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cutesyscreenname · 1 year

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A Cowboy Like Me : Chapter 2

What Must It Be Like

Chapter 1

Series summary:

I've had some tricks up my sleeve

Takes one to know one

You're a cowboy like me

Javier Peña is a playboy, sleeping his way across Bogotá, never settling down. And he's used to being the only one. What happens when he meets his match? A friendly challenge between friends couldn't hurt, could it? Unless that friend is you...

Chapter Summary: Javier thinks over everything that happened at the bar as he and Steve get you home. He shouldn't be feeling like this...

Pairing: Javi Peña x f reader

Rating: 18+ minors DNI

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: drinking, hangover, language, angst 😉

Notes: So this is turning into a much longer endeavor than originally intended 😂 I thought it would only be a few parts but I capped this bad boy at 3k and we only made it halfway to where I thought we would. The next one will likely be even longer so hopefully y'all are down for it.

Here is the song mentioned at the end (there's no canon for it but I feel like Javi would have a few records from the 70's he brought from home and Santana would be one of them):

And the full playlist:

What must it be like to grow up that beautiful?

With your hair falling into place like dominoes

My mind turns your life into folklore

I can't dare to dream about you anymore

From the moment your eyes closed until you reached the parking lot of your shared apartment building there was no sound but the dull rumble of the engine and a gentle crooning over the radio.

Javier leaned his dark curls against the headrest, staring straight ahead but seeing nothing in front of him.

Steve’s eyes flickered over to his friend with concern but he held his tongue. The man was a million miles away, gears turning so quickly behind his eyes Steve swore he could hear the faint sound of metal scraping over itself in a desperate grind.

A cowboy. Like him.

I do what Javi does.

I'll prove it to you.

I hear it every time I try to sleep.

You're declarations float around Javier's mind in a jumble, a record that someone keeps lifting and dropping the needle onto at random.

You were a tricky one, no doubt about it. It’s why he liked you, why he wanted your friendship. Smart but not pretentious, guarded yet forgiving, sure footed but still a little reckless, and the biggest heart that you thought no one could see. Maybe they couldn’t, but he could.

He had imagined your romances before; tentative coffee dates, sweet kisses shared in taxis, most of your suitors left disappointed aside the select few who manage to be invited up for a night cap.

He had supposed not even these lucky finalists would prove to meet the standard for dating you longer than a week, a month tops, nor should they. The man you would keep long enough to mention, to bring to drinks, to invite for dinner at Steve and Connie’s, he couldn’t build such a human in his mind’s eye.

Javier had posited all of this and a million other things but none of his thoughts matched what you had just divulged.

Entertaining my companions.

Like Javi does.

The evening in review plays on the projector screen of his hippocampus.

Quick like a bunny, sweetheart, or I won't tip ya.

Even though it was for the sake of a deprecating joke, you’d never called him sweetheart before that night. It made his ears burn and he’d practically bolted to the bar to hide the involuntary flush sure to be staining his cheeks.

Pinche mocosa, he’d thought to himself, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. The smart little mouth on her.

Later in the evening you’d groaned when Javi appeared with three tequila shots in hand.

‘Come on, we don’t have to be at the office tomorrow. Plus, Steve is a better conversationalist when I’m drunk.’

With a ‘good point' from you and ‘fuck you both’ from Steve the three of you licked salt from your hands, kicked back the poison, and pressed your teeth into limes like sucking venom from a snake bite.

His gaze couldn’t help but linger on the way your flat tongue slid across the skin between your thumb and forefinger to collect the salt crystals, his breath hitching when your lips rolled over the edge of the citrus rind as you sucked the juice from it’s flesh.

A deer in the headlights, he’d been snapped from his reverie by the man across from him.

‘Ooooo-wee. I’m switchin’ to beer after this. Someone’s gotta get you two geniuses back home later.’

‘Awww, thanks dad.’ You’d said ruffling Steve’s hair.

After your glass had emptied and refilled once and then twice more, Steve started poking the bear to amuse himself, going after the way the drink colored your words with a heavy Texas twang.

Javier relished in it, your lilting voice drawing him in like a moth to a porch light. It felt nostalgic, like the polaroid of his mamá that rested between the pages of the book on his nightstand; intimate, like a secret piece of you, buried beneath the Gulf Coast clay, awaiting your return home.

