, “Pardon?”

“He’s working with other actors too, right?”

“Well, yeah, it’s his job,” you reply, more casually this time.

As the last rays of sunlight hit you, casting a golden glow like a halo, Minho feels a pang of something. Sadness, maybe. He’s certain it’ll be the last time he sees you on this light so he takes it all in.

Soon, you catch him staring. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he simply answers with a cryptic smile.

Your eyes meet for a moment and Minho searches for something in your gaze, some lingering emotion, but the gaze doesn't last long enough for him to know for sure as you look away.

After dinner, you both sit in the living room, playing a quiet game of chess. The ticking of the old clock fills the silence as Minho watches you fall into the trap he’s set. It’s ironically fitting, like you’re handing him your life, allowing him to end it with a simple move of the black knight.

“I won,” he says, a faint smile of triumph on his lips.

You don’t respond but instead, draining your wine in one gulp. “I’m tired,” you sigh.

As Minho packs away the chess pieces, he throws a smug comment your way. “You always get tired when you lose.”

You ignore him, heading to the kitchen to leave your glass in the sink and head upstairs.

Once you're out of sight, Minho makes another trip to the basement, unlocking the cupboard with the hidden key. Inside, he finds the hunting rifle. It’s been a while, but he still remembers how to use it.

Loading two shells into the chamber, he clicks it shut and for a second, he feels tempted to fire a shot just for the thrill, but that would ruin the surprise so he tucks the rifle back into the cupboard and turns off the lights as he heads upstairs.

When he gets to the bedroom, the bed is empty. He hears the water running—you're probably halfway through your skincare routine. He changes into sleepwear and lies down, charging his phone even though the reception is useless here.

The rustling of leaves outside is the only sound he's hearing until Minho begins to drift off. Just then, he feels a kiss on his cheek.

His eyes flutter open, and he finds you leaning over him, your lips brushing against his. The kiss is long and lingering, your hand gently cradling his face.

When you pull back, you smile softly. “Goodnight, honey.”

For a moment, Minho says nothing, watching as you turn and lie down, your back to him. A strange feeling twists in his chest—a hesitation he hasn’t felt in a long time. The kiss... something about it felt different.

He shifts slightly, his brow furrowing as suspicion creeps in. Was it genuine, or was it part of your own plan? For a second, he wavers, doubt gnawing at the edges of his resolve. Could you really be so oblivious to what’s coming? Or are you hiding something, just like him? He clenches his jaw, forcing the thought away.

It’s too late for second-guessing now. Still, as he stares at your back, he can’t shake the lingering sense that maybe, just maybe, you're not as unsuspecting as you seem.

-

The next day, the cabin is flooded with golden rays as the sun rises high in the sky. Minho stands by the kitchen window, washing the breakfast dishes, his eyes following you as you sway gently in the hammock, engrossed in your script.

He finishes quickly and heads to the back door, pausing in the doorway as he calls your name.

You turn your head slightly. “What?”

“I’m going for a walk around the lake. You coming?” he asks, though he already knows the answer. It’s just for show, a part of the performance, to keep suspicion at bay.

“No, thank you,” you reply, turning your attention back to the script.

Perfect. It’s exactly the answer he wanted. Everything is going according to plan.

As he steps outside, Minho's eyes dart back toward the hammock, checking to see if you’re watching. From a distance, he can still see the top of your head peeking over the edge, unmoving. Satisfied, he walks toward the shed, retrieving a small bag before starting his trek around the lake.

As he jogs along the edge of the water, he scans the ground for the right kind of rock—one heavy enough for what he needs. He finds it near the water’s edge, half-covered in moss. It’s heavier than he expected, and he has to flip it over with his foot before using both hands to hoist it into the bag.

His eyes drift back to the cabin, paranoid that you might somehow be following him. But no, you’re still in the hammock, or at least it seems that way.

He drags the bag back to the shed and hides it behind a stack of old tires. Everything is in place. Just one more thing to prepare—but he realizes he forgot his car keys.

The whole morning slips by as he meticulously works on his plan and by the time he returns to the house, the hammock is empty, swaying lightly in the breeze. Your script book is left behind, pages fluttering in the wind.

Minho’s chest tightens with unease. He steps cautiously toward the front door, his senses heightened. “Honey?” he calls out, but there’s no reply.

He steps inside, the air thick with tension. “Honey?” he repeats, louder this time, his voice echoing in the silence.

In the kitchen, he spots you standing behind the island, your back to him.

“Honey?” he says again, his tone more uncertain now.

You turn slowly, and that’s when he sees it—the gleam of a knife in your hand. The blade catches the light, sending a sharp reflection into his eyes.

A jolt of panic surges through him. His plan was flawless. But somehow, he hadn’t accounted for this—the possibility that you knew. And if you knew, he was already doomed.

He swallows hard, trying to think of something to say. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, you turn back to the counter, your hands moving in a way he can’t fully see. He takes a cautious step back, bracing himself for a sudden attack.

But instead, you turn around holding a head of lettuce. “I’m making sandwiches for lunch,” you say innocently, setting the vegetable down on the chopping board with a loud thud.

Relief floods through him, and he lets out a low breath, clearing his throat to mask his moment of weakness. “Sounds good,” he comments, though his voice lacks conviction.

You calmly slice the lettuce, your knife moving with unsettling precision. “Were you looking for me?”

The question jolts him, reminding him of his real purpose. “Uh… yeah, I was looking for my car keys,” he says quickly, scrambling for an excuse. “I left my charger in the glove box.”

You glance up from the chopping board, still holding the knife in one hand. “You can use mine. It’s upstairs by the bedside table.”

There’s something in your smile—a strange, almost sinister edge that makes his skin crawl. Like you know something he doesn’t.

“No, I’ll use mine. It’s more convenient,” he says, forcing a polite smile, though inside, every instinct tells him to leave. Now.

You hold his gaze for a moment too long before turning to the fridge. “It’s on the hook next to the boat keys,” you reply, slicing open a pack of bacon with a swift flick of the knife.

“Thanks,” he mutters, backing away.

He doesn’t waste another second. Grabbing the car keys, he heads for the door, but then you call his name, stopping him in his tracks. He turns, his heart thudding in his chest. You stand in the middle of the room, a strange smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice tight.

“Lunch will be ready soon,” you say, still smiling that unsettling smile.

Minho nods, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that lingers. He hasn’t seen you smile this much in a long time, and it’s not even noon yet. It’s unnerving, like you’re doing it to make him feel guilty. Like you’re daring him to go through with his plan.

-

Minho decides to proceed with caution.

The little smile you gave him earlier is enough to put him on edge, so he takes a seat on the stool, eyes fixed on you as you meticulously prepare his sandwich. You slice it in half and place it in front of him. He doesn’t hesitate to eat it, knowing that he hasn’t taken his eyes off the process. This way, he’s sure you haven’t tampered with his lunch.

"Good?" you ask, watching him closely.

He chews, waiting for any signs of something off in his body, but nothing happens.

"It’s good," he replies, nodding.

You smile, then sip your orange juice, making a little gasp of satisfaction. "Orange juice?" you offer, holding up the pitcher.

"Sure," he says.

You get a clean glass from the cabinet, which checks off another one of his worries. He saw you drink from the same juice, and the glass is fresh. No reason to suspect anything, right? Maybe you’re still unaware, and things are still going according to his plan.

"You’re not eating?" he asks, testing the waters.

You finish your glass and shake your head. "I’m still full from the smoothie I had earlier."

You walk over, placing a hand on his shoulder, then gliding it to the back of his neck, massaging gently. "I’m going to take a long bath," you say, smiling down at him.

"Okay," he mutters, looking up.

You lean down, brushing your lips against his in a brief kiss. "Enjoy your lunch."

This is the perfect opportunity.

Minho only manages to finish half of the sandwich before draining his glass of orange juice, feeling a bit parched from all the work he’s been doing since the morning. He heads down to the basement, ripping open a bag full of tools. He picks the hammer, gripping it tightly in his right hand.

As he makes his way upstairs, he marvels at how smoothly everything is going. If he manages to bash your head in the bathroom, he doesn't need to worry about the mess. The only challenge is getting your body downstairs, but that’s a problem for after.

Right now, all he has to do is get in there and deliver the fatal blow.

But as he climbs the final stairs, his vision blurs, and his limbs grow heavy. He tries to shake it off, widening his eyes and slapping his cheek to wake himself up. It must be the adrenaline, right? That’s why he feels so lightheaded.

He reaches the bathroom, hearing the water running and your soft humming. The door is left ajar, steam wafting out. Minho peeks in and sees you sitting on the edge of the tub, still in your bathrobe, one side slipping off your shoulder.

Slowly, he pushes the door open just enough to slip inside. The sink is cluttered with your things—makeup, a toothbrush, and what he assumes is some spilled powder from your makeup routine.

Confident you can’t see him through the fogged mirror, he raises the hammer above his head, ready to strike. Suddenly, his legs give out, and he stumbles backward, the hammer slipping from his grasp, then clatters to the floor.

You whip your head around, startled, and see him crumpling against the bathroom wall. Squatting down in front of him, you say softly, "Honey?"

Minho fights to open his eyes, but his body is shutting down against his will. "I’m—I…" he stammers.

You lean in, your forehead resting gently against his as you sigh. "Shh… it’s okay," you murmur, stroking his hair.

With one hand cupping his face, you look into his eyes, a sinister glint now replacing the warmth. "Just go to sleep," you say softly, your voice almost soothing.

Minho’s vision starts to fade, but he sees it in your eyes. You did this. "You—"

Before he can finish, everything goes black.

-

The sound of a knife scraping against the surface of a plate jolts Minho awake in the worst possible way.

Disoriented, he squints his eyes and realizes he's downstairs, seated at the dining table. You're sitting across from him, chewing on a piece of meat with a soft groan.

"I think I flipped it too early again," you mumble, dabbing your mouth with a napkin.

You look up from your food and gasp when you notice he's awake, "Honey!"

Grabbing the bottle of wine, you pour it into his glass, the intoxicating scent of it filling the room. "I'm sorry I started dinner without you."

Minho tries to move his hands but can't. He glances down to find them tied to the chair.

"Ah! Let me help you with that," you say, standing beside him as you unfold a napkin and spread it over his lap. You kiss him on the cheek, wiping away the lipstick mark with your thumb after.

"How was your nap?" You ask once you're settled back to your seat.

Minho glares, his nostrils flaring with the rage boiling inside him. He curses himself for letting his guard down, for believing things were going his way when they never did. Shaking the fog from his head, he focuses on you.

"Sleeping pills, huh?" His voice drips with disdain, realizing too late that the white powder he'd seen earlier wasn’t makeup—it was the remnants of crushed sleeping pills.

You don't answer, just sip your wine with a satisfied smile.

Minho scoffs, tossing his head back. "How clever!"

Refilling your glass, you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"It wasn't the sandwich, not the juice..." He lets out a bitter laugh. "It was the glass."

You clink your wine glass against his with a smirk. "Almost got caught there, didn’t I?"

"So, you know," he mutters.

You set your glass down and rest your hands on the table, an innocent grin spreading across your face. "Know what?"

Minho’s dark eyes remain fixed on you, simmering with fury.

"I'll let you have your dinner later," you say, pushing his untouched plate to the side, clearing the center of the table.

You retrieve something from the chair beside you—a hammer. The same hammer he’d planned to use on you. You place it on the table between you both.

"Are you asking if I knew you were going to use this to smash my head in?"

Minho’s gaze flickers between the hammer and you.

You chuckle mockingly, hand pressed against your chest. "Thank God the pills kicked in just in time!"

Though not surprised, Minho wonders if you’ve uncovered his entire plan. As if reading his mind, you bend down and drag a duffel bag onto the table with a loud thud.

"Or are you asking if I knew about this?" you ask, emptying the contents—rope, duct tape, a blade, a wrench, a saw, and an axe—spreading them across the table like hardware on display.

Sitting back down, you examine the tools with a smile. "You’re thorough, I’ll give you that."

"You know I never do things half-heartedly," he replies, voice laced with sarcasm.

Your laughter echoes around the room. "And look what I found," you say, lifting his hunting rifle, pointing it directly at him with your finger hovers dangerously close to the trigger. "It’s loaded."

Minho’s calm exterior falters. He knows all too well that he loaded that rifle himself. How fitting it would be for him to die by his own hand.

"BANG!" You shout, trying to startle him, but he doesn't flinch.

Your laughter fades as you lower the rifle, setting it aside. You cross your arms, eyes studying him intently and he can sense the curiosity swirling in your mind.

"Go ahead," he taunts, leaning forward as much as he can. "Ask your question."

You trace the rim of your wine glass with your finger. "So, that's the plan? To kill me?"

He tilts his head, eyes burning with intensity. "Yes."

"Let's say you manage to knock me out with the hammer..." You cut a piece of meat and continue eating. "What happens next?"

Minho stays silent, watching as you play this little guessing game.

You raise a hand before he can speak. "Wait, wait, wait, let me guess."

You chew faster, sipping your wine between thoughts and begin guessing his whole plan. "You wouldn’t kill me with the hammer—too messy. Too much work. And definitely not upstairs. It would be a hassle dragging my body down."

