#WHY WOULD YOU DO IT TAYLOR

[ravensmadreads]

TAYLOR -

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

i breathe you in (and it changes me)

rating: teen pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2K summary: you've been here with him before - rock bottom. But this time, he gives you reason to hope for something new. warnings: alcohol use, mentions of drug use, physical fighting, blood, wounds, bruises, mentions of past toxic behavior a/n: your original ask @bitchwitch1981 got swallowed up by tumblr, so i had to create a new post :( but I wanted to say thank you so much for requesting this - it was more therapeutic to write than i initially thought!

1K ask:

Sweet Taylor, Congratulations on the amazing milestone! 💜 I have decided to go for astrology for The Midnight Seance. I have chosen the prompt “Hold my hand please?” “When you ask so nicely.” and my own darling Dieter Bravo.

🤍Masterlist 🤍 Dieter Bravo Masterlist

The damp heat of the night is made worse by the thick knot of chittering spectators by the back alley of the club. You can hear the fleshy blows, hear the flesh rip and tear the veins, the delighted groan of the crowd after a particularly sickening crunch. White lights of camera flashes flicker, the smell of blood acidic on your tongue, the metallic taste getting stronger the closer you get to the front of the crowd. You see the blur of an arm just as you shove aside a man recording the whole scene with his phone; how much will TMZ pay for even seven seconds of that video?

Across from you, a thick shadow with bloody knuckles paces like a caged tiger, snorting with rage, the spectators jeering and howling their approval. The man, twice as thick as you are, waits at the edge of the fight, his vision locked forward, massive hands itching to rip apart something alive. 

Whatever is left alive of the heap of clothes in front of you.

It shudders, arms and legs curling beneath it, and rolls backwards. The crowd lets out a disgusted groan at the sight of the bloody face. Your heart sinks to the sticky concrete.

Oh, Dieter.

Asphalt digs into your knees as you kneel down next to him, the sounds of the crowd fading as panic swells within you. He doesn’t even register that you’re there until you touch his cheek. One eye completely swollen shut, blood running down from his nose over his upper lip, he meets your gaze and flinches. 

“Sorry,” he slurs – either from his split lip or being drunk out of his mind, you can’t tell, “you look like my ex.” 

“Dieter, it’s me.” 

His collar is torn, blood speckles cover the front of his shirt, and his jeans are filthy. Judging by his own shredded knuckles, he might have actually gotten a few good hits in. Gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning. You put a hand on his shoulder, looking for any other open wounds, for more blood – and he shoves you off.

“Go away. I’m kicking this guy’s ass.” 

Groaning, Dieter staggers to his feet, the blood freely flowing from his nose now. He gets upright and immediately stumbles, hands going to his knees, much to the deformed glee of the crowd. They whoop and laugh and hold their phones higher. 

Even in heels, you’re several inches shorter than him and you intentionally didn’t wear that much clothing – you were going to club with your friends to forget – but you try to shield him from the camera lenses anyway. 

From the back of his throat, Dieter spits out a wad of blood. “Fuck, my head hurts.” The drool that slips from his mouth is pink and frothy.

“Dieter, c’mon, we’re going.” 

You drag his arm over your shoulder, shifting as much of his weight onto you as you can. His entire back and underneath his arm is drenched in what you pray is sweat. Behind you, you know the other man is yelling, shouting, something about teaching that fat mouth a lesson, but you do what you’ve alway done when it comes to Dieter: you put yourself between him and an oncoming car crash. 

Hoping a grown man won’t take a full swing with a woman in kitten heels and a slinky dress nearby, you half-push, half-carry Dieter back towards the way you came in, but you make it two more steps before he pushes you away again, his fingertips drifting down your shoulder. His face is twisted up in agony.

“Fuckin’ stop. I don’t need your help.”

You grab him by the bicep, twisting him to you again, and he stumbles, muttering a gruff sorry. Blood from his nose drips down onto your bare chest. He watches it, transfixed, his emotions crackling from one high to the next low. 

You cup his bruised, swollen jaw and his wet eyes meet yours and for an instant, no one else exists. His bottom lip trembles. 

“Dieter” you murmur, low enough for just him to hear, just enough for him to lean forward, to let himself be captured by you – briefly – just as he always had been. “We’re going home, okay?”

He nods, eyes shut, swaying, and lets himself be dragged away. 

Beyond the black partition, you hear music. Too soft to be distinct, too faint. Yet it sits between your teeth all the same, hums in the back of your jaw. Static noise. 