Ever the co-conspirator, you followed his lead to help him land a crude joke. Not his finest, but enough to make you laugh which was plenty for him. Then something shifted.

‘Oh it’s what they ALL say, I hear ‘em every time I try to sleep at my place.’

You’d tormented the man about his noise level before. Hell, just that morning you'd been playfully ribbing him for it. It’s not like Javier tried to keep it down. He could hear the creak of your wicker ceiling fan when he lay in his own bed chasing sleep.

The paper thin walls between you concealed nothing. Sometimes Javier swore he could hear you thinking too hard on the other side of the studs and drywall. So it stood to reason that no matter what he did to dampen the lewd soundtrack you’d hear it, and if he couldn’t shield you from it he figured it was moot to even try.

The tone in your voice tonight, though, it was different. Still playful, still antagonistic, but there was a rough undercurrent slipping through. If it weren’t for Steve’s uncanny knack for levity, Javi might have gotten caught in the undertow.

‘Girl’s out to catch Escobar all on her lonesome.’

A solid deflection but you spurred on.

I do like Javi does.

A cowboy.

Like me.

I’ll prove it.

His mind was reeling, trying to amend the portrait of you in his mind. It felt impossible. You must have been fucking with them. He was really feeling the alcohol, more intoxicated than he’d been in a long while. He was reading it wrong. Back to the script. Back to the game.

‘I don’t fuckin believe you, cariño.’

If you thought he wouldn’t call your bluff you had another thing coming. With all the cool and confidence he could muster, Javier dug his heels in even more.

‘In fact I think you’re home every night. Ear pressed to my fuckin wall, apparently.’

Yup. That would do the trick. The point goes to Agent Peña. But no-

A wave of anger flashed across your eyes, making Javier’s throat run dry.

I’ll prove it to you.

If his mind had been racing before, it short circuited when you took two of your delicate fingers and pressed them to the exposed skin of his chest. He couldn’t fight the shiver that ran through his body so he just hoped you hadn’t noticed it.

And then you- God. Fuck.

You reached up and tapped his cheek gently with your hand, your determined gaze softening just so as you peered up at him. He almost leaned into the touch. Get yourself together, Peña. She doesn’t see you like that. Goddamn tequila - una idea estúpida. He turned away from you, trying to collect his thoughts, but in his periphery he could see you were on the move.

Too sloshed to walk without stumbling, you’d swayed dangerously when you stood in pursuit of another drink. Acting on instinct, Javier had placed his steady, calloused hands around your waist. The warmth of your skin through your t-shirt seemed to creep up his fingers and send a searing current down his spine.

His hands stay curled around you for what feels like an eternity and he wonders when you’ll slap them away. To anyone that asked he’d say he had kept hold on you because he couldn't let you fall over. Really, though, he couldn’t let go if he’d tried, a man electrified, hands locked in place on the raw, exposed wire of your form.

He'd flashed a pleading look to Steve and nearly collapsed when the man took you by the hand, breaking the circuit.

He trailed behind as Murphy helped you to the car with a strong arm around your shoulders, taking the opportunity to run his hands over his face, trying to calibrate his thoughts. He sealed himself in the front passenger seat and slipped into silent thought as you slid your eyes closed.

The next sound Javi took note of was his friend’s voice.

“Jav- we’re here, man.” His tone was gentle and Javi couldn’t tell if he appreciated the care or resented what bordered on sounding like pity.

“Let’s get you both upstairs, be good to sleep it off a little.”

Javier nods, not moving at first as Steve glances at the back seat where you lay, still lost in slumber.

The man in the driver’s seat reaches back and gives you a firm shake, calling your name a handful of times before sighing.

“I’m gonna need your help getting her upstairs, bud.” Yup that was definitely pity, Javier decided.

Not wanting to prove the man right, whatever he was thinking, Javi exited the car briskly and opened the back door on the side opposite your head. Lifting your calves from the where they hung over the edge of the seat, he hooked his hands beneath the crooks of your knees and pulled you to the threshold.

When he chanced a quick look at your face he took note of how soft, how peaceful you looked. Would you even remember the night's events in the morning?

Steve moved to help but didn’t get the chance as Javier steeled himself and swiftly maneuvered you, first sitting you upright in the seat before lifting to carry you in front of him. One arm beneath your legs, the other supporting your back, and your head slumped drowsily into his shoulder, he steeled his expression and started toward the apartment wordlessly, Steve hustling to catch up and help with the door.