You glance at the ropes on the table and continue, "You’d tie me up once I was unconscious. Then, once secured, you’d get to work."

Your hand hovers over the tools spread on the table. "As for the weapon of choice..." You pick up the blade, testing its sharp edge with a playful gasp. "Ouch. This would’ve made it fun for you."

Minho’s lips twitch into a small, sinister smile.

"But no," you continue, setting the blade down and then you point at the rifle. "You’d use this. Quick. Easy."

"Exactly," he admits, slightly impressed by how well you know him.

Your eyes drift toward the saw next as you continue talking. "And the saws... well, those would be for afterward. To dismember me, right? You’d chop me into little pieces and dump me in the lake."

Minho raises an eyebrow, impressed. You got most of it right. The how.

"Did I guess correctly?" you ask, tilting your head.

He nods slowly in approval. "I’d applaud, but..." he glances at his tied hands.

You clink your glass with his. "See? I’ve learned a lot in our marriage."

As you sip your wine, he asks the one question still lingering in the space between. "Aren’t you going to ask why?"

You pause mid-sip, placing your glass down before pulling a handgun from your bag.

Minho’s breath catches in his throat. You want him dead just as much as he wants you gone.

"Because we hate each other enough to kill," you say, placing the gun next to your plate. But you rummage in your bag again and pull out a letter—divorce papers. Sliding them toward him, you add, "Or, we could avoid the drama. Sign this, and I’m gone. Forever."

Without hesitation, Minho shakes his head. Strongly refuses to do it any other way.

"Why not?" you ask, brows furrowed.

"I need to kill you," he says, voice unwavering.

You burst out laughing. "You hold that many grudges, huh?"

He doesn’t answer. His silence speaks volumes.

Sighing, you try to reason again. "I’ll disappear. You won’t even know I exist."

Minho leans forward, his voice a low growl. "I have to be the one to do it."

You shiver despite yourself. His intensity is chilling, but you remind yourself that he’s tied up, unable to do anything.

"You're a doctor, Minho. You know you're supposed to save life not—"

"I have to kill you," he cuts you off, nostrils flaring, eyes burning with determination.

Realizing there's no convincing him, you slide the gun back into your bag and put it on your lap. "I don't care if you sign the papers or not."

You take your wedding ring off and put it on top of the papers, making a bold statement. You stand, walking to his chair and then leaning close to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

"Good luck with everything," you whisper, knowing those words will provoke him further.

As you head for the door, bag slung over your shoulder, he calls after you. His voice echoing against the eerie silence.

"I’ll find you... and I’ll kill you," he screams as he fights his way out of the bind. "Do you fucking hear me?"

As you set one foot out of the door, Minho screams one last time, "IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU, NO ONE CAN!"

You break into a run toward the car and with your heart pounding, you shove the key into the ignition and twist it, the car sputtering to life. Relief floods your body for a moment as the engine hums beneath you, and you slam your foot on the gas.

The car lurches forward, gravel crunching under the tires as you speed away from the cabin. But the relief is short-lived.

After just a few yards, the engine sputters and dies. Panic grips you as the car slows to a stop, and your hands tremble as you frantically try to restart it. You twist the key over and over, forcing the ignition, but the engine won’t turn over.

“Come on… come on!” you mutter desperately, glancing into the rearview mirror, afraid that Minho somehow break away and chase after you.

You continue to restart the car engine but it still won't turn on, you slam your hands on the steering wheel out of frustration and reorganize your breath to let your brain able to work.

With your brain is well oxygenated, you start checking the car and that's when you see the gas gauge and the needle points to the E. Fuck! Minho must have drained the tank empty.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" You continuously scream in dread now but the real dread is glancing through rearview mirror and see the cabin door is open.

That’s when you see him.

Minho is storming out of the cabin, rifle in hand, his face a mask of cold determination. Your blood turns to ice. He’s coming for you, and you have no time.

"Shit!" you curse under your breath, your breath quickening. Abandoning the car, you fling the door open and bolt into the woods, legs trembling as you stumble over roots and uneven ground.

The sound of the rifle cracks through the air. You gasp, ducking as the bullet strikes a tree near you, splintering bark and sending shrapnel flying. Your heart nearly stops.

You pick up the pace, adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the forest floor is unforgiving. Your foot catches on something—a root, a rock, you don't know—and you crash to the ground with a hard thud, pain shooting through your body.

Before you can scramble back to your feet, Minho is already there. His heavy footsteps pound against the earth as he catches up, his presence looming over you. You try to crawl away, your muscles screaming, but his hands grab you from behind, yanking you around with brutal force.

“Got you,” he growls, his voice cold and menacing.

You barely have time to scream before his hands are wrapped around your neck, squeezing with a vicious intent. Your hands fly to his wrists, clawing and yanking at them, but he's too strong.

"Don’t worry, honey. I'm not going to kill you just yet."

He tightens his grip, cutting off your air supply. Panic floods your body as your vision begins to blur, your strength draining away with each passing second.

"I'm just going to stop the blood flow to the brain through constriction of the carotid arteries and..."

You kick, aimlessly hitting him, your movements growing weaker as the world around you starts to fade.

Minho’s face is the last thing you see before the darkness consumes you entirely.

-

A gasp escapes your lips as you regain consciousness, immediately followed by a coughing fit.

Disoriented and lightheaded, you try to sit up, only to realize your hands and feet are bound to the bed. The ropes burn against your skin as you thrash in place, but you’re held fast. Helplessly stuck, you let out a loud scream, frustration boiling over as your cries for help go unanswered.

"Is that the best you can do?"

Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, to see Minho leering at you from across the room.

He’s rummaging through a duffel bag, calm as ever, his dark eyes glinting with malice. You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and only a rough cough escapes your lips.

Minho pulls something from his bag—a small, rectangular box. It looks like a jewelry box, but the careful way he places it beside your body tells you it contains something far from precious.

He stands at the foot of the bed, staring down at you with a mocking grin. "Comfortable?"

Your fury flares. You swallow hard, forcing your voice to work. "You should have told me you were into bondage," you sneer, eyes narrowing.

His laugh is deep, amused by your defiance. Without warning, he climbs onto the bed and sits between your open legs, his gaze locked with yours, making it impossible to escape his predatory stare. "Let’s make you even more comfortable," he says, a sinister smile creeping across his face.

With deliberate slowness, he reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pair of scissors. He places them on the bed next to the mysterious box, letting you get a good look, as if daring you to figure out his next move.

A slow sigh escapes his lips as his hand reaches for your face, fingers slipping into your hair. For a moment, you think he’s going to cut it, but instead, he brushes your damp hair to the side and he also wipes the sweat from your neck with the back of his hand.

"It’s hot, yeah?" he murmurs.

"Isn’t that why you married me? Because I’m hot," you bite back, glaring at him with all the hatred you can muster.

Minho laughs again, this time brushing more strands of hair away from your sweaty forehead. "A part of it, yeah," he shamelessly admits.

"What about the rest of it?" you ask, surprising yourself with your curiosity. You’ve never asked him that before; romance was never a part of your relationship.

Nothing about your marriage was romantic, not even from the start. One day, he asked you to marry him, and you said yes. No questions, no love stories. Just a quiet agreement. But over time, things soured, leading to this moment of bitter hostility.

"Do you really want to know?" Minho asks, his face hovering dangerously close to yours, his hand resting beside your head on the mattress.

"You’re going to kill me anyway, so why not?" you reply, a daring smile playing on your lips.

For a long moment, he simply stares at you, his knuckle lightly tracing the curve of your face. His eyes darken, as if he’s about to reveal something, but then he pulls away abruptly.

"You always make me forget what I’m about to do," he says, picking up the scissors again.

Your heart rate slows as he holds the scissors, doing nothing but staring at them, lost in thought. His eyes flicker to you, then to your chest, where he presses the flat edge of the scissors. You can feel the cold metal through your clothes, making the weight of the moment unbearable.

You believe his final weapon of choice is inside the box so the sight of the scissors doesn’t scare you. You suspect he’s just toying with you, testing your fear.

Suddenly, Minho drags the scissors up your chest until they reach the base of your throat. The metal’s coldness makes you instinctively gulp, your breath hitching in your throat. But you refuse to break. Your gaze meets his, unwavering, even though you know exactly what he intends to do.

Unexpectedly, Minho laughs again, pulling the scissors away from your throat. "This is why I married you," he says, placing a hand on your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

"You’re so calm," he muses, dragging the scissors lower, stopping at your thigh. He slides the hem of your dress between the blades. "Way too calm."

In one swift motion, he cuts through the fabric of your dress, the blades slicing up to your chest in one clean stroke. You stop breathing for a second, the fear catching up to you, but you don’t let it show.

"And for a while, I was grateful to have you as a wife," he says coldly.

He moves the scissors to the side, cutting through the sleeves of your dress, leaving you in nothing but your damp underwear. You can’t tell if the sweat is from the stifling heat or the tension building inside you.

"But nothing good lasts, right?" he says, tossing the scissors and the torn dress to the floor.

Your heart skips a beat as his fingers ghost over your bare stomach, barely touching, but sending a shiver through your body.

"I’ll give you a chance to admit it yourself," he whispers, squeezing your hip.

You know exactly what he’s talking about, but you refuse to give in. You won’t hand him that satisfaction. "I have nothing to say to you."

Minho expected that response. He’s always loved your rebellious streak. With a shrug, he turns to the mysterious box beside you. He picks it up, opens it, and without showing you the contents, he says, "Maybe this will help carve the truth out of you."

Your heart races with anticipation, both curious and terrified. His eyes sparkle as he pulls the object from the box like a prized possession.

It’s a scalpel.

Not just any scalpel—a tool Minho is all too familiar with. He’s been using it for years in his line of work as a doctor, his hand accustomed to it, it's technically a part of his hand.

You let out a dark, low laugh, impressed by his choice of weapon. Not letting the fear take over you and give him the satisfaction.

"You think this is funny?" He asks, his voice low and dangerous, the scalpel gleaming in the dim light. His eyes narrow as he watches you closely, waiting for a reaction.

You suppress another laugh, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "I guess I always knew you'd find a way to cut me out of your life, but this is a little dramatic, don't you think?" You flash a bitter smile, masking the terror rising in your throat.

Minho’s lips curl into a slow, sinister smile. "Oh, this isn’t about cutting you out. Not yet, at least." He leans in closer, his breath hot against your skin as the scalpel hovers near your collarbone. The cold metal grazes your skin, a teasing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine.

You pull at the ropes again, frustration and helplessness bubbling to the surface. Your skin stings from the friction, but you know it’s useless. He tied the knots too well. Still, you refuse to show fear.

"You really think this will make me tell you what you want to hear?" Your voice is hoarse, but there’s defiance in your tone.

Minho chuckles darkly, sliding the scalpel down the center of your chest, just grazing your skin enough to leave a faint trail without cutting. His eyes follow the path of the blade with eerie calmness.

"You’re tougher than I expected. I like that." His gaze locks onto yours again, and there’s a chilling coldness in his eyes that makes your blood run cold. "But everyone has their breaking point."

He drags the scalpel lower, letting it dance across your stomach, teasing the edge of your hip. You can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the blade comes dangerously close to cutting through your skin. Every muscle in your body tenses, waiting for the inevitable pain.

"You’re hiding something," he says, his voice a near-whisper now, filled with a quiet intensity. "You’ve always been so calm, so composed. It made me wonder, what are you hiding beneath that exterior? What is it you think I don’t know?"

He pauses, his fingers tracing the path of the scalpel with a feather-light touch, as if he’s savoring this moment. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches your face, waiting for the fear to slip through your mask.

"You don’t scare me," you say, though the waver in your voice betrays you.

Minho’s grin widens, and he brings the scalpel up to your throat, just pressing the flat of the blade against your skin, reminding you of how sharp it is. "Maybe not yet," he replies. "But that will change."

His hand moves slowly, deliberately, the scalpel brushing your skin as he leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "I’m going to carve out every lie you’ve ever told me, every secret you’ve hidden."

The scalpel flicks across your skin, leaving a shallow scratch, just enough to sting. "Let’s start with why you tried to run," he says, his voice a dangerous whisper.

The blade trails down your chest again, teasing but not yet cutting deep enough to cause real pain. "You’ve been planning this, haven’t you? Just waiting for the right moment to escape."

Your mind races, trying to stay ahead of him, but his control over the situation is suffocating. "What makes you think I’ve been planning anything?" you manage to ask, though the tremble in your voice betrays the fear creeping into your chest.

Minho smirks, enjoying the game. "Because I know you," he murmurs. "I’ve watched you. You think I didn’t notice the way you’ve been distancing yourself? The way you look at me like you’re just waiting for me to make a mistake."

He presses the scalpel a little harder against your skin, and you wince. "I’m not going to let you slip away so easily," he says, his voice dripping with menace. "So why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what you’ve been hiding?"

You grit your teeth, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a confession. "I have nothing to hide from you," you say, though every instinct in your body is screaming that he’s already too close to the truth.

