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DON'T TRUST THESE THOUGHTS OF MINE

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[attr="class","freiwantmid"]CHARACTER FACTION team rocket

[attr="class","freiwantmid"]CHARACTER RANK grunt

[attr="class","freiwantmid"]FACE CLAIM toga himiko from boku no hero academia

[attr="class","freiwanttop"]ABOUT THE CHARACTER

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tl;dr: born to a prestigious and famous family in unova, too many expectations put on her. she became a child actress who failed due to the unrealistic expectations put on her, and eventually being tormented by her peers on set due to jealousy. because of this she moved to modelling, and got the same if not worse treatment. bad treatment led to body shaming and the development of anorexia, which she got even more flack for. family milked the sympathy from other onlookers as parents of a troubled child. got treatment for her eating disorder at nineteen and went through rehab for her anorexia. she recovered until she was immediately chucked back into the spotlight, but her parents wanted to get rid of her so he was sent to hoenn.

you were the cutest child of them all, with beautiful hazel eyes and bright, golden locks. your father was a caucasian man, with deep blue eyes of azure. your mother was a beautiful model, slim yet standing tall with luscious, curled locks of auburn. your parents were the picture perfect of pokewood, the definition of a successful and beautiful family. it was no wonder that, when you were born, the media was already up in arms about you. you are an angel who inherited the best from two already beautiful people, so it was obvious that you were going to be beautiful. they loved you, a newborn babe, probably more than they should have.[break][break]

yet having this amount of attention at such a young age? you were already set for greatness.[break][break]

after all, your family was comprised of models. your brothers and sister before you star in large movies, blockbusters, thrillers and more. the sister before you walks with sunglasses and a disguise as though it's come attached to her face, and your brother struts in suits like he's an adult. your parents wave and smile, your tiny, dressed up body in your mother's arms. your golden hair is always tied up, dressed up, as the red carpet moves beneath you. you become accustomed to the squeals of adoring fans of your family, the flashing of cameras and sound of shutters.[break][break]

your brother and sister bask in the glory, as do your parents. obviously, you grew up sharing the same sentiment. you enjoyed the attention and, growing into your toddler years, you made it a goal for yourself to walk the red carpet. your family found it amusing and played along. the media screamed at the sight of a toddler doing her best. "Layla Song's First Steps" was the headline of one. turn the page or read more into it, and the subtitle was "Song family's playful dynamic" paired with a snapshot of your mother, rushing over to catch you mid-fall when you tripped. indeed, you have been blessed with a wonderful, wealthy life filled to the brim with admiration and love.[break][break]

life was set for you, wasn't it? you were ready to be loved. you were ready for others to bask in your glory. everything was given to you with a silver spoon, fed to your lips as you cried and babbled. you were a mewling babe, growing, growing, into a woman who would act as the predator of the celebrity circle. you were set for greatness, with beautiful, piercing eyes and vibrant blonde hair. indeed, you were going to be loved. indeed, the world was going to be playing into the palm of your hand.[break][break]

the world revolved around you, and that's the problem.[break][break]

no older than six and you were thrown under the lights of a movie set. you were a smiling child, given pages of script to read over as the cameras rolled. a man in black held a rolled up book and you would watch him, watch him quietly, watch him intently. (you learned many things as you grew up, and you learned many things with more roles you took.)whereas other children grew up exploring, playing with parents and siblings, your playground was the set under bright lights. playing house was always being recorded, as were your flaws - though this game of house was a bit too realistic for your liking, wasn't it? when the directer berated you, when the directer pulled you aside. "you can't cry" he tells you. "you have to stick to the script" he'd say, time and time again.[break][break]

you were only six, but you had to do better. better for the movie and better for your family (you, who was forced to grow a bit too quickly, was observant enough to hear the snickers and giggles from the back of the sets. "how are her parents raising her", "have you seen how many retakes she's causing?", "maybe she's just too young for this" among other things) reality dawned on you and, at the tender age of seven, you learned quickly that maybe, the smiles that adults gave you were all fake. maybe, they were doing it to curry favour with you, and your family.[break][break]