“Can you tell where her keys are at?”

Javi sighed as they reached the landing. Your warmth pressed into his torso and he found himself torn between wanting to hold you tighter, to soak it in, and needing to get as far from you as possible.

“Well her pockets are clearly empty, so I’m guessing she keeps ‘em next to her cash. Not sure about you, Murphy, but I’m not lookin’ to cop a feel of an unconscious woman.”

It was the smart move, keeping your pockets empty and stashing the necessities in your bra, but it was a hindrance at this moment.

“Yeah that’s a game of go fish no one would be pleased with. Alright. She can crash with me and Connie.” Javi gave a quick nod to acknowledge his friend and turned you both toward the Murphys' door.

The lock turned almost silently under Steve’s careful movements but the hushed entry proved unnecessary when they walked in to see his beautiful wife, Connie, standing at the kitchen counter.

“Hey gang.” Her voice was soft and warm, gently welcoming the three of you in as though it was home to you and Javier as well. “She okay?”

“Yeah, honey. Just can’t find her keys and-“

“Say no more.” She waves off the explanation.

As Javier settles you onto the couch, Steve steps into the kitchen to speak with her quietly.

“What are you doin’ up, baby?”

She matched his hushed tone, just low enough to evade Javi’s range of hearing.

“Well when I woke up a bit ago and you weren’t here I figured drinks ran late. I’m about to put the kettle on, I thought at least one of you could use some tea and aspirin.”

“Let’s skip the tea and leave her some aspirin. Javi’s in no shape for company. I’ll tell you later.”

She nodded while Steve went to fill a glass with water for you.

As if on cue, “Not that I don’t enjoy seeing you, Connie, but I’m gonna head out.”

He finished pulling a blanket over your limp frame, slowly turning toward them with apologetic eyes.

“ No worries, Javi. I’m on my way back to bed anyway. Thanks for helping Steve get her inside.” Her knowing smile had him feeling uneasy.

“Anytime.” He replied softly. He and Steve exchanged quick nods and Javier slipped from their dwelling to his own. He locked the door behind him and leaned against it with an exhausted sigh.

What was he even thinking? Why should he be bothered? There was no good reason.

You were his friend, perhaps his best friend, and he had learned a surprising fact about you. That was all. He had no right to be anything but slightly surprised, maybe amused.

He didn’t worry for your safety, he’d seen you take down grown men twice your size on the job. You could handle yourself, no problem.

And so what if you were chasing away your demons? Lord knows he does the same. Columbia was vast and humid. The underbelly of the drug trade held the country in its bloody grip, pressing in on you from all directions. The assignment was full of uncertainty and it left Javier so lonely in the silence of his government issued abode.

He would do anything to fill the empty spaces, to stave off the cold tendrils that would pull at the walls of his chest when he lied awake, freefalling through the dark skies of his mind until morning. He could never fault you for doing the same.

Slumping into the worn sofa, his eyes shut slowly. Nothing is wrong. I drank too much and I'm being dramatic. She doesn't even think of me that way. It's not a big deal.

Still, as the weight of the day sank into his bones, sleep beckoning softly, his mind drifted to your faint sigh as you had nuzzled into his neck in your sleep while Steve unlocked his front door. When he opened his eyes again it was morning.

You awoke with a low groan, a sharp pain throbbing a wild cumbia rhythm behind your eyes. What happened last night?

You cracked open one eye cautiously, then the other, thankful to find the room somewhat dim around you. Only the small lamp across the room from you was on, blinds and curtains muffling the sunlight that tried to peek through the window behind you.

Eyes adjusting quickly, you recognized the comfortable sight of the Murphys’ living room. It was the same exact layout as yours, but Connie’s warm touch made all the difference. The soft decorative pillows, kitschy knick knacks, and framed candid photos transformed the small unit into something that felt like a home.

Okay I'm on Murphy’s sofa. So- Your gaze finds the full glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the coffee table. The puzzle pieces begin to fit together quickly. Just as you start to recall what happened the night before, what you had said, Steve slipped out of his bedroom and noticed you stirring.

“Heyyy good morning. How ya feel?” Thankfully he kept his tone low, guessing the answer to his own question.

“I’ve been better.” You croak, sitting up gingerly.