Minho’s expression darkens. He moves the scalpel down again, this time slicing through the thin fabric of your underwear. You flinch as the cold air hits your bare skin, but you refuse to give him the reaction he’s looking for.

"Last chance," he warns, the scalpel glinting in the dim light. "Why Ryan?"

So this is the why.

Your heart stutters, your body stiffening at the mention of the name. Of course, he knows. He’s always known. But now, it’s out in the open, and there's nowhere to hide. You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stay composed even as the truth hangs dangerously between you.

Minho shifts, bringing the scalpel up to your throat again, applying just enough pressure for you to feel it, the sharp edge threatening to break skin.

"You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?" His tone is calm, but the anger simmering beneath the surface is palpable. "You thought you could sneak around, play your little games with him, and I’d be none the wiser."

Your throat tightens, and you struggle to breathe through the panic rising in your chest.

He presses the blade down, just enough to make your pulse quicken. "Why him?" Minho asks again, his voice quieter, almost a whisper now. "Why Ryan?"

"I—" you start, but your voice cracks, your throat dry. You don’t even know what to say, how to explain something that’s so tangled in layers of resentment, anger, and escape. Instead, you try to hold on to the composure you’ve managed to keep for this long. "It wasn’t—"

Minho cuts you off with a bitter laugh, pulling the scalpel back but keeping it poised, ready. "Don’t bother lying," he says, his eyes dark with fury. "I already know everything. I just want to hear it from you."

He sits back slightly, still straddling you, his eyes locked on yours with a kind of chilling intensity. The blade dances over your skin, teasing but not yet cutting.

"Why?" he asks again, softer this time. "What did you think Ryan could give you that I couldn’t?"

Your mind races, heart pounding. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of your truth, but there’s no way out. His patience is wearing thin, and you can see it in the way his grip tightens on the scalpel, his jaw clenching as he waits for your answer.

"It wasn’t about him," you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know if this will calm him or enrage him further, but it’s all you can offer. "It was never about him."

He tilts his head, watching you closely. "Then what was it about, huh?" His voice sharpens, cutting through the air like the blade in his hand.

You flinch at the venom in his words, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. "You don’t understand," you say quietly, tears prickling at the edges of your eyes despite your best efforts to stay strong.

Minho’s face hardens, and he slides the scalpel down your body, stopping just above your abdomen, his fingers tracing the line of your skin with a maddening slowness. "Then make me understand." His voice is dangerous, low and threatening.

His grip on your throat tightens, and the blade slides down to your chest again, this time pressing harder, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You gasp, the sting sharp and sudden.

Minho watches the blood bead up, a twisted smile playing on his lips. "I said make me understand why you betrayed me."

Before you can utter a word, the door to the cabin bursts open. Ryan stands in the doorway, his face a mix of shock and fury as he takes in the scene—the scalpel pressed dangerously close to your throat, Minho’s body straddling yours, and the faint line of blood on your chest.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ryan’s voice echoes through the cabin, and in a blur, he charges at Minho.

Minho barely has time to react before Ryan slams into him, knocking him off of you. The scalpel clatters to the floor as Minho is thrown back, struggling to regain his balance. Ryan swings a hard punch, landing square on Minho’s jaw, sending him stumbling backward. You scramble up from the floor, gasping for air, as the two men break into a full-on fight.

Ryan manages another punch, harder this time, knocking Minho to the ground. Minho’s body slumps for a moment, and Ryan quickly grabs the scissors lying on the bed, cutting the ropes free from your hands and feet. He helps you get up and grabs your arm, pulling you toward the stairs.

“Come on,” he urges, his voice low and frantic. “We have to go—now.”

You follow him downstairs, still in shock, the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he grabs his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders.

“I came as fast as I could when I got your message,” he says, his eyes scanning your face, full of concern. “Are you okay? Did he—”

But before he can finish, there’s a sound behind you—a violent thud. You both turn just in time to see Minho launching himself at Ryan from the top of the stairs.

Minho slams into him with terrifying force, sending the two men crashing to the floor in a violent heap. They grapple, fists flying, legs kicking, as they roll across the floor, locked in a brutal fight for dominance.

Ryan struggles beneath Minho’s weight, his eyes locking on the rifle resting against the wall near the sofa. He looks at you, desperation in his gaze, and subtly gestures toward it.

"The gun," he pants between blows. "Shoot him. Now!"

Your heart pounds in your chest as you rush to grab the rifle. Your hands shake as you lift it, your finger sliding onto the trigger. The weight of the weapon feels surreal in your hands, the cold steel pressing against your skin as you aim it at Minho, who is now pinning Ryan to the ground. The two men are still wrestling, but you have a clear shot.

“Do it!” Ryan yells, gasping for breath as Minho’s hands tighten around his throat.

Tears blur your vision, your breath coming in ragged sobs as you hold the rifle steady. Minho’s eyes catch yours, wild and unrelenting, and in that split second, everything seems to freeze. Your finger starts to push down on the trigger, your mind spinning with the weight of the decision.

“Why?” you scream at Minho, your voice breaking with emotion. "Why did you ever doubt me? Why couldn’t you trust that I loved you?"

Minho’s gaze softens for a fraction of a second, his grip loosening ever so slightly on Ryan’s throat. “You call this love?” he spits back, his voice hoarse but filled with pain.

Your finger trembles, hovering on the trigger, and you’re on the verge of pulling it—when something inside you snaps. In one swift motion, you shift your aim, your heart thudding painfully in your chest.

The gun goes off.

The shot rings out, echoing through the cabin as the bullet rips through the air—and buries itself in Ryan’s skull, right between his eyes. His body goes limp instantly, his hands falling away from Minho as he collapses to the floor, lifeless.

You drop the rifle, your whole body trembling, tears streaming down your face. You can’t stop sobbing, can’t even catch your breath as you take a shaky step toward him and ask, “Is that enough to show how much I love you?”

-

The silence that follows is deafening.

Minho looks at you, his chest heaving, covered in Ryan’s blood, shock registering in his eyes. After a moment, he gets up from the floor, calm and composed, as if the violent act that just transpired hadn't fazed him at all. He walks over to you without a word, his footsteps barely audible in the heavy silence.

From the dining table, he picks up a napkin, its soft fabric starkly contrasting with the blood staining your trembling hands. Gently, he wipes the blood droplets away, his touch careful, almost delicate.

“I cheated on you because—” your voice breaks as the words leave your lips, trembling under the weight of your sobs. “Because I wanted to know if you still care.”

Minho doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. You watch as he moves across the room, grabbing a jacket from the coat rack. He replaces Ryan’s jacket—the one draped loosely over your shoulders—with his own. His movements are methodical, yet somehow tender, like he’s dressing you for something far more intimate than this horrific moment. You stand frozen, the tears streaming down your face, helpless in your grief and confusion.

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you choke out, your voice barely above a whisper, the sobs making your chest heave.

Minho zips up the jacket, making sure it fits snugly around you, before pulling you close. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, one that reminds you of the warmth you used to find in him. Even with his blood-streaked face, you can see that familiar, intense gaze—the warmth you had longed for finally returning to his eyes.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his hand cradling your face with a kind of reverence, “and if I can’t have you, no one can.”

His lips crash against yours again, this time harder, deeper, and with a hunger that ignites something dangerous inside you. His voice, dripping with possessiveness, makes your heart pound in a way that both terrifies and excites you.

“You’re mine,” he says, the words claiming you with an unyielding finality.

And it’s that very possessiveness that pulls you deeper into him. It’s why you married him in the first place—because Minho doesn’t just love; he consumes. His love is fierce, intense, teetering on the edge of madness, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You crave it, need it, and right now, it feels like it’s the only thing grounding you in this twisted reality.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, nodding as if you’re sealing your fate with those words.

The two of you kiss again, and this time, it feels like everything is falling back into place, like the chaotic balance of your marriage has been restored. The blood, the violence, the madness—it all shifts back to where it belongs, the perfect equilibrium of your dark, twisted love.

For a moment, the chaos of what you’ve done slips away, and you both stand in eerie stillness, as if nothing happened.

However, the sight of the body lying lifeless on the floor snaps you back to reality.

Minho silently moves to pick up Ryan’s jacket, using it to cover the gaping wound on his head, though the blood has already soaked into the rug. Without a word, he starts dragging the body onto the rug, and you, numb and dazed, help him. Together, you roll the body into it, cocooning Ryan in the bloodstained fabric.

"Go get the body bag from the basement," Minho tells you, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

Your legs feel heavy as you make your way down to the basement, retrieving the thick, black bag. The two of you struggle to maneuver Ryan’s body into it, your hands slipping on the slick fabric as you zip it up.

The weight of what you’ve done sinks in deeper with each passing second, but you push it aside, focusing on the task at hand. Together, you drag the body outside into the dark night. The only sounds are the rhythmic scrape of the bag against the ground and the low rustle of wind in the trees.

Minho busies himself with the boat, the mechanical hum of the engine cutting through the stillness. You clamber onto the boat, watching him as he grabs the large rock he collected earlier—the weight that will ensure the body stays submerged beneath the water, lost to the lake’s depths.

Once everything is set, he starts the boat, and it moves silently over the water, cutting through the eerie calm of the night. You sit in the cold air, the distant shore shrinking as he drives far enough from land.

Finally, he stops, and you both work in grim silence to lift the heavy body bag over the edge. The splash echoes in the darkness as it hits the water, and for a brief moment, the sound lingers, unsettling and hollow.

You and Minho stay there, eyes locked on the spot where the bag submerged, waiting, watching. The bubbles rise to the surface, swirling for a few moments before fading away into the night. The water smooths out, becoming calm once more, its surface reflecting the endless stretch of the night sky above.

Nothing comes back up. Only silence, only stillness.

-

With the body gone, there’s no time to waste.

Minho doesn’t say a word as he moves toward Ryan’s car, his movements swift and calculated. You watch as he wipes the door handles, steering wheel, and gear shift clean of fingerprints before driving it to the edge of the river.

The car slowly inches forward, and as it begins to roll into the water, you stand at a distance, watching the lake swallow it whole, the final glint of metal disappearing beneath the surface. The water ripples for a moment before settling back into silence, leaving no trace of the vehicle behind.

You head back to the cabin to tackle your part. The living room feels eerily quiet, haunted by the chaos that took place just hours ago. You move quickly, gathering the objects that were stained with Ryan’s blood: the napkin, the rug, anything he touched.

With methodical precision, you scrub the floor clean, the sound of the rag scraping against the wood filling the room. You make sure to use bleach, wiping down every surface, making sure no bloodstains or lingering scent remains. The stinging smell of bleach replaces the coppery odor of blood, and you inhale deeply, feeling the chemical burn in your lungs.

When the room looks spotless, you gather the last of the evidence: your clothes, Minho’s bloodstained clothes, and the tools he brought. All of it goes into a large bag—anything that could tie either of you to what happened. Together, you make your way into the woods, where the night feels darker, heavier, as if nature itself is holding its breath.

Minho starts the fire, the flames flickering to life and casting a soft, orange glow over the trees. The bag is heavy as you both throw it onto the growing blaze, the crackling of burning fabric and wood filling the air. You watch as the fire consumes everything, turning it into ash and smoke. The smell of burning evidence—your clothes, Ryan’s blood, every trace of him—rises with the heat, drifting into the night sky.

Minho grabs your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you stand there, side by side, watching as the fire devours the last remnants of the crime. The warmth of his hand grounds you as the flames burn higher, until all that’s left are glowing embers and ash, scattering into the wind.

There’s nothing left now. No evidence. No trace. Just the two of you and the darkened woods.

-

The sun is slowly rising on the horizon when you walk back to the cabin

The final task is washing away the evidence from your bodies. You and Minho share the shower, alternating turns under the warm water as it washes off the blood and dirt clinging to your skin. At times, you help each other scrub, his hands trailing over the places where bruises and cuts mar your flesh.

There’s a quiet intimacy in the way you tend to each other, rinsing away the aftermath of the night before.

Once you're out of the shower and standing in front of the mirror, you notice the injuries. There’s a bruise blooming around your neck from where Minho had choked you, a thin cut across your chest from his scalpel, rope bruns on both wrists and ankles, and scrapes on your knees from tripping in the woods. The marks are raw, reminders of the violence that had passed between you.

“Come, sit.” Minho’s voice cuts through your thoughts. You turn to see him sitting on the bed, first aid kit in hand, his eyes already fixed on your wounds.

You obey, sitting beside him as he opens the kit. His fingers graze your skin as he pulls the robe open, exposing the cut on your chest. The light touch sends a shiver down your spine.

Minho leans in, studying the wound with careful attention before smoothing ointment onto it. You wince as it stings, and he immediately blows cool air on it to soothe the burn.

He moves to your knees next, his hands gentle as he applies more ointment and covers the scrapes with band-aids. His gaze lingers longer on the bruise around your neck, his fingers softly pressing against the swollen skin.

“Does it hurt?” His voice is softer now, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Not really,” you lie, and then it's your turn to ask about the bruise blooming on his jaw from Ryan’s punch, "How about it?"

He catches your hand and kisses it. "I'm okay."