In your lap, lays Dieter’s head. Your skirt feels damp from where the blood from his nose gathers. It stopped dripping minutes ago but the spot still feels cold, still thick with it. Your hand curls in his hair, loose but weighted. Grounding. He always said this was his favorite spot in the entire world. 

You didn’t tell the driver to go east, towards Sherman Oaks, but the opposite direction, towards the rental property you kept by the beach. Before that, home had always been Sherman Oaks, but . . . in the after, you couldn’t even bear to see the name on the sign. 

Partially it’s practical. Given the swarmed mob, there most likely was another one waiting for him at the gates to his mansion. He doesn’t have his phone, you know, which is most likely a curse and a blessing. When it comes to moments like these, you’ve learned to deal with the problem right in front of you, one at a time. Or rather, the one in your lap. 

You swore you’d never be here again, you swore that you’d learn to unremember what here even feels like, and yet you ran to him all the same. This is not the first time you wonder if leaving him bleeding and drooling into the concrete would have been the right thing to do. 

The car drives you both towards the rental because you want him there. You want him to fill up that empty space in your bed, smear the too messy sink in the bathroom with uncharged electric toothbrushes and toothpaste that tastes like cotton candy, and bring a sense of wonder back into your increasingly dark days. But with all that, comes this. The black partition ahead of you blurs, your eyes grow hot and tight, submissive to the beaks of birds, and the back of your fingers not caught in his hair press harshly to the back of your mouth. You fight a shudder because you know he can’t bear to see you cry. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

His apologies always start like this, a little broken, a little roundabout way of getting to the heart of things. You sniff, your hand slipping to his shoulder and grasping it tight. “We don’t have to talk about it right now, okay, baby?”

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

Your head bumps the back of the seat, as you swallow a sob and a laugh all at once. You squeeze him – no, no, of course not, you never mean it, you never mean any of it — 

“My therapist said they would help. And then they did. But I couldn’t get you back.”

He mutters something, rubbing his face slowly in your lap, like a blind kitten, his big hand over your knees, but you’re too stunned to parse out his babbling. 

“You went to therapy?” 

“Still in it.” He wheezes through a bruised rib. “She’s gonna be so pissed about this.” 

“You’re not high?” 

He shake-rubs his head again, the curls at his forehead catching against the sequins of your top. “Just drunk. I fucking hate being drunk.” 

He babbles some more, the words looped on tangled string, but you sit up, and gently turn his face towards you. The bleeding has stopped, but the swelling has set in. His right eye is black and blue, the skin puffy and tender. There’s a cut across his left cheek and his lip is split down the middle. Fuck, if these don’t heal right, that could be the end of his career. 

Goddamn it – and why would you care about that? It’s not your job to care anymore. 

You reverently trace a finger over his black eye, his cheek, his lips, to the blood on his temple. Tragedy always looked so good on him. 

His hand catches yours. You think his good eye might be filled with tears.

“I tried to get better . . . for you. For us. I took all the right pills, instead of the wrong ones this time, and I thought I was better.” Dieter shifts, so his back is against the seat and he’s looking straight up at you. He holds your hand to his chest, his other rising up to cup your cheek. That single touch cracks your resolve, your rule against letting him affect you, and you cry. He watches the silent tears roll down your cheeks, over his thumb. You think he looks remorseful. “I tried to get better and you moved on without me.”

It only just now occurs to you that he had most likely been inside the club when you had, had probably seen you and never said anything. He watched you dance and drink and try to forget him with other sweaty bodies and he never said a thing.

Bruised anger, the kind that melts off your ribs, flares bright within you and you jerk your face away from his touch.

“You don’t get to blame me for your shit anymore, Dieter.” 

His fingers curl and he swallows, the dried blood around his mouth cracking. “No, baby, I’m not. I’m not. I’m sorry I ever did. I didn’t mean it, I never mean it – never meant to hurt you. But I do, don’t I? I hurt you all the time.” 

Your anger throbs. “Then why? Why, Dieter, would you wait to get help until after I was gone? Didn’t you want to try . . . to salvage something, anything between us?”

His hand drops to his chest. 

“I didn’t want you to see me take pills.”

You suddenly recognize the weight of his head on your lap, the density of his shoulders against your lap, and you, in a cycle of regret and love, want to scream at him. Want to shake him. Instead you brush his sticky curls off his forehead and a single tear escapes the corner of his eye, down his temple. 