“I thought that might be the case. You see the Aspirin? Connie made sure to close the curtains for ya.”

“Yes thank you.” You tap two pills into your palm and kick them back with a healthy glug of water. “Is there a chance I could have some-“

“Already on it.” Steve was moving to fill the coffee maker with water before you asked.

“Where is that angel you tricked into marrying you?”

“At the clinic, unfortunately. Somebody called in sick and they’re so shorthanded as it is. She said to give you her best and inform you that you’d better come for dinner soon.”

You raised your eyebrows as Steve raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger, kid. I’m just quotin’. You know she won’t take no for an answer.”

You chuckled in reply.

Once your mugs were filled with rich black liquid, Steve placed them on the table in front of you, taking a seat on the sofa. You both sipped in silence for a few moments before you decided to break the ice.

“So…last night. Um. Did I-“ You did not want to ask but you needed confirmation. “Did I basically tell y’all all about my sex life in no uncertain terms?” You wince when you hear the words out loud.

“Well, my friend, in no uncertain terms… you said that Javi’s lady friends are so loud you can’t sleep so you conduct your own ah – activities – in other venues, namely the homes of your own dates.”

You groaned loudly and covered your face with your hands. It wasn’t a dream. You’d definitely made a tequila shaped mistake and said the in-your-head thing out loud.

“Do ya wanna hear the rest or should I just leave it be?”

“There’s MORE?” You didn’t want to ruminate, better to rip the band-aid off. “Let’s hear it.”

“Okay. So that, and then I guess Javi thought you were kiddin’ so he tried to push your buttons and you said somethin’ about provin’ it to him.”

The confirmation was all you needed, the words flooding back to you all at once.

Ear pressed to my fuckin’ wall apparently.

Ah yes, the anger. You were remembering quickly. Pendejo. Why wouldn’t he believe that about you? You weren't a delicate flower, some witless debutante in need of safekeeping. You were his friend and his fucking equal. Of course rubbing his nose in it seemed appealing, especially after so many drinks.

Polishing off the contents of your mug, you placed it on the table and stood, crossing to the door.

“I think I should go back to mine. I just-“

“Yeah. No. I get it.”

“Thanks for not diving for my keys, by the way. And ya know…everything else.” You smiled weakly at the man on the sofa.

“Yeah we, uh, figured that wouldn’t work out well. For all involved.” He chuckled. “As for the rest, anytime, kid. You know that.”

You nod and open the door. “I’ll call Connie soon.”

“Oh believe me, if you don’t she’ll be at your doorstep. She knows where ya live.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “Bye Murphy.”

Once alone in your apartment, you stripped off your jeans and t-shirt, collapsing on your bed as you vowed to shower after another round of sleep.

You could hear the faint sound of Javier’s record player, the muffled melody lulling you into relaxation.

I am just a mirage

Oh, I am just a mirage

When you look at me

Through your crystal glass you will see

That I am now your past

But you give your love to me

In your life I wasn’t meant to be.

Oh I am just a mirage

Just a mirage fading away like water

The faint guitar licks pull you towards sleep like a receding tide carrying you out to sea. Even as you sink into slumber, you almost swear you can hear Javi thinking too hard on the other side of the paper thin wall.

Let me know if y'all wanna be on the tag list! I'll have one going as long as Tumblr cooperates 😂

@heythere-mel

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lithopsy · 2 years

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Controlling the Narrative: Analysis of Taylor Swift's "...Ready For It?"

I wrote a short personal essay about my time in the closet, the inherent queerness of Taylor Swift's Reputation, why I will defend the album to my last breath, and why I think that track one could be about bearding. (2,186 words)

Personal note: Throughout this essay and analysis, I use the word “queer” to describe members of the LGBT+ community for ease of language. While I, personally, am not entirely comfortable with the reclamation of this slur in all contexts, especially by people who are not members of the LGBT+ community, I have found no better alternative for this purpose. This serves as a disclaimer and a warning for those who are also uncomfortable with its use.

When Taylor Swift dropped her sixth studio album Reputation in 2017, I was a nineteen year old Baptist seminary student coming to terms with my identity as a lesbian. I made a lot of strong choices that year; I went no-contact with my childhood best friend, I secretly dated a woman who was five years older than me and lived in a different state, and I ultimately dropped out of seminary college over a winter break. I felt like an outcast and I had trouble relating to straight Christian girls while I was actively losing my religion.