Satisfied with your answer, he puts the first aid kit aside. His hair is damp, tousled as he pushes it back, and when his eyes meet yours again, there’s something dangerous and tender in his gaze.

“Aren’t you going to kiss it better?” you ask with a sly smile, teasing him.

His lips curl into a smile, and before you know it, his hands are on your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You straddle him, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Want me to kiss it better?” he murmurs, his voice low, his brown eyes fiery as they lock on yours.

“Yes,” you whisper, your hands resting on his shoulders, needing his touch.

Minho leans in, placing a slow, deliberate kiss on the bandaged cut on your chest. His lips linger, and you feel the heat of the kiss searing into your skin. He doesn’t stop there, parting the robe further to press fluttering kisses along your collarbone, down to your breasts.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer as he buries his face between your breasts. He’s kissing, licking, and sucking your skin, his tongue leaving a wet trail in its wake. He takes his time with you, his fingers joining in, rolling and rubbing your nipples between them until they harden under his touch.

You tug at his hair, watching him, entranced by the way his mouth worships your flesh. His lips part with a soft pop as he releases your nipple, leaving it wet with his saliva.

“I’m obsessed,” he mutters, his lips brushing against your sternum. “I’ll always be obsessed with your body.”

He doesn’t need to say it—you can feel it in every touch, every kiss. His admiration for your body is palpable, his gaze lingering on your skin as though he can’t get enough. Your heart races, your desire growing hotter with each second that passes.

“Want you, Minho,” you moan breathlessly, your hands tightening on his shoulders. “I want you so much.”

Minho needs no further encouragement. He lays you back on the same bed where he tortured you earlier, his body moving over yours with a desperate hunger.

When he enters you, the intensity of his thrusts takes your breath away. His eyes flicker between watching his cock slide in and out of you and studying your face, seeking your reactions with every movement.

He slows down suddenly, leaning down to kiss you deeply, pulling away only when you’re gasping for air. He presses his forehead against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours.

“Are you mine?” His voice is rough, commanding.

You nod quickly, barely able to speak.

His fingers graze your lips. “Words.”

“I am yours,” you say, your voice trembling with need.

A dark grin spreads across his face, and he kisses you again, more urgently this time. “That’s right. You’re mine.”

Minho resumes his thrusts, picking up the pace. One hand moves to wrap around your neck, squeezing slowly, cutting off just enough air to blur the line between pleasure and pain. His thrusts don’t falter as his grip tightens, his voice a dark whisper in your ear.

“You’re mine. All mine. Only mine.”

Your vision swims, the pressure on your windpipe mixing with the waves of pleasure crashing through your body. You look into his eyes, and what you see there—lust, love, madness—sends you over the edge.

Both of you reach your peak together, bodies trembling as the release washes over you in shuddering waves.

When it’s over, Minho collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. He places a soft, lingering kiss on your lips that makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin. His hand rests over your chest, right where your heart beats wildly.

Then, his voice drops, a dark promise in his words. “I want to cut you open and climb inside, so we can become one—forever.”

Anyone else would think it was madness, but to you, it’s just Minho. It’s the way he loves you—raw, obsessive, and unrelenting. And you love him for it, for every twisted piece of him that’s unlike any man you’ve ever known.

“And I would die for you,” you whisper back, your heart swelling with the weight of it. “Kill for you. I love you.”

It has always been your wish to be loved to the point of madness and Minho made that come true for you.

-

You wake to sunlight spilling through the cracks in the curtains, the warmth coaxing you from the comfort of sleep. The bed feels impossibly soft, but the familiar ache in your muscles reminds you of everything that happened the night before. Slowly, you stretch, your body protesting as you roll onto your side, blinking into the brightness.

The cabin is silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves outside and the occasional chirp of birds. You glance at the clock on the bedside table—it’s already late morning. You sit up, pulling the robe tightly around your body as you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Your eyes fall on the small bandages Minho placed on your wounds last night. They’re a stark contrast to the serene morning around you, a reminder of the intensity that’s always lurking beneath the surface. But that’s how it is with Minho—love and danger, pleasure and pain, always intertwined.

The smell of food drifts up from downstairs, making your stomach growl. Minho must be downstairs.

You pad softly down the stairs, your bare feet making no sound on the wooden floor. As you step into the kitchen, you find Minho at the stove, the light from the window framing him in a soft glow. He’s already dressed in a white shirt that accentuate his broad shoulders and there’s a calmness in the way he moves as he plates food.

He turns, a warm smile spreading across his face when he sees you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he says, his voice smooth and gentle, as if the events of last night were a distant memory.

“Morning,” you reply, still groggy as you walk toward him.

You wrap your arms around his waist, leaning your head against his chest, breathing him in. His arms immediately encircle you, pulling you close as his lips press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You slept in,” he teases, one hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face.

“I needed it,” you murmur, tilting your head up to look at him.

His gaze is tender, and there’s something disarming about the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, slow and sweet.

The world outside feels far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in each other, the chaos of your love quiet for once.

Minho pulls back, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. “I made lunch. Thought you’d be hungry.”

You smile, your heart swelling with affection. “I'm famished.”

He cups your face, kissing you again, this time deeper, more lingering. You melt into him, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging gently as his lips claim yours. It’s moments like this that make you feel utterly consumed by him.

When you finally break apart, both of you slightly breathless, Minho rests his forehead against yours. His hands slide down to your waist, holding you close.

“How about we go for a ride on the boat today?” he suggests, his voice low. “It’s a beautiful day.”

You look up at him, your mind still foggy from the kiss. “A boat ride?”

He nods, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. “Yeah. The lake’s calm, the sun’s out. We could use some fresh air.”

The thought of spending the day out on the water with Minho, with nothing but the peacefulness of the lake around you, sounds perfect. You can already imagine the cool breeze against your skin, the way the sunlight will dance across the surface of the water.

“I’d love that,” you say softly, leaning into his touch.

Minho’s eyes glint with satisfaction, and he presses one last kiss to your lips before stepping back to finish preparing lunch. “But first, finish your food.”

As you sit down to the table, Minho places a plate in front of you, the meal simple but delicious. You eat in comfortable silence, occasionally exchanging soft smiles and touches, your hands brushing across the table as if neither of you can stand to be apart for long.

For the first time, the two of you are connected in a whole new level that it feels like nothing can tear you and Minho apart anymore.

-

The boat glides across the tranquil waters, the rhythmic sound of the oars slicing through the lake the only disturbance in the otherwise still air. The sun hangs high above, casting a shimmering path of light across the surface, making it look like a trail of gold leading them deeper into the heart of the lake.

You sit facing Minho, watching the muscles in his arms flex and contract as he rows, his gaze fixed on the water, intense and focused. There’s something serene about this moment, a rare softness between the two of you. It feels almost surreal, considering what happened just last night.

Last night, when this very lake was a silent witness to the horror you both created. Now, it feels like a different place—calm, almost idyllic. But the memory is still there, just beneath the surface, lingering like a dark shadow that no amount of sunlight can chase away.

Minho slows the boat as you reach the middle of the lake, his eyes shifting to meet yours. There’s a glint of something unreadable in them, a darkness that always simmers just beneath his surface. It’s the very same darkness that pulled you in, binding you to him in ways that go beyond love. It’s obsession, need, and something far more dangerous.

He lets go of the oars and shifts closer, his knees brushing against yours as he reaches out, his hand sliding into his pocket. You tilt your head, watching curiously as he pulls out something small and shiny.

Your breath catches when you realize what it is. Your wedding ring.

Minho holds it up between his fingers, the gold band catching the sunlight. You stare at it, your heart pounding as memories of your vows come flooding back. The promises you made to each other, promises that were shattered and reforged into something far more twisted and unbreakable.

“I believe this belongs to you,” Minho murmurs, his voice low and soft.

There’s a tenderness in his gaze that disarms you, makes you feel as if he’s peeling back every layer of yourself and looking straight into your soul.

He takes your left hand, his touch featherlight as he slides the ring back onto your finger. You shiver at the sensation, your eyes locked onto his as he recites the very vow you spoke on your wedding day.

“In sickness and in health…” he begins, his voice barely a whisper but strong, his gaze unwavering. “For better, for worse. For richer, for poorer…”

You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribcage. There’s an odd sense of finality in his tone, as if he’s sealing not just a promise but something darker—a pact, a blood oath that binds you together not just in love, but in sin.

“...Till death do us part,” he finishes, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, where the ring now rests again, a symbol of everything you are to each other.

You draw in a shaky breath, the words catching in your throat. “Till death do us part,” you repeat, your voice just as soft, but the weight of the vow feels heavier now, burdened by all the blood and secrets you share.

Minho’s eyes light up at your response, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the still air.

“We’re bound again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours as he speaks. “In life, in death, in everything. You’re mine.”

“And you’re mine,” you whisper back, your fingers curling around the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. There’s a fierceness in your words, a possessiveness that matches his own. Because you are each other’s, wholly and completely, in ways that no one else could ever understand.

Minho cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek as he kisses you—soft at first, almost reverent. But then it deepens, turning into something desperate and consuming. You can feel the intensity in every press of his lips, every brush of his tongue against yours.

It’s not just love; it’s hunger, an insatiable need to claim and be claimed.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. Minho rests his forehead against yours again, his fingers threading through your hair.

“With you, I’m never alone,” he whispers, his voice raw and honest in a way that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re the only one who understands me, the only one who’ll stay.”

“And I will,” you reply, your fingers tightening around his, “Always.”

Minho’s smile is small but genuine, and for a moment, he looks almost boyish, the hard edges of his face softened by the sunlight filtering through the trees around the lake. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes dark and intense as they lock onto yours.

“We’re more than just lovers now,” he murmurs, his voice low.

Your gaze shifts to the water surrounding the boat, to the spot where Ryan’s body lies hidden beneath the surface. A chill runs down your spine, but it’s not fear—it’s the thrill of what you’ve become together. Bound by love, by blood, by the darkness that twists through both of your souls.

You softly nod in agreement as you turn back to him and with that, the two of you are bound once more—not just by the ring now resting on your finger, but by the weight of the secret that lies at the bottom of the lake. It’s your bond, your burden, and in a twisted way, it’s also your triumph.

Because what you have with Minho isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane. It’s dark and consuming and entirely your own. It’s a love that defies all reason, a connection that can’t be broken, no matter how much blood is spilled.

After all, when love is not madness it is not love.

-

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[lipslikethegardensofbabylon]

#ttpd analysis day fourteen - The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

i'm gonna be honest with you this was the hardest song to dissect because every time i listen to it the bridge makes me lose my mind. it has the same addictive pull as the bridge of Would've, Could've, Should've, Cruel Summer, Getaway Car. it's SO good, imo one of her best bridges ever written.

i first want to comment on in your Jehovah's Witness suit which is again another lol-lyric moment, but in a big brain connection i saw that @thisisctrying pointed out that he was essentially selling her a religion. i love this bc it continues the religious imagery of Guilty As Sin?

you hung me on your wall, stabbed me with your push pins makes me think of a couple of different things - image wise, it makes me think of pinning a map up on a wall, marking places that you’ve been (also a hint of carve your name into my bedpost ≠ i'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song (from FOB)). it also makes me think of pierced through the heart but never killed. the other connection that comes up is to “put a pin in it” means to save something for later, typically to postpone something useful but not for immediate use. this meaning feels more likely given the subsequent were you a sleeper cell spy? in fifty years, will all this be declassified?

the bridge just goes so hard, I’m obsessed. there are a few callbacks to previous work but to me this bridge is on mtr echelon:

the betrayal in did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed? is so good. esp given how she historically describes her bed/room as a safe space - turned my bed into a sacred oasis/drew a map on your bedroom ceiling/the warmest bed I’ve ever known

the gun weapon of choice is also interesting to me considering she’s also discussed daggers and poison, and a gun specifically has to be loaded. it makes me think of memories feel like weapons/we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean, some to throw, some to make a diamond ring

the line were you writing a book? IMMEDIATELTY made me think of so I'll go back to L.A. and the so-called friends who'll write books about me, if I ever make it which is especially painful i think for the narrator. they’ve historically said “I struggle a lot with the idea that my life has become unmanageably sized,” she continued. “Not to sound too dark, but I just struggle with the idea of not feeling like a person.” and this lyric does exactly that - it reduces the person to a product, a story to be sold for a profit.

to end, the lyric and in plain sight you hid but you are what you did and I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive gives me such chills. i saw someone share that they had a history of abuse and that lyric made them feel so validated. there’s just something so haunting and angry but beautiful about it.

[ai-the-broccoli]

lawlight, told through taylor swift songs: a non-exhaustive list

no really, why do so many taylor swift songs fit Death Note (and sometimes especially Light and lawlight) so perfectly?

many others have already made pretty good posts on this topic before, but the parallels are truly kinda crazy, so here's my take on it. the rankings within each tier are not super fixed or meaningful, like honestly everything within each tier is pretty much the same degree of fitting to me.

(yes, I double-checked basically her entire discography for this. no, I still don't think this is a fully comprehensive list.)