“You silly, silly boy.” You sniff, tears freely flowing, and curl a strand of his beautiful hair in your fingers. “I would have been there for you. I’m glad you got help, and I hate that this was a relapse, but I would never have judged you for trying to get better, even if you failed. You were the one who didn't want me to see that side of you, Dieter. I never stopped loving you.”

For a moment, he goes still, the darkness of the night street obscuring his face, blurring him into one dark shadow that wheezed and sighed. You’re about to seek out his hand in the dark, if not his face, not his wounds, when he lets out the most broken noise you’d ever heard come from anyone. 

It’s a noise that will haunt you in nightmares for years to come.

“Oh,” he says. 

The car rolls to a stop, the faint music barely heard over the rush and crash of the waves on the other side of your rental. The radio goes silent and the partition rolls down. 

“We’re here, miss.” 

You wipe your eyes, mascara streaks turning your finger tips black, and cough to clear the knot in your throat that beats in time with your heart. Hands curling under his shoulders, you move to lift him up off your lap.

“C’mon, Dieter, we’ve gotta get you cleaned up–,”

“Wait.” He visibly swallows, nothing else on his face so clear in the dark. You feel a faint drop on your skirt. “I mean, I’ll go but . . . hold my hand – please?” 

Despite yourself, despite him, despite your tear-drenched lips, you lean down and kiss his forehead. Your shared shaky breaths are trapped between your chest and his.  “Only when you ask so nicely.”

+

[repmet]

[insp] [Alex]

Prince Henry of Edinburgh is accurate to the movie don't @ me

[victoriadallonfan]

It’s very funny to read posts about Taylor (especially on SB) and slowly realize that the person does not actually remember who Taylor is, but rather replaced her with a super sanitized CW version of her.

They’d be like, “Taylor is understanding of people’s life choices and is a tough but fair leader”.

She is absolutely not any of those things.

She’s judgmental as hell and sort of a huge asshole to people who don’t immediately listen to her. Hell, Tattletale straight up repeats Miss Militias speech about how Taylor is manipulative in how she forces people to help her by making it so they don’t have any other choice (but is much nicer about it).

Even when TT tries to reason with her before this, point out that the people opposing them have valid points (which is weird to type), Taylor chooses to leave the scene instead of confronting the situation (much like how she left Danny when he finally confronted her).

When Cuff rightfully yells at her for lying about them (specifically her) being shot at, Taylor brushes her off completely. Cuff then has another moment of disbelief years later when she has to painfully explain to Taylor why mind controlling people into making out with each other is super rapey.

Taylor is not smart in terms of common sense or understanding people’s views. She’s not unbiased or fair.

She’s literally that meme of “one day I’ll wear this boot!” and she succeeds. She succeeds so hard that society is traumatized from it!

That’s what makes Taylor such a great character. That she’s so complex that even when you know she’s doing bad, outright evil things, she is enjoyable to a reader. The fact that she fails at being a hero so badly, fails at being a broadly good person, but still tries in her own fucked up way is peak entertainment and empathetic in the same way that Bojack Horseman can be celebrated as interacting with the audience heart.

Especially because it makes those moments of genuine heroics shine all the more. It’s her running across the city trying to warn everyone! Her trying to save Chubster! Her trying to save Glory Girl!

Dont sanitize who Taylor is!

Let her be that fucked up gremlin who sometimes does good things in a storm of bad!

[autism-swagger]

This part in particular always kills me, because like. It's just straight up not true. Time and time again we see Jackie go out of her way to be nice and make other people happy. The others specifically don't tell her about their plan to freeze Ally out because they know she wouldn't like it. She has the girls line up and say nice things about each other when they fight. She does Misty's makeup and is nice to her even though we know Misty makes her uncomfortable. She repeatedly tries to keep everyone's spirits up in the wilderness. She throws a party for the team, even after months of starving and struggling to survive, even knowing they're going to die, just to make everyone happy.

Despite what Shauna believes, Jackie wasn't self centered and obsessed with herself. That's a fact.

