Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
hey... hey... 👋
tw: (implication of) abuse, more of dove being overlooked, bottling up of emotions, mention of hospitals, may imply ed (?), familial responsibility, implies death, nina vs. dove (again, but the aftermath), pageantry culture
please let me know if i miss anything
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
Dove was a particularly distasteful, but not unreasonable, person. So, when she had hatred burning in her heart that kept her entire body warm on the chilliest Salt Lake City night, she usually had a reason why.
Like, chocolate. Dove hated chocolates. And it wasn't because of Valentine's Day, nor did it combat her "sour personality" as Ricky kindly put it. She hated chocolate because she remembered her pre-teens were about her mother putting the fear of it into her. Forcing it down her throat and making her eat enough to throw it all up afterwards.
Which brings her to another thing she hated: the smell of bleach. The maids in her mother's penthouse made sure to clean up every piece of evidence that incriminated Emilia Salazar as a bad mother. Bile, blood, you name it. She knew they were just doing their jobs and saving her wasn't part of the job description, but she often wondered how they could clean up what was left of hers and her mother's fights without asking any questions. How many litres of bleach it took to take out stains and putrid smells out of the rugs and carpets.
Tight spaces were another. If Dove lived up to her name to be "free as a bird", she hated nothing more than the feeling of being caged. She hated not having enough room on her bed to spread her limbs–although she slept like a log, straight and unmoving–or having enough room to breathe in a crowd full of people. Her job was basically being a people person, which was ironic since she hated parties where people would brush shoulders with her and make the room feel small.
She hated parties, period.
In some way, physical touch isn't much different. Being hugged, patted on the back or feeling soft taps to her shoulder made her claustrophobic. She hated the feelings of hands on her, hated how her heart sped up when someone sat too close to her or even held her hand. She hated touch, which was quite difficult for Ricky Bowen, who was a naturally physically affectionate person.