Tier S - every single line is a fit

1. my tears ricochet (<- category C: "I Knew You'd Miss Me Once The Thrill Expired")

post L's death lawlight, from L's perspective: the song. nearly every line fits what the hell man. one of my favourites here

-> Full Lyrics

2. hoax (<- category C: "I Knew You'd Miss Me Once The Thrill Expired")

@kiyomitakada pointed this out and... yeah, every single line does fit! it's very lawlight from Light's perspective.

-> Full Lyrics

Tier A - the whole song fits well

3. Blank Space (<- category A: "Let the Games Begin")

we probably all know this one lol. while the idea that it was actually written as inspired by DN is a myth, it very much does fit.

-> Full Lyrics

and GOD did the MV imagery not help. like, I mean...

the MV uses a colour scheme of red/blue/black/white/green-ish, I think, which doesn't NOT look like the first OP of Death Note anime to say the least.

apple imagery. yeah. the above is literally something Light does in said OP. both song videos have close-up shot of biting a very red apple.

the character Taylor Swift plays in this video (who is supposed to be a satirical caricature based on media perception of her as a crazy obsessive jealous 'serial dater' women iirc) is depicted doing a lot of voodoo to torture her lover.

in one scene she seems to be in a great and dramatic frenzy with mixed emotions (sadness, desperation, manic, anger, hate, etc.) over the boyfriend character's... unconscious body? I'm not super sure if it's supposed to be unconscious. but it's like this:

and then after a while of this, we see a shot of her sneakily winking at the camera. but anyway so yeah this entire part weirdly actually reminded me of L's death scene for some reason lol

at the end of the MV there's a short B-T-S trivia clip. there's a freaking black notebook there:

it's titled "My True Loves" and the content has nothing to do with lawlight, because it just contains pictures of her cats... is what I'd say, but actually, if you stretch it a bit, there's a comparison to be made about the fact that J-Drama Light Yagami's actor is a cat lover who actually has a cat named L

anyway this isn't exactly a T-pose but it's not too far from one either

I think I've made my point.

4. Getaway Car (<- category B: ''Now This is An Open/Shut Case")

this is very the end of the Yotsuba arc to me, specifically from while they are catching Higuchi to after they catch him and Light regains his memories. man...

-> Full Lyrics

Tier B - largely/mostly fitting

category A: "Let the Games Begin"

the mind games begin.

1. Ready For It

Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him Wondered how many girls he had loved and left haunted But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom Holdin' him for ransom, some Some boys are tryin' too hard, he don't try at all though Younger than my exes, but he act like such a man, so I see nothing better, I keep him forever Like a vendetta-ta

and

Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me Stealing hearts and running off and never sayin' sorry But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist, and We'll move to an island, and And he can be my jailer, Burton to this Taylor Every love I've known in comparison is a failure I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now Never be the same now, now

+ the repetition of "Let the games begin". pretty self-explanatory

2. LWYMMD

I've got a list of names and yours is in red, underlined I check it once, then I check it twice, oh!

...and more. also you know how she T-poses at the end of the bridge in the MV, as she stands over many many other past version of herself?

very lightcore pose. (and this isn't even to mention how she kicks off other, "weaker" versions of herself off the giant T in the same scene, which is... arguably also a symbolic parallel to when Light screams in the helicopter as he regains his memory, if you see it that way.)

3. cowboy like me

And the tennis court was covered up With some tent-like thing And you asked me to dance But I said, "Dancin' is a dangerous game."

Oh, I thought This is gonna be one of those things Now I know I'm never gonna love again

I've got some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one You're a cowboy like me

this one even has the freaking tennis mention of all things it could've included

4. Mastermind

So I told you none of it was accidental And the first night that you saw me, nothing was gonna stop me I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk On your face, you knew the entire time You knew that I'm a mastermind And now you're mine Yeah, all you did was smile 'Cause I'm a mastermind

honestly though, this one is more like the perfect Kaguya-sama Love is War Kaguya/Miyuki song. every single line fits them perfectly. but since lawlight also do mind games and all, the song also can be seen through a lawlight lens, although I maintain that it is still the perfect kaguprez song instead of a fully lawlight one.

5. Suburban Legends

I had the fantasy that maybe our mismatched star signs Would surprise the whole school When I ended up back at our class reunion Walking in with you You'd be more than a chapter in my old diaries With the pages ripped out I am standing in a 1950s gymnasium And I can still see you now

I didn't come here to make friends We were born to be suburban legends When you hold me, it holds me together And you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

I know that you still remember We were born to be national treasures When you told me we'd get back together And you kissed me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

idk the vibes here kind of make me think of the entrance ceremony scene lol

category B: ''Now This is An Open/Shut Case"

the Kira investigation.

1. I Can See You

I can see you in your suit and your necktie Passed me a note saying, "Meet me tonight" Then we kissed and you know I won't ever tell, yeah And I could see you being my addiction You can see me as a secret mission Hide away and I will start behaving myself

the MV is important context here again, because actually, the official video for this love song depicts one person watching/"seeing" another person through - guess what - surveillance cameras. in reference to the title which is also a line repeated in the chorus. so that explains it I think. also it's implied to be about a workplace relationship

2. I Think He Knows

He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans It's like I'm 17, nobody understands No one understands

[...]

He got that boyish look that I like in a man I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans He's so obsessed with me and, boy, I understand Boy, I understand

Light's pov. the title line "I think he knows" keeps getting repeated in the song which if you view it through a lawlight lens that might be about Kira lol

3. willow

Now this is an open/shut case I guess I should've known from the look on your face Every bait-and-switch was a work of art

The more that you say, the less I know Wherever you stray, I follow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans, that's my man You know that my train could take you home Anywhere else is hollow I'm begging for you to take my hand Wreck my plans, that's my man

L pov-ish.

4. The Tortured Poets Department

You're in self-sabotage mode, throwing spikes down on the road But I've seen this episode and still loved the show Who else decodes you?

And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's gonna know you, if not me?

and also:

Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be 'Cause we're crazy So tell me Who else is gonna know me?

...as well as more lines in the song that expresses the same sentiments, like: Who's gonna hold you? Gonna know you? Gonna troll you?

in any case, "who else decodes you?" is definitely a lawlight thesis. imo. in fact I may have even actually started an essay on it in fic format with that thesis. or not? who knows! maybe one day you'll see...

anyway, this song is post-Yotsuba arc-ish to me, sort of.

category C: "I Knew You'd Miss Me Once The Thrill Expired"

L's death and Light's grieving, eventually.

5. Haunted

from Light's pov, especially in anime canon probably.

12. My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys

My boy only breaks his favorite toys, toys, oh I'm queen of sand castles he destroys, oh, oh 'Cause it fit too right Puzzle pieces in the dead of night I should've known it was a matter of time Oh, oh, my boy only breaks his favorite toys, oh, oh-oh-oh

[...]

My boy only breaks his favorite toys, toys, oh I'm queen of sand castles he destroys, oh, oh 'Cause I knew too much There was danger in the heat of my touch He saw forever so he smashed it up Oh, oh, my boy only breaks his favorite toys, oh, oh-oh-oh

which is quite fitting. moreover, there's this...

He was my best friend Down at the sandlot I felt more when we played pretend Than with all the Kens

...as well as the the original version below:

He was my best friend and that was the worst part I felt more then, in brief moments Than with all the Kens

L's pov. the "Kens" mention here is kinda like Light apparently having like 6 girlfriends in college and not caring about any of them despite being significantly bad at getting over L etc etc I think

8. Hits Different

I actually didn't think of this song in association with lawlight at all before I saw @selfdigestion bringing up the connection, and.... YEAH this is pretty lawlight-coded as well

I trace the evidence, make it make some sense Why the wound is still bleedin' You were the one that I loved Don't need another metaphor, it's simple enough A wrinkle in time like the crease by your eyes This is why they shouldn't kill off the main guy Dreams of your hair and your stare and sense of belief In the good in the world, you once believed in me And I felt you and I held you for a while Bet I could still melt your world Argumentative, antithetical dream girl

and also:

I used to switch out these Kens, I'd just ghost Rip the band-aid off and skip town like an asshole outlaw Freedom felt like summer then on the coast Now the sun burns my heart and the sand hurts my feelings

which is what the song is overall about. (there sure are a lot of Light pov songs in this category man)

and on the topic of "Kens", as it is with the previous time song, in Light's case it makes me again think of all his college girlfriends that he doesn't care about. I'm not going to comment too much on the gender-reverse implications this has for the narrator "I" in the song, but I would think that the original lyrics "bet I could still melt your world / argumentative, antithetical dream girl" with echoing repetitions on the phrase "dream girl" should've already done it for me. anyway. moving on.

10. Would've, Could've, Should've

If you never touched me I would've Gone along with the righteous If I never blushed then they could've Never whispered about this And if you never saved me from boredom I could've gone on as I was

[...]

God rest my soul I miss who I used to be The tomb won't close Stained glass windows in my mind I regret you all the time I can't let this go I fight with you in my sleep The wound won't close I keep on waiting for a sign I regret you all the time

I don't know how to explain this one, but it's... something. I think it only makes more sense as a lawlight song if you want to place emphasis on the age/maturity difference angle, although even without that it would still partly fit.

17. Guilty as Sin?

My boredom's bone-deep This cage was once just fine Am I allowed to cry?

I dream of cracking locks Throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks Crashing into him tonight, he's a paradox I'm seeing visions, am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?

This, plus the fact that it uses similar imagery (dying in a hedge maze, crashing over graves, etc.) as Saltburn (2023), which... has that infamous grave scene that reminded every Death Note fan watching it of Light Yagami on L's grave.

13. cardigan

A friend to all is a friend to none Chase two girls, lose the one When you are young, they assume you know nothing

[...]

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time Chasing shadows in the grocery line I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired And you'd be standing in my front porch light And I knew you'd come back to me You'd come back to me And you'd come back to me And you'd come back

yet another post-L's death lawlight song, this time with L+Light switching povs. with the final line I think of the anime scene when Light sees a vision/ghost/whatever it is of L on the stairs:

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

Tier D - honourable mentions

The Prophecy

I got cursed like Eve got bitten Oh, was it punishment?

lightcoreTM

False God

self-explanatory title

You Are In Love

You kiss on sidewalks, you fight then you talk One night, he wakes, strange look on his face Pauses, then says, "You're my best friend" And you knew what it was, he is in love

Mr. Perfectly Fine

So dignified in your well-pressed suit So strategized, all the eyes on you Sashay away to your seat It's the best seat, in the best room Oh, he's so smug, Mr. "Always wins" So far above me in every sense So far above feeling anything

lightcore #2

You're Losing Me

doesn't fit that well lyric-wise, but it sure has got a heartbeat sound effect (sampled with her own I believe) in it referencing the stopping of a heart that sounds a lot like the one used to signal cardiac arrest in Death Note anime.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

Were you sent by someone Who wanted me dead? Did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed? Were you writing a book? Were you a sleeper cell spy? In fifty years will all this be declassified? And you'll confess why you did it And I'll say, "Good riddance" 'Cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden I would've died for your sins Instead I just died inside And you deserve prison, but you won't get time You'll slide into inboxes and slip through the bars You crashed my party and your rental car You said normal girls were "boring" But you were gone by the morning You kicked out the stage lights, but you're still performing And in plain sight you hid But you are what you did And I'll forget you, but I'll never forgive The smallest man who ever lived

lightcore #3

Anti-Hero

I'll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

lightcore #4

Clara Bow

"The crown is stained, but you're the real queen Flesh and blood amongst war machines You're the new God we're worshipping Promise to be dazzling"

there is a joke I can make here about how "dazzling" is "kira-kira" in Japanese

lightcore #5

(man that's a lot of lightcore songs)

Other songs

...that grieve the loss of a lover,

or mentions a lover being a friend/not a friend;

songs with ghost/death/grave/tomb/cemetery imagery,

songs where the self or the lover is compared to God or a god,

songs that mention a difference in age or has the lover looking down on the narrator's maturity (e.g. illicit affairs, All Too Well),

songs where love is characterized as a game of cat and mouse;

and so on.

taylor swift seems to write about those motifs a lot, so there really are a lot of other examples to pull.

and that concludes my list, I think. there may actually be even more comparisons if you look into her album liner notes and such, but this is what I've got for now

[chosetherose]

getaway car / august / the other side of the door

then

this is me trying

Wait. What? For the love of the soft cozy blankets I am still in…what is going on right now?

Mind you I’ve just woken up and haven’t watched any clips of Melbourne N2 yet but this feels very much like Kaylor Tumblr lore.

August: like the timeframe we’ve talked about *for years* as being potentially important for Jerklie contracts?

Getaway car: like leaving at the end of a contract?

The other side of the door: like a closet door? The secret hideaway house’s door (you know the imagery she always sings about)?

This is me trying: like something in the works is hard to get done?

We know Taylor sends messages with her surprise songs so this combo has my mind racing with options.

Telling us 🚜 is around until/through August? Start of football season disconnect? But she’s about to be on break for September and October so hmm.

Jerklie split after August 2024? This feels like wishful thinking. I’m wondering more and more about 2025 for them.