maybe they were scared.[break]
maybe they were ambitious.[break]
... maybe they saw you as an easy target.[break][break]

laughable, really. did they seriously think that your parents were as genuine as they were portrayed? corruption is what killed the man and the woman, their gazes burned through you as a residue of the brief warmth of their arms, cradling you in your youth. corruption is what killed the love that you were supposed to receive, and what kept the body of a woman holding onto the carcass of a baby in her arms. (it's what kept your family alive, and what maintained their prestige image of a beautiful union.) of course, they didn't see it. they never saw the scornful eyes that bore through your flesh after each rumour, each berate. they never saw the disappointment that pulled, pulled and pulled.[break][break]

their hypocrisy keeps them clear, no matter how many makeup artists you spoke to. no matter how many managers you've confided in, only to find a new one in their place. what did you hope to achieve by voicing it out? you were a child (a hopeless, flawed child no less) who knew nothing of the world. a failure of the family before your age can reach the double digits - (yes, this was the life you lived.)[break][break]

but who would be as obsessed with it as you? retake, retake, retake after fucking retake. you were only nine years old and they just wouldn't shut up. you know, you're messing up. you know that you didn't say that line right. you know you didn't portray it the way they wanted you to. you know you're doing it wrong. you know it's all wrong, wrong, wrong. but it was expected and it was natural, as a daughter of those parents. as the daughter, the bundle of new hope for revolution in the entertainment scene, you were supposed to excel. you were supposed to defy expectations, you were supposed to set the standard, and yet you were messing it up. deliver this line differently, get into character, no, react this other way. or maybe, no, stick to the god damns script.[break][break]

yeah, okay. you'll stick to the script if they wanted it so badly. but no, not even that was enough to satiate their greedy ass need to berate you, to scorn you. last minute adjustments to scripts, more director cuts to pull you aside. a princess on a pedestal wasn't exactly looking all the prim anymore, was she? supporting should be taken out of the title, with how your fellow colleagues treated you. the unloved girl of this famous family was being berated and, though there were attempts to snuff out the flame, the raging fires was a lesson to be taught. you were a child who was being taught (gruesomely, slowly, coldly) about how the world works.[break][break]

there were many eyes on you, and those of your parents wasn't among them. you attracted a lot of attention, sure. insults on your page, laughter from classmates and the scowl from siblings who looked at you, like mud on the sole of their boots. yeah, that's right. you were an eyesore. your parents never made attempts to stop them, but you knew (oh, you knew. you knew well enough that, whenever you turned on the television, you'd tense up and the tears would roll down your cheeks as they grimaced at the mention of you. not because they pitied your situation, but because they pitied themselves for having a failure to carry on their legacy.)[break][break]

this isn't some fairytale, not one where you worked hard to prove yourself to them - to the world (you're a coward who ran with her tail between her legs. when things got too difficult, you gave up with a smile on your face on your tenth birthday.) you're an embarrassment, a stain. you're no better than the fakes who smiled for the camera, brows dipped down as the delicate fingers waved off any questions pertaining to you, a thing for the media to play with. "she's just a little overwhelmed" your parents would say, all with a smile on their faces as men and women with microphones pulled back singing praises of love and affection. oh how wonderful it must be to have such understanding and benevolent parents, to put up with such a fucking hopeless skeleton of what could have been.[break][break]

you got so sick.[break]
so, so sick.[break][break]

tranquility was never an option - thrown from the fires of the clicks of cuts into the shark waters of beauty (just when you thought that things were going to be okay, you walk into another room with bright lights and a man with a camera in his hands. dresses line the sides as a makeup artist smiles at you, who masks her surprise so, so well.) arms up and legs straight, stand up right and put a smile on your face, child, because you're going to be doing a job that's easier than the last (it's something that not even you could mess up. it was perfect.) and for a while? it worked. for a while, you were doing well. "you have great posture", "yes, just like that", "you're doing great" they would tell you, showering you with praise and with love, that you thought was going to be a merciless wave of criticism that broke you, shatter your fragile bones. for a little while, you were starting to enjoy your time. for a little while, you were beginning to rebuild your image. little by little, you were starting to do better.[break][break]