After Taylor dropped Reputation, I felt less alone. All of the gossip and personal drama that surrounded this tumultuous time in my life started to feel much less like a personal failing and a lot more like a Reputation Era.

I leaned into it. I blasted I Did Something Bad in my car after arguing with a conservative professor, posted lyrics from Look What You Made Me Do to my Snapchat story where I knew my ex-friends would see it, and — though I wasn’t able to swing body guards carrying me out of my apartment in a suitcase — I became elusive on campus. Hiding in my dorm room, leaving home, and losing friends all while listening to Reputation, I was able to come to terms with the idea that being my most authentic self might cause some people to dislike me.

Because of this, Reputation has always been a queer album to me. It’s always been about building a life that you’re proud of despite hatred and judgement from people on the outside. It’s always been about telling lies and crafting narrative for the sake of one’s personal safety. It’s always been about secret, and often forbidden, love. Whether or not Taylor herself is queer (and I personally believe that she could be), she understands the experience of hiding her ‘true’ self and she understands the danger of being authentic in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I’m turning twenty-four this week and I am out to my friends and family. I am happy and surrounded by a bright community of people who I don’t have to lie to. Being that I am no longer Baptist and quite comfortable in my lesbian identity, one of the few things that connects twenty-four-year-old me to nineteen-year-old me (and thirteen-year-old me and sixteen-year-old me, etc. I am a life-long swiftie) is my love for Taylor Swift's music.

Out of excitement for Taylor’s tenth(!!) studio album Midnights, I’ve been listening to her music pretty constantly over the past month. And, due to a rise in #gaylor-ism online, I have been revisiting her old lyrics with a fine-toothed comb and a queer perspective.

To be fair, I did a bit of this when Reputation came out. Posting something to the effect of “dress is the gayest song on rep” to my close friends Snapchat story during release week. But my current life experience and knowledge of LGBT history and culture deepens my readings much further now.

To start, many of her love songs — even songs from her country eras, though these are sometimes overlooked by queer fans who prefer her pop — are gender-neutral. She uses the pronoun “you”, speaking directly to her love interest, more than any other pronoun. While this stands as evidence of queerness alone to some gaylors, it is, at the very least, a happy coincidence for swifties who don’t date men.

What I’ve become most obsessed with, though, lately, are the songs in which she switches between “you” and “he” or “him” throughout. I wondered if, as an experiment in lyrical-analysis, I could extrapolate some deeper meaning by imagining that these two sets of pronouns delineate between two muses. Track one on my beloved Reputation, “…Ready For It?” is a perfect specimen for this and is the subject of my experiment for the end of this essay.

Before I begin the analysis, a disclaimer. LGBT people who read their own experiences into Taylor’s work get a lot of guff online for doing so. Often, gaylors are criticized for “outing her” or “speculating about her sexuality” or “assigning labels to her”. So, before anyone gets mad, I am not doing that. At the end of the day, I don’t think Taylor Swift’s real life sexuality has anything to do with the experiment I’m about to do. You don’t have to know who any of her songs are about to relate to them. It is also my personal belief that alternate readings of texts are valuable, even if there is no objective truth to them.

For my purposes, though, I’m not going to name names or speculate about who I think these disparate muses are, and I am not going to tie anything to specific events in Taylor’s life. I don’t know her like that and I think it only complicates analysis here.

(However, in this vein, Taylor Swift is a multi-million dollar brand and I am not not doing these things out of some desire to protect her honor or maintain any parasocial relationship with her. Most of the time, speculation about her on the internet is harmless and serves as free publicity to her. People who shame gaylors for “speculating about her sexuality” are usually doing so because of an internal homophobic rejection to the idea of her being queer. I’m neutral to a little harmless speculation, when it comes to Taylor Swift.)

[Verse 1]

Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him Wonder 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

What’s interesting to me about this description of The Man (capitalized because I’m using The Man in place of a name, not to be confused with “The Man”, track 4 on Taylor’s album “Lover”) in this song is that it has nothing to with him on a personal level or how he treats her as a partner. It lacks the intimate descriptions of the relationship or individual’s characteristics that are present in most of her earlier love songs. She’s singing in a fast-paced lower register (we’ll come back to this) about how this man appears to other people. He’s a heartbreaker, he’s effortlessly cool, he’s independent and ideal.