Taylor sharing her truth? This would very much surprise me too, especially since she still has tour dates on the books. Her last show before her 2 month+ break is 8/20. I guess she could share what she wants to share then let it soak in for a few months. But still it seems far fetched to think about. You’d think she want the option to be out of the spotlight depending on how she feels.

Or maybe it was just a cool song combo.

[tortured-gaylor]

from the journal of ava: but daddy i love him notes

according to swifties, this is a little mermaid reference: she gave up her voice to be with the man she loved

idk i haven't seen the little mermaid since i was 5, i'll take their word for it

i just learned these people only raise you to cage you

links back to who's afraid of little old me?: "you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me"

growing up famous, she was never able/allowed to just be or do what she wanted. this is also made clear in the miss americana documentary. seems like scott especially tried to keep her quiet and caged

she has used cage imagery often throughout her career in music videos and visuals (look what you made me do music video, the shadows in the visuals during the midnights set at the eras tour, the speak now ornament, the glass cage in the willow music video,...)

the spotify library installation also had a cage, but the birds were free on another shelf

sarahs and hannahs in their sunday best, clutching their pearls sighing "what a mess" i just learned these people try and save you cause they hate you

this seems to allude to religious people being homophobic. they try and "fix" you by praying for you

she's the odd one out, doesn't fit in with the norm (the sarahs and hannahs)

they slammed the door on my whole world, the one thing i wanted

again with the controlling

is the muse the whole world? is it simply freedom? or is it something else entirely?

now i'm running with my dress unbuttoned, screamin' "but daddy i love him"

like the love story music video

song themes are similar to love story as well with the disapproving father

i'm having his baby... no i'm not but you should see your faces

GAGGED

you should have indeed seen my face

dutiful daughter, all my plans were laid

idk what to tell you

it's queer

her parent (likely her dad) planned her whole life out for her and she fulfilled this "destiny", even if that life doesn't suit her

tendrils tucked into a woven braid

links back to seven: "your braids like a pattern"

the saboteurs protested too much

homophobes

lord knows the words we never heard, just screeching tires and true love

links back to getaway car

this could mean words of acceptance, likely from the church(goers) again

i'll tell you somethin' 'bout my good name it's mine alone to disgrace

she's done being sheltered and ready to make her own decisions, decide who she is all by herself

god save the most judgmental creeps who say they want what's best for me sanctimoniously performing soliloquies i'll never see, thinking it can change the beat of my heart when he touches me and counteract the chemistry and undo the destiny you ain't gotta pray for me me and my wild boy and all this wild joy if all you want is gray for me, then it's just white noise and it's just my choice

this is her saying people have no business being all up in her relationships. they seem to think they have the moral upper hand and get to decide what's best for her, even if they don't know her or her partner at all

she pulls an uno reverse on them by asking god to save them, just like they did for her

this could mean she's gonna love who she loves, despite what the world wants/expects from her

this calls back to the people "saving" her cause they hate her (so homophobes again)

this is a reach but did they try to strip her of her pride colours and she finally decided to ignore these very loud voices?

scandal does funny things to pride but brings lovers closer

✨ shared trauma ✨

for real though, scandal could be her being outed by whatever tabloid

forced her deeper in the closet, but closer to the (also closeted?) muse

we came back when the heat died down

the scandal forced them to keep a low profile for a bit but they came back (stronger than a '90s trend?)

went to my parents and they came around

reminds me of That™ miss americana scene

also reminds me of how the dad in love story eventually came around

time, doesn't it give some perspective?

there's something in this line but i'm not sure what

[foxes-that-run]

Blue walls

Reputation Magazines 1 and 2 | Everything Has Changed | Paper Rings | Peace | Call it What You Want Lyric Video | Lover Album Cover Photoshoot | 1989 Deluxe Polaroids

Taylor has used the imagery of painted blue walls on Red, 1989, Reputation, Lover and Folklore. While many Swifties imagine this is Taylor literally painting a muses brothers wall's blue, I don't agree because the blue wall was in:

lyrics on Red, Red has a link to Daylight and the lover prologue also

the 1989 Polaroids,

the CIWYW lyric video & Reputation magazines, looking staged. She also wears a cap similar to the Red TV cover.

the Lover Album Cover shoot, looking obviously staged where Taylor says it is possible album covers many times. The final Lover cover had her hair dyed/coloured/painted blue. In the video you can see Taylor had painted a heart on the blue lover wall, which is a happier sky blue daylight shade than in Reputation's depressed navy.

Symbolism

Walls can symbolise barriers, a shield to threats, isolation, boundaries and privacy, a separation of private and public.

Blue can symbolise calm, serenity but also depression and sadness. Taylor uses two very different shades in this way.

Painting can symbolise covering up, transforming or hiding something.

Brother - sometimes a brother is just a male sibling but it can also be a close trusted friend or companion.. perhaps a male friend who Taylor cowrote a love song about you with

To me I think the blue walls are a separation of Taylor and everyone else, her life is too public and she is exposed which made her sad, or blue:

She met the muse in EHC and took down her blue walls, letting them in.

In 1989 the polaroids for Clean and IWYW she has tall blue walls again, the tone looks like a pale blue with a yellow filter. This may be a happy shade and the filter makes it ambiguous, like that album.

On Reputation she paints the walls blue again, this time a depressed navy, her life is private and she's depressed. The background on CIWYW is also blue.

On Lover the shade is happy, but the scene is so forced. The lyric is remembering painting walls with someone, like a secret safe world. Paper Rings copies the melody of Breathe In, Breathe Out a song about a break up that Taylor mentioned on Tumblr on 25 June 2015 and referred to in Getaway Car and Labyrinth. Paper Rings is about a more complex feeling than it seems, and seemingly was written before Reputation was released or earlier.

Finally in peace the muse is painting dreamscapes on the walls …not an escape or reality but an image of a dream on a metaphor for being trapped.

[scheodingers-muppet]

reputation (stranger things version) let’s go

…Ready For It? - jancy. the whole “i’ve known i wanted you since we first met” kinda vibe really fits them i think. “some boys are trying too hard, he don’t try at all though. younger than my ex’s but he acts like such a man” sorry steve. “knew i was a robber first time that he saw me. stealing hearts and running off” nancy is really the only character we see *multiple* people crushing on. steve and jonathan, of course, but also dustin, fred, arguably robin.

End Game - steddie. “you and me, we got big reputations” king steve and the freak, two sides of some big reputations. “i got some big enemies” being hated by the school and town and the literal upside down. “in rumors, i’m knee deep” “i’ve made mistakes…but something was born on the forth of july” steve’s huge character arch we see in season 3, over the summer.

I Did Something Bad - nancy. shes realms the only one i can see for this one. the confidence and bad-ass of it really only fits her

Don’t Blame Me - steve. why? because i said so. i fully believe he loves VERY deeply. why? because. i said so.

Delicate - steddie, from eddie’s pov. “my reputations never been worse so, you must like me for me” literal manhunt for him and steve’s making googoo eyes at him. “dark jeans and your nikes” is so steve coded. “i know that it’s delicate” not only is eddie wanted for murder, but also, steve’s reputation would be very delicate; even been friends with eddie could make him a target

Look What You Made Me Do: el. “the role you made me play of the fool” and being used in vecna’s plan. “i got smarter, i got harder in the nick of time” “i don’t trust nobody and nobody trusts me” her trust has ben broken so many times and shes had to fight tooth and nail for the trust in her now “the old taylor can’t come to the phone right now. why? oh, because she’s dead” paralleled to el coming back at the end of season 2 completely changed

So It Goes… - jancy, from nancy’s pov. “we breakdown a little, but when you get me alone, it’s so simple” “you know i’m not a bad girl but, i’ll do bad things with you”

Gorgeous: ronance, from nancy’s pov. “i got a boyfriend, he’s older than us.” “you’re so cool, it makes me hate you so much.” and “i’m furious at you for making me feel this way” with how nancy didn’t like her at first. “ocean blue eyes, looking in mine” tldr; nancy’s gay awakening is robin

Getaway Car: jancy. “i wanted to leave him. i needed a reason” and “he poisoned the well, i was lying to myself” about steve. “we were flying but we never got far” and “think about the place where you first met me” with the relationship starting to crumble. “we were jet set bonnie and clyde until i switched to the other side” i like to imagine this as her going to robin but that’s just me.

King Of My Heart: steddieeeeee. okay listen. i love when fics make references to king steve and steve likes the name. i adore royal imagery with them. “we rule the kingdom inside my room” “king of my heart, body and soul” i LOVEEE eddie calling him king steve again, but as like, “you’re the king of my heart” “you’re love is a secret im hoping, dreaming to keep”

Dancing With Our Hands Tied: byler. “i loved you in secret…how were you to know?” “deep blue but you painted me golden” when blue meets yellow in the west. “i loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us” i think mike might be starting to realize his feelings for will while he’s gone, loving him even though he’s scared the distance will hurt them. “dancing like it was the first time”

Dress: ronance. why? idk it just fits. nancy and robin get close, become friends and nancy realizes her feelings for her. i can also see elmax if you remove the sexual elements of the song.

This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things: steve to tommy and carol. “it was so nice throwing big parties” “it was so nice being friends again…but you stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand” tommy leaving him for billy. i just need to see steve lose his shit, honestly.

Call It What You Want: steddie. idk what you want from me, its so steve talking about eddie before they’re official. “my castle crumbled over night…they took the crown but it’s alright” losing “king” title. “nobody’s heard from me in months” falling down the social rankings and living a more “quiet” life (ie no parties and such) “my baby’s fly like a jet stream high above the whole scene” both eddie looking down on social hierarchy and also eddie perched on his chair during campaigns, being literally above the whole scene. “all the jokers dressing up as kings” billy taking his role. “you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?” steve maybe talking to eddie about how he can “pay him back” for saving his life or something cute like that.

New Year’s Day: stobin. this song has always kinda been platonic to me. but it’s so them. the devotion of always being there, no matter what or why. “please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh i would recognize anywhere” I MEANNNNN

[kayloronmain]

Deciphering I Know Places

I Know Places has always been one of my favorite tracks off 1989. After a recent listen, it feels so important to the story Taylor is weaving in her discography, how it ended up progressing, and how it may ultimately end. Let’s examine 🔎

You stand with your hand on my waistline

It's a scene, and we're out here in plain sight

Evidence submitted. They were on full display. People started paying attention to their relationship, their coming’s and going’s.

I can hear them whisper as we pass by

It's a bad sign, bad sign

Somethin' happens when everybody finds out

See the vultures circling, dark clouds

Vultures circle prey as they wait for death. An omen that a situation is about to take a terrible turn.

Love's a fragile little flame, it could burn out

It could burn out

Wild winds can burn out a fragile little flame. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” But not in her case. In her case, her love is a scandal. When the talking turns to screams, Taylor isn’t allowed to pursue her love anymore (publicly).

Cause they got the cages, they got the boxes

And guns

What comes to mind is the heartbreaking juxtaposition between the language of being on the run, sneaking, and escaping in the 1989 era to the cages and boxes of Reputation.

Was she the crook who was caught? And caged? And tamed?

Notably, this is the first time we see the vault imagery that became a prominent component of the Taylor’s Version re-releases.

They are the hunters, we are the foxes

And we run

She used to run. Now she’s in a getaway car. First she was forcibly caged, her wings clipped. Then while planning her escape, shots fired, her sparkling summer ruined, and she went willingly into hiding, accepting her fate, at first. Willing the prophecy to be different. Hiding has been torture. Now she’s breaking free

Baby, I know places we won't be found, and

They'll be chasing their tails trying to track us down

Cause I, I know places we can hide

I know places, I know places

She knows places, but those places only exist in her mind now. In her music. In her folklore. Places you need a key to get to. The only one is hers. This is where she hides. All this showmanship.

Lights flash and we'll run for the fences

Let them say what they want, we won't hear it

Let them say the rumors that are terrible and cruel, but honey most of them are true?

She’s not running anymore, she’s driving a getaway (k)ar telling him (jaMEs) to floor it through the fences.

Loose lips sink ships all the damn time

Not this time

She’s taking no chances on having her plans foiled this time. Her revenge will be perfectly executed. She’s pleading her case to us.

Just grab my hand and don't ever drop it

My love

(I) They take their shots, but we're bulletproof

(Hide) and you know for me, it's always you

(I) in the dead of night, your eyes so green

(Hide) and I know for you, it's always me

Shots were fired but indeed she rose up from the dead, she does it all the time. And now she’s coming back for what’s hers. Her reputation and her name.

The fact that she’s literally singing

I……… Hide…….. I……… Hide……… in the background vocals.

Followed by

I-I-I-eye eye 👁️

[atticsandwich]

omg a fellow swiftie! can i ask what you think each character's favorite album would be (and why) i loved the songs you picked for each of them on your list!

THANK YOU FOR ASKING I LOVE YOU.

and so without further ado:

What I think each obey me character's favorite Taylor Swift album would be

(this is just for fun pls don't take it personally if you don't agree with my takes lol)

LUCIFER

Red. i think a lot of people would go with rep or folklore for him but Red is such an intensely passionate album overflowing with multitudes of emotions that it'd be the one he'd gravitate towards.