[grishaverse-chaos]

hmmm something about dominik haunting the narrative in king of scars. everything nikolai does is at least a little bit for him. he learns about the life of average ravkan people by meeting dominik's family. he starts gaining influence in politics just so he can improve dominik's life. and then he promises dominik that he won't let ravka break him.

that promise fucking haunts him. it follows him wherever he goes. it's the driving force behind everything he does, every step he takes to heal the centuries-old wounds in ravka. it's what drives him to do better, be better.

dominik is always there, in the back of his mind: this country gets you in the end. always pushing him to do more, because he couldn't save dominik and so he has to save ravka (for dominik) (because he promised) (because he loved him)

[spending-life-pretending]

[fritzes]

taylor fritz on pressure at the us open

[sleepboysummer]

im gonna literally die if i go on rtc tiktok again i have to stay OFF of there

[keepin-it-on-the-d-l]

Me at Sparrow “Spineless Motherfucker” Oak

[yantao-enthusiast]

don’t remind me bitch i’m still grieving

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Dead dashboard confessional parasocial hours: it’s been so nice to see Taylor kind of reclaim her place in the world and work out in real time what does or doesn’t feel good in terms of being out there, and she’s clearly flourishing on a personal level by taking in all these experiences! And idk if it’s just the late hour or the post-livestream hangover or what, but it just kinda feels like something shifted yet again last week — like she and Travis did their goofy little skit because Theatre Kids and it was fun and felt good and she’s like “YES more of that please!”

And I’m not saying that as in “omg she’s going to publish her entire life online now” at all, but more in like, it’s kind of endearing to see her try these new things and figure out her boundaries and be like “yes this sparks joy and I want more of it in my life” (or on the flip side, cutting out the things that don’t and protecting her peace). I know that ET article earlier today was just a fluff piece to keep stoking the fires until they can actually Say It, but there’s something about Tree’s the quote saying they had fun coming up with it and were glad they got to share that moment together and want to keep having fun like that was just really sweet. And again, I don’t think it means they’re going to publicize their lives regularly by any means, I really do feel like it was like, “hey you know what would be funny?” And they took it from there — almost like that skit was for them and we were lucky to be bystanders to the bit lol. They just have so much fun together and it shows. I don’t think they’re trying to capitalize off their relationship, I think it’s just the pop star on a global stage equivalent of that one couple you have in your friend group that always goes all out for Halloween with the elaborate couple costume and commits to the bit every year.

It just seems like they’re really settling into things and figuring out as they go along how they can do the things they want to do within the parameters of what feels safe and joyful and is less scary than it once was. Taylor got to take part in her own way in something meaningful to Travis (e.g. the Super Bowl) and he’s gotten to take part in something meaningful to her (the show) and it’s just really sweet how they embrace each other’s worlds. And maybe it was “new and defining” because Taylor’s never been that overt before on stage on a tour of this scale, and not only did the world not cave in, she had a blast and got to have a chuckle. For someone who said she always wished she had someone by her side to share her successes with and never did even in her longest relationship previously, it’s got to be wild to literally have her partner on stage with her on her record-breaking tour.

No wonder she’s probably gagged at all this. The universe really did shift and it was all for them etc.

[sibblank]

[blueskittlesart]

I have you blocked just because I cannot mentally deal with like the taylor swift etc discourse please don't take it personal

respectfully i could not give less of a fuck and it's weird for you to send this to me in the first place

[an-ivy-covered-summer]

and i hope it’s SHITTY in THE BLACK DOG when SOMEONE plays the starting line and you JUMP UP but she's TOO YOUNG to know THIS SONG that was intertwined in the TRAGIC FABRIC OF OUR DREAMING ‘cause tail between your legs YOU’RE LEAVING and i still can't believe it ‘cause old habits die s c r e a m i n g……

[professorsta]

I feel like to describe Steven's shows as him flaunting wealth and eating gold from the bussoms of royalty is quite a dishonest summarization and transparent way to not even try an understand what the fuck the show is. Its a show about sharing and partaking in different cultures lmao. Like, you know there are classes in college for that right? Literally just exposing you to different cuisines and culture's? Thats Steven's show and I don't see the ethical problem in budgeting money to do so, if you want to watch that sort of entertainment (i do! I do! I do. You don't that okay). He's always been about connecting with others and sharing life experiences. Yea he owns a Tesla, lame shit not gonna lie but I'm not a wimp and I'd say that to anyone with a Tesla, even Steven. So yeah fine whatever rip on him for that lmao. But to call a show wheres he's just touring to connect with others and share their food out of touch and classist? Pfffftttt. Wow how cruel and unethical. Criticize him all you want, but none of you are. Its all half ass accusations and weird fucking Vibe Checks where you deem him Not Right cus he didn't smile correctly or wide enough. You are not his friend but Also, not his life long enemy fool. You don't know him well enough to hate or love him accurately.

[itspileofgoodthings]

like. it’s not the lyrics it’s not the jabs it’s not the beats it’s not the whispered voice. It’s the world created.