Showing my hand, I want to analyze this song as if the relationship with The Man is a fake, public relationship formulated in order to hide some part(s) of Taylor’s true self and the relationship with The Listener (“you”) is a real, yet secret relationship. I think that this is, at least in some form, an intentional choice made in the song. Whether the listener and the man are the same person is up to interpretation, though. While I personally am going to be making the argument for the song being about bearding, I think it’s possible that the same separation could exist within a relationship between Taylor and one man with whom she has a clearly delineated private and public relationship with. (I’m not going to pander to this point because it’s probably been done, but I think that this is a valid reading.)

[Pre-chorus]

I-I-I see how this is gonna go Touch me and you’ll never be alone I-Island breeze and lights down low No one has to know

I think the pre-chorus reads as a general statement and could be said to both The Man and The Listener interchangeably.

The line, “Touch me and you’ll never be alone” could speak either to her own loyalty in a private relationship or a material benefit of being publicly affiliated with a woman as powerful as her.

“No one has to know” speaks to the private nature of either relationship, that there is some planned duality or arrangement with The Man or a secret relationship with the listener.

[Chorus]

In the middle of the night, in my dreams You should see the things we do, baby In the middle of the night, in my dreams I know I’m gonna be with you So I’ll take my time Are you ready for it?

The chorus is the first full pronoun switch, Taylor begins speaking directly to The Listener while singing at a higher register than the rest of the song. The delineation between each set of pronouns is accented by the production as well as the architecture of the song itself. The chorus is the most important part of any pop song, it’s also where she’s carefully placed her secret love.

The lines, “In the middle of the night, in my dreams/You should see the things we do, baby” speak to a private relationship that, for whatever reason, isn’t possible within her current circumstances.

In footage of the songwriting process, Taylor sings the original lyric, “In the middle of the night, in my dreams/That’s when I get to be with you, it’s so sweet”, which isn’t entirely relevant to analysis about the finished song but, I think, lends credence to the idea that this muse is an unattainable other relationship, different from the one referenced in the verses.

“I know I’m gonna be with you/So I’ll take my time” reads, to me, like Taylor is reminiscing on a past relationship with The Listener that was tumultuous and full of uncertainty. When she fantasizes about being with this person, she fantasizes about stability and asks them at the end, “Are you ready for it?”

Are you ready to commit to this, should I change my plans?

[Verse 2]

Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me Stealing hearts and running off and never saying 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 lover known in comparison is a failure I forget their names now, I’m so very tame now Never be the same now, now

This verse, in comparison with verse 1 places Taylor and The Man on equal footing, positions them both as killers and thieves, pulling something over on everyone else. I personally think that this is euphemistic language to describe that there is something fundamental about Taylor that she shares with The Man, she recognizes him as like her and he recognizes the same in her. Possibly, they are both gay, possibly they have some similar experience in the industry or shared feelings about fame.

With all of Taylor’s references in this era to her fame and success being a gilded cage, “And he can be my jailer” raises red flags to me. The Man being someone who keeps her inside the cage aligns very well with the narrative of a fake public relationship that hides her sexuality and keeps the status quo.

“Burton to this Taylor” references the volatile public relationship between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, who met on set of the film Cleopatra in 1963. The couple was married and divorced in 1964 before getting back together for just ten months in 1975. The relationship was a messy public spectacle and the reference in this song alludes to all of it: the acting, infidelity, and public drama included. The imagery is incongruent with the tender love song to The Listener of the chorus, but, in my opinion, this line is the most damning evidence of the idea of bearding in this song. Paired with the “jailer” comment, it fits perfectly the narrative of the spectacular public relationship between two actors. The relationship isn’t successful or ideal, it’s a distraction.

I think “I forget their names now, I’m so very tame now” references another frequent theme in Taylor’s work: a rejection of her ‘crazy’, ‘promiscuous’ image. She’s forgotten the names of all of her exes and we should, too. And while the Reputation era is anything but “tame”, she’s going to change the narrative that surrounds her dating life.

[Refrain]

Baby, let the games begin Let the games begin Let the games begin (now) Baby, let the games begin Let the games begin Let the games begin … Are you ready for it?

It’s the opening song of an album that is about her Reputation in the media. She is playing with the media, controlling her own narrative. “Let the games begin” walked so that “Every bait and switch was a work of art” (willow, evermore) could run.

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