His favorite on the album would either be state of grace or treacherous, i think. both songs just encompass the feeling of an unexpected emotion/encounter that not only intensifies but also fundamentally changes you as a person.

acknowledges ronan and how it's a beautifully written memorial. however, he'll only listen to it if it's a particularly reminiscence-heavy day

MAMMON

he's a reputation girlie DEFINITELY. The almost grunge-like feel of the first half juxtaposed with the second's more romantic upbeat pop (and ends with a piano ballad? yeahhhhh) is something he would soooo eat up. Not to mention he already has a rep era outfit ready by way of his demon form lol

favorites are don't blame me and getaway car and by the time new year's day hits he's an emotional mess. "please don't ever become a stranger who's laugh i could recognize anywhere" he'd be projecting the hell out of himself in that situation and he'd start whining and demanding that you never forget him. as he does.

LEVIATHAN

1989. Listen to me. He's a pop music enjoyer to a T. He probably won't admit it though. He'll probably say his favorite genre is like alt but then secretly have emotion and 1989 as his spotify (devilfy?) top streamed. (outside of course, his animanga playlist)

Very much a deep-cut kind of guy. He can appreciate style and blank space but firmly believes i know places and you are in love are superior and majorly underrated. and he's right...!

SATAN

this one's easy. evermore. no questions. in my opinion it's taylor's most literary-driven album, even more so than folklore, which i feel like is more storytelling-driven (pls tell me u get what i mean even though they're kinda the same thing but also not 😵‍💫). evermore is just one of those album that you'll only get to fully appreciate once you start trying to understand the songs as they stand on their own, and not as an interconnected puzzle.

cowboy like me is his favorite. i mentioned in my list that it's also the taylor song i associate the most with him, but i feel like he'd fully understand the underlying kinship and desperation that encompasses the song, especially if he tries to relate it with how he sees you, and how you're the only one on the same playing field as him.

almost cried to marjorie. he's in his feelings like that. closure appreciator (aka he's got taste. he's got the vision).

ASMODEUS

you'd think it'd be 1989, but it's actually Midnights. he'd LOVE the sultry take on synth-pop, and it's an album he would constantly have on ritation when he's getting ready to go out, or if he just wants to feel it. There's something about midnights that's so dark yet so unmistakeably airy and light, romantic, devastating, and sensual.

maroon or karma would be his favorite. karma is more of his favorite 'feel good' song though, while maroon is his favorite because of its imagery and emotion.

BEELZEBUB

just like the list, he was the hardest to pick for 😵‍💫 i think it's mainly because Beel doesn't really strike me as someone who gets way into an artist, and generally vibes with whatever he can find. He probably has a gym playlist consisting of multitudes of different artists and genres. If i had to pick though, i think his favorite would be Red - it's actually a pretty good workout album in my experience.

his favorites are the lighter songs, like everything has changed and starlight. i think he's the type to enjoy those types of songs more - lighthearted, upbeat, sweet. will not listen to ronan. he can handle the more emotional songs, but ronan made him lose his appetite. (i get u beel i never listen to it too i cant)

BELPHEGOR

folklore. what better album to sleep to? he doesn't sleep to it because it's boring per se, but because folklore just has that soothing essence to it that's very calming despite how devastating a lot of the songs are

doesn't get why betty, james, and augustine can't all be together, though. ("if me, you, and beel can make it work, so can they," he says when you ask.)

favorites are the last great american dynasty (thinks rebecca is funny), peace, and hoax. peace is hit top pick though, he resonates with its themes of "you're too good for me, i've wronged you yet you chose me, i'd give the world to you if you asked"

DIAVOLO

oh this guy would LOVE Speak Now. it's such a magical, whimsical, yet also so emotional and nuanced all wrapped up in a ribbon of both love and heartbreak. there's a sense of childlike fascination in diavolo that i think would resonate with how humans process love, yearning, loss, uncertainty, and just living, and i think speak now encapsulates all of those perfectly.

he's a romantic, let's be real. his favorutes are sparks fly and enchanted, and he can't help but think of you and how he felt when he fully realized how he felt towards you. it's explosive, magical, and he just wants more.

would unironically suggest long live as a RAD graduation song

BARBATOS

another Midnights kind of guy. not in the way asmo is, though. while asmo loves midnights for both its romantic and sensual aspects, barbatos favors this album because of its overall thematic depiction of the progression of the emotional spectrum - be it love, longing, grief, and life is general. i think people forget that midnights is also very introspective of Taylor's career, with multiple callbacks and small references to her previous work, while also being an album of processing separate emotions in a set timeline of her life.

adores the 3 am tracks, labyrinth, and mastermind. mastermind specifically is something i feel like he can resonate with specifically if he associates it with you, although whether you're the mastermind or it's him, he's not entirely sure. all he knows is that he's glad everything fell right into place for you to be his, or vice versa.

SOLOMON

his favorite would be Lover, i think. for many reasons, but especially because it's specifically you he thinks about the entire time listening. there's plenty of different facets of love to explore too - the domesticity, the sensuality, even the absurd and blasphemous. of course, there's also a little inkling of heartbreak and angst in the record, but he's one to appreciate those, too.

favorites on lover would be... well, lover, the titular track. he loves the domesticity he feels with you and yearns for it. i think he'd resonate with ma&thp too, but mostly for its storytelling. death by a thousand cuts will start to make him sad if he ever thinks about the both of you in that situation, so he probably skips it often for his own sanity (and probably sygb too?)

SIMEON

FEARLESS.

honestly it was either fearless and lover again, but i feel like he's more in line with the "i love you but reality isn't always a fairytale. why do you always feel so close, yet so far away?" idk if yall realize this but fearless is such. a melancholic album?? look at the tracklist and tell me I'm wrong, u can't.

funnily enough. relates to white horse a lot, mostly because of his own insecurity with how he stands between your relationship with him vs. the brothers. do u get what im trying to go for here. for that same reason he also loves you belong with me.

LUKE

this precious angel is a debut appreciator. the naive, almost juvenile level view on love, while trying his absolute best to prove himself, cherishing every friendship he makes, and especially his friendship with you. He's still improving himself as an angel day by day so one day, he'll establish himself as someone you can fully rely on!

his favorite is i'm only me when i'm with you - everyday he spends with you is something he truly cherishes, and he's always looking forward for the next time he'll get to hang out with his best friend.

THIRTEEN

another reputation girlie. argue with a wall (jk)

listen, she just thinks it's fun, she loves the intense beats and synths, and loves to scream the lyrics. i don't really think she'll care much for the more romantic songs, but she can still appreciate how heartfelt they are.

special exception to dwoht - the depiction of a suffocating exhiliration of love gets to her. it's so dangerous yet so tempting, so bounded yet so freeing....

aside from the aforementioned, also loves ready for it...? and i did something bad. it's the anticipation and thrill and conniving facets that enthralls her.

loves 1989 just as much though. pop bible ftw

RAPHAEL

folklore enthusiast. loves how mellow yet emotionally nuanced and diverse it is. loves exploring the various depths of human emotion portrayed in the album. listens to it while he sews, it gives him a pretty steady rhythm.

if you mention loving the album, he'll make you a cardigan. (just like the one in the song, he'll say. he looks stoic but you can tell from the handiwork that he's spent an absurd amount of time and dedication to perfect the piece. wear it often. he loves seeing it on you. he won't say that outright, though.)

his favorites are the most emotional and introspective ones - my tears ricochet, mirrorball, this is me trying, hoax. again, mostly because he loves peering into human psyche and that spectrum of emotions in particular.

MEPHISTOPHELES

he'd say Speak Now because it's Dia's favorite, but it's actually Red, funnily enough. will never admit it though, because he knows it's also luci's pick.

the intensity in red's portrayal of passion and heartbreak is something he appreciates, and while not necessarily 100% relating to, he understands why anyone would feel that way. love is a very fickle yet powerful thing, after all.

there's an essence of longing in the album, both for what was and what will be. Sometimes he can't help but see himself and you in those situations; him knowing that associating with you would be too much trouble than worth, but also he can't help but want to deepen his relationship with you, yet he's unsure where he can comfortably place himself between the brothers and the others vying for your attention. he hides that insecurity in stride though, the less you know the better.

top picks are treacherous and holy ground, for reasons mentioned above.

ok that's all of them. that took way longer than i thought LMFAO thank you again for asking anon!! i hope i didnt disappoint 🫡🫡

[looselipssinkships-x]

please ramble some more about the lyrics in campagne for my real friends

I didn't proofread this. It is roughly 1700 words. I have a lot of feelings. Buckle up.

Okay let’s take it from the top:

You are a getaway car, rush of blood to the head – okay so this isn’t a huge one for me but like, it sets the scene, sets the tone, starts painting a picture of this person. They are chaos, they are energy, and this song is sung directly to them while being about them. 

I’m just the covers on top of your bed – I am waiting patiently for you to come home. I am warm, I am safe. I am an afterthought, I am no one, I am invisible until I am gone.

I keep you warm and not ask you where you’ve been – this line comes and goes so quick and the first time I actually heard the lyrics they hit me like a freight train. This line is the kind of shit I read and write stories about. It speaks to care, to compassion, the kind of gentle acceptance that we all crave (or maybe it’s just me and my emotional damage but I feel like it’s a smidge universal). You know I’m flawed and messy and sometimes the choices I make aren’t the best but you’re not leaving. You’re there when I am ready to return.

With your backless, black dress, soaked to the skin – the imagery and the syncopation of this line just, does things to me. I need to be in a club somewhere (preferably gingers in nyc ily) in something tight, black, and backless. This person is clearly the center of the singer’s attention, and the way I choose to interpret the song, they appreciate the attention of the masses but the only person whose attention really matters to them is the singer (y’know that feeling when there’s a whole crowd of people but it feels like it’s just you and that one other person? yeah. those kinda vibes.)

And when it’s said and done, they’re all scramblin – okay so I misheard this line for like, a while. I heard “we’ll all straggle in,” like the way everyone crawls into bed in the early hours of the morning after the bars close up. It continued painting the picture of the dichotomy between recklessness and security, with the imagery of the singer as the warm bed you return to for quiet comfort. ‘They’re all scramblin” paints a bit of a different picture, maybe this person’s energy is a little more reckless, sends people running. They’re someone you can’t tear your eyes away from until it all starts to crash and burn and then it flips and you can’t bear to look. The singer says “they’re all,” not including themself. They will stay when it all falls apart. 

And we’re friends, we’re friends – The repetition of this line feels sooo intentional, like this person needs to be reminded, reassured. Especially with the first ‘we’re friends’ being a little more drawn out and melodic and the repeat being shorter and percussive, it’s firm, it’s no nonsense, it’s “this is not up for debate.”

Just because we move units – I don’t have a lot to say about this line, because I have no idea what it means, but I thought it said “just because we know you dance,” which feels like it fits the song, and seems like a allusion to the focal person supporting the singer/band. It expands the picture to this focal person coming to shows and maybe that’s how they met, because their energy has to be eye catching, intoxicating.

Strike us like matches, ‘cause everyone deserves the flames – I think every time I think about this line I debate how it can be interpreted. Are we keeping everybody warm? Are we putting everyone on display and shining a light on them? Are we lighting them on fire? Regardless of the interpretation of why everyone deserves the flames, the imagery of “us” being what initiates the fire is so vivid, especially the way striking a match creates a tiny little explosive reaction, such  a significant spike in energy made through the strike.

We only do it for the scars and stories – We do it for the future, we do it to keep on living, we do it all to squeeze every last bit from this short little life we have. This is from the era where at least half of fall out boy still felt like they were living with a deadline. Do you know what it is to feel like the sand in your hourglass is falling faster and faster and you are desperate to make the most before that time runs out? You know it will hurt, by now it doesn’t cross your mind for things not to hurt, but this is what feels real right now. This person with their frenetic energy makes you feel alive, and you sink into that. 

The sounds of this small town make my ears hurt – All you want is to get out. Small towns can be so suffocating, and the dynamic between two people desperate to make it out can be…fraught. It’s so hard. The context of this song in a small town?? Everyone is trying/everyone is shining?? God do you know what it is to love someone who shines so bright in such a dull town and have to watch as the dullness threatens and eats away at their bright? Maybe this is just me because goddamn everything feels like a fight, like pulling teeth, like i will never ever be free from that small town no matter how far I move, no matter how much I change, it will always eat at me.

They say, you want a war, you’ve got a war but who are you fighting for? – The desperation in this line, the angst, the way you can feel your heart rasping up your throat in this line, begging an answer “what are you fighting for?” and until you know what you are fighting for how can you do anything but lose?

Tide’s out, the ships run aground, we drown, traitors in shallow waters – syncopation bay-beee!! When i started thinking about all of fall out boy’s boat mentions I was like wow, kinda weird for a bunch of kids from the midwest, then I remembered Chicago is on a big ol fucking lake. (I am from the very landlocked midwest. The first time we had a flood warning after I moved to the east coast I almost threw up because I couldn’t figure out what was going to flood. Was the ocean going to flood? Is the Charles going to come into my apartment? I was unwell). ANYWAYS. This line always makes me think of that thing about like, drowning is still drowning whether it’s 3 feet or 3 miles of water, though the specific “traitors in shallow water” feels like someone is making an example of them, this was intentional. When did we go from car to boat though? Are we fleeing? Are we drowning upon departure or arrival? My personal heartache is upon arrival. We finally believe we might have made it, only to not have made it at all. That feeling of your dreams being just barely out of reach. The reference as “traitors” feels like a call back to the small town. Small towns feel like they can go either way? Depending on who you are I guess, and why you’re leaving, small towns are either “you can always come back home” or “once you leave you’re not welcome back.” But it could an accusation from either side, really. That awful in between feeling of feeling trapped in the small town but you have decades of small town instilled in you that you stick out like a sore thumb when you get to the big city. It takes trial and error to learn to assimilate yourself into this new place, and there’s a lot of time spent feeling like you don’t belong in either. (If you’ve stuck it out this far, I understand if you think i should go to therapy. You would be correct). 

Everyone is trying, everyone is shining, everyone deserves the flames, but it’s such a shame – what!! an!! ending!! I know I already threw a bit of this line in earlier but I’m obsessed with both the lyrics and the way it’s sang almost as a call and response. Everyone is shining is fighting to be heard, the repetition of such a shame during previous choruses and the emphasis on each word as the song ends. What is such a shame? The way they’re shining? The way they burned out? It feels very much the way people from my town react when they find out someone they used to think highly of is now tattooed and queer. They’ve fallen from the path of the righteous, what a shame. It’s also the energy of like, how people react after people, especially young people, die from something like suicide or overdose after being bullied/demonized/what have you and left with no support system but everyone’s supposedly sad after they’re gone. 

Conclusions: Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends feels very much like a tale of best friends/lovers escaping a small town. (Backless black dress feels like a manic pixie dream girl, but also I saw a post the other day about pete being patrick’s manic pixie dream girl, and it doesn’t not fit). The person the singer is talking about is such a bright light in their dead end town and the singer just feels hollow and empty and angst ridden, they’re both a little too jaded by life already. They try and make it out but it’s hard, it’s so hard, it eats at them and they wear on each other, but by god they’re going somewhere, they’re going to make it out. Only they don’t. They crash and burn. Their ending burns as bright as their beginning did, as bright as anything. They had a good run. They gave it their all. Look at how those good kids ended up, isn’t it sad? Champagne is for all the small town kids fighting for a life bigger than what they were told they had to grow into.

[thelasttime]

love story + getaway car = but daddy i love him

i understand how it can be difficult to dissociate a song from its perceived muse (especially when that muse is someone as heinous as ratman) but also. i think it's not so cut and dry as that when it comes to how taylor comes up with her songs. yes on one hand bdilh can be interpreted as her giving the bird to swifties/media critics/etc who criticized (in many ways rightfully) that particular relationship. on the other hand it can be so many other things, like media commentary on her love life overall, literally her family/dad's disapproval of someone (ala ours), inspired to some extent by an actual feeling/experience she had then ran with and decorated with fictional imagery like in folkmore, a combination of some or all of those things, etc. i don't think it's fair to a song or to her to reduce it to a moment of problematic delusion where she says screw the world i love this guy and if you criticize us in any way you're a creep. in fact if that was all it was, after everything else that went down that she talks about on the same album, i don't think she would have published the song at all. she (and jack) are obviously proud of it as a piece of art in its own right. the same goes for songs like ours and i can see you when you compare them against dear john and wcs. but again that is just my opinion and i respect however anyone might feel about the song as well.

very much agree with everything said. i think the introduction says a lot about the music and not everything is as cut and dry as we think!! and she fully recognizes that what she was doing was not the right thing

[sophietv]

The Multidimensions Of Taylor's Art

I wrote this piece on Twitter back in May when people were very loud about the fact that trying to attribute a song to a muse was disrecpectful and was diminishing Taylor's art.

I think today is a good day to repost it:

Taylor Swift's art is multidimensional. She said it herself and as we keep repeating over and over again, she's a Mastermind.

The message she conveys with one song is larger than just being a good song with beautifully written lyrics.

I see a lot of people talking recently about how when people talk about the muses of the song they are "reducing" Taylor's art to her muses. And how gaylorism was somewhat "better" before because the focus was less on this.

(I would like to differ on this, but it’s a whole other conversation). 

But Taylor's art is multidimensional and intentionally directed to her fans. ALL her fans.

In one song, she manages not only to create a masterpiece with incredible lyricism.

She also manages to include deep queer references, ingrained in queer history. 

She also managed multiple times to reference queer arts, books, poems, artists etc.

Acknowledging all of it and appreciating it is, yes, very important. I mean, it's the core of her art and a beautiful part of gaylorism.

Who hasn't learned a lot about our own history all thanks to Taylor?

But while this part is very true. Taylor also manages to make sure in every song that we can identify the muse.

It has always been an important part of her artistry. Remember liner notes from Debut to 1989?

She even decided that it was not enough, and starting with reputation, she started including Taymojies, making sure you knew very well who and what that song was about.

But she doesn't even stop there. For most of her songs starting with 1989 all the way to Midnights, she's also making sure that you can identify said muse through her lyrics.

Ever wonder why, for most of her songs there's parallels you can easily make with social media posts, articles, interviews, videos etc?

She's making sure that she references things in her songs that will point to the muse and that you'll be able to track back with some simple google search. 

All of this is very very clearly intentional.

She also uses the same imagery that she knows very well her fans can recognize since 1989 while talking about her muse.

Using recurring themes that she's well aware her fans (us) will associate with the person (Sun, gold, New York, daisies etc.)

But the depth of her work doesn't even stop there. She'll even use timestamps in her songs to communicate certain messages or references to certain persons. And this is when the length of the song is not simply intentionally referencing one person:

Ex Sweet Nothings: Karlie's birthday

And so much more…

This can clearly be qualified as pure genius. But she pushes it even farther. 

If we take Midnights for example she even samples her songs to older ones to help you identify the time, the event or the muse this song references.

Lavender Haze - I Think He Knows

Question…? - Out Of The Woods

Maroon - King Of My Heart

And it's not even the end of the massive amount of information that she manages to put out in a 3-4 minutes song.

This is simply astonishing. 

Her brain truly is amazing.

Her lyrics videos are made to help you identify what and who the song is about. With visual clues and very intentional uses of capital letters and comas.

For example: "Your Midas touch"

Making sure you know she's referencing king Midas who turned everything he touched into gold (gold again, interesting).

Or: "some name dropping sleaze tell me what are my Wordsworth"

From The Lakes, referencing the poet William Wordsworth.

And it still goes further. She will include small details in her songs that you'll pick up on if you pay attention but will fly right past most listeners. A sort of secret message for those who really pay attention.

Ex: in Getaway Car, when she sings.

"Ain't a circus, ain't a love story and now we're both sorry (we're both sorry)"

This is two girls singing "we're both sorry. Meaning the relationship she was trying to protect with this getaway car was with a girl. Once again pointing to the muse.

I already wrote a novel and I haven't even touched the music videos and tour visuals…

But her genius in songwriting doesn't even end there.

Because, if you don't know the muse or refuse to see it. She'll also manage to buy some plausible deniability in her songs so it kind of points to her PR relationships too.

Not much, just enough so that if you really want to believe those Hollywood stories, you can hold on to these lines/visuals and be happy.

But she manages to do so, while staying true to the real muse and not so much to the PR relationship.

A good example is Invisible String and the famous Yogourt shop line with the wrong shirt color.

If your life depends on Toe, it's enough to make you happy and you won't search much further.

However if you search a bit, you'll find out how she intentionally messed up the lyrics.

I could still go on and on about the depth, the genius and the complexity of her songwriting, but I think you see my point now.

She said it herself, her songwriting is painfully autobiographical. And she puts an immeasurable amount of effort in it to make sure you get the story right.

Dismissing the muse of the song to not reduce her work is just as bad as dismissing her queerness and all the references she does to it, to not "speculate" on her.

In both, of all the multidimensional approaches that she uses in her art. You are keeping yourself from enjoying and dismissing about 50% of her hard work. If not more when you include music videos.

Acknowledging her muses to the songs is not reducing anything but more embracing as much as you can the genius and hard work she puts behind every song and every artistic decision she makes.

And I'm not saying that you HAVE to acknowledge the muse or else you are not a true fan. Art is meant to be enjoyed differently by every person and at the end of the day you take what makes you happy, simple as that.

My point is to say that acknowledging the muse in her music is not reducing anything. Quite the contrary. 

[exheists-a]

﹟𝗘𝗫𝗛𝗘𝗜𝗦𝗧𝗦. a private and highly selective portrayal of james kelly from the 2014 film american heist. this blog will contain sensitive and triggering material —— follow at your own discretion. minors and personal blogs do not interact.

—— ❛❛ 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙴 ﹠ 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳? ❜❜ —— ❛❛ ﹙ . . . ﹚ 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗘𝗗 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗟𝗗 𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧 𝗠𝗘. ❜❜

﹙ ✟ ﹚ a study in: having nothing to lose , the getaway driver , this is my brother and i need a shovel to love him , and the desire to live a peaceful life but being unable to.

𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗘𝗗: ¹² / ³⁰ / ²⁰²³ ... 𝙰𝙻𝚈𝚂𝚂𝙰 ˢʰᵉ / ʰᵉʳ

trigger warnings: blood , death , murder , weapons , military , war , incarceration , parental neglect , general n/sfw content and imagery.

my name is alyssa ( she/her , twenty6 ) and i'll be your metalhead and horror enthusiast mom for the rest of your journey ! a full rundown of my rules can be found here but you should already know the basics. don't be weird. don't be an asshole. and don't steal. this blog will be considered perpetually low and fluctuating activity.

JAMES " JIMMY " KELLY. CISMALE HE / HIM. THIRTIES. EX MILITARY. MECHANIC. GETAWAY DRIVER. GOD WON'T GIVE HIM A FUCKING BREAK.

place of birth ... new orleans , louisiana.

education / occupation ... high school graduate in 1999. › joined the u.s army in 2001. › served in iraq for one year in 2003. › trade school to become an automotive mechanic in 2006.

health ... undiagnosed post traumatic stress disorder.

habits ... cigarette smoker. occasional drinker.

criminal record ... convicted felon. sixteen months served in prison for attempted burglary in 2004 at the age of twenty three. › off record includes: illegal possession of a firearm , reckless driving , street racing , drag racing , assault , battery , aiding and abetting , complicity , conspiracy , armed robbery , false imprisonment of a hostage , illegally manufacturing an explosive device , fleeing.

siblings ... francis " frankie " kelly. › older brother.

personality ... level headed , calm and cool under pressure. prone to lying when it comes to his past. chock full of shame , guilt , and embarrassment. emotional and good natured when he doesn't have to act otherwise. highly skilled in various aspects ( fixing cars , racing , playing piano , building explosives ) but extremely humble. prefers not to talk about himself.

after a burglary gone wrong which resulted in a police officer being killed , older brother frankie takes the rap for a crime committed together and is sentenced to ten years in prison while james is sentenced to sixteen months. after his time is served , james returns home to a world that now views him differently —— and he works towards turning his life around. this includes attending trade school where he becomes a mechanic with the hopes of one day owning his own shop and becoming something more than just his past.

frankie is released after serving his sentence and a rocky reunion ensues —— james blaming his older brother for ruining his life , and frankie reminding him that everything he has done in his life has been for him. through deceit and guilt , frankie pulls james into a bank robbery heist as the wheel man. initially , james refuses and attempts to flee ; but threats are placed on him , his brother , and his loved ones by the men organizing it if he doesn't participate

the heist proceeds as planned until an eyewitness walking towards the bank sees the masked frankie at a window and the masked james parked in a car. she flees to notify authorities.

with police surrounding the building and james now inside , a shootout ensues and frankie takes a bullet. the group attempts to escape after james breaks into a nearby car and hot wires it —— but he returns when he notices frankie is still inside. the other men are gunned down one by one during their attempt to flee.

seeing no other way out , frankie knocks james unconscious and dresses him in the clothes of a hostage. james regains awareness as frankie is dragging him out of the bank with a gun to his head to appear as though he is a hostage —— and a sniper shoots frankie down on live tv. james is ushered into an ambulance , where the paramedic working on him notices a bulletproof vest under his clothes. quickly attacking him and discreetly making an escape in the rain , james makes it onto a trolley to leave town.

[taylortruther]

Once again you are so right, if so it goes is referencing Vonnegut we’ve all gotta pack it up 😪

(Not literally but I shudder at the thought)

HAHA it really doesn't make sense, "so it goes" is just a phrase popularized by vonnegut to indicate a passage of time, or, idk, resignation to time? same thing as "it was the best of times, worst of crimes" - yes, the phrase "the was the best of times, it was the worst of times" comes from dickens, but a tale of two cities doesn't really have anything to do with getaway car (except maybe a prison break lmao) - i don't really think taylor wanted us to think of vonnegut or dickens to understand or enrich those songs. unlike, say, the miss havisham imagery in RWYLM, which does enrich the song and seems very clear even though dickens is never named.