(you should have known better. a failed actress taking up modelling? clearly, because you lacked any and all talent otherwise. the only thing that you had to keep you going was the pretty little face and the bright smile on your lips. wow, how lucky you were, being able to bounce back because of your parents. wow, how lucky you were to be cute, and how lucky you were to be living such a life. just because acting was too hard for you, you could run to mommy and daddy and they would make everything okay.)[break][break]

foolish. you were so naive and foolish.[break]
who in their right mind would let you forget?[break][break]

corruption ate you away, through your flesh, your fat and gnawed at your bones (it could have saved you, couldn't it? it could have saved you like it's saved your parents before, when the spotlight shone on a couple so brashly that they melted and sizzled into a puddle. why would they, though? there was entertainment to the tragic suffering of a child.) your parents didn't have time to tend to you or the hatred that you received; it was funny, really. you laughed at how they had time to go to their interviews, their jobs. how they had time to cry to the cameras and play the roles of a poor, troubled couple who was only trying to help their troubled youngest. it was funny how they had time to beg for her mercy in front of the flashing lights ("she's only a young girl, that poor thing, but-" were words you always heard on the television. "but she's being difficult", "but we're only trying to help", "but she's always trying to push us away" were along the lines, and you found it so sad you could laugh.)[break][break]

someone could have given them an oscar for best concerned parent act. so perfect in fact, that everyone bought it (was it their charm? their reputation? no, maybe it was the fan mind that nags and buzzes in the back of someone's mind, words of "they can't be wrong" implanting itself like the parasitic asshole it was.) you had to endure it, didn't you? yes, for as long as you could, while you did your best, but it was hard. oh, it was so, so hard. the stress came to you, again, again and again. maybe you ate a bit much trying to stress eat, but that threw you into the shitter, didn't it? yeah, and it only had to start with "i think i see a bit of flab" being commented somewhere. you don't even remember which shit started the trend and, before you knew it, hatred was being flung at you again. even when you slimmed down again, even when you exercised and tried to keep yourself healthy. they hated you, so much, for no reason.[break][break]

comments back and forth, headlines no matter how hard you tried. why did they hate you so, just because you started on the wrong foot? just because you didn't know where to begin, just because you were a child?[break][break]

(no, maybe there was something really wrong with you. maybe they were right, and that you just weren't pretty enough. maybe you weren't skinny enough. maybe you weren't curvy enough. maybe you didn't look old enough. maybe they hated you because you didn't look like the woman dressed skimpily in a bikini, with an hourglass figure and pouty lips. maybe that's why they hated you.)[break][break]

even though your stomach groaned and your eyes drooped, threatening to close on you, you pressed on. smile for the camera, layla, and bask under the attention (it was the only attention you were ever going to get, so why aren't you smiling?) twelve years old and you were already staring into the mirror, clothes draped off or thrown onto the ground as hazel eyes glared at yourself in the dark. arms, back, neck, thighs and you even tried to pinch your side. you're only twelve with the expectations of looking like a twenty year old woman, your under-developed, boxy body made you scowl at yourself in the mirror. god, why? why couldn't you just be prettier? you're so fat, you're flat with no curves. you've only got a cute face, but you even ruined that by getting tired. even with a flat tummy and toned skin, you could still pinch some skin on your body. doesn't that just mean you're still fat? that you're still overweight, and you had to lose more weight. you had to lose more to become pretty (the voices will stop then, and the laughter on social media will stop too.)[break][break]

speaking of, that place never became safer as you got older (images of your sleeping face, pictures of your feet, hands, closeups on your body from modelling sessions or screenshots from your acting jobs circulated the internet, and you wish that you hadn't taken a look.) they tell you to ignore the hatred, but how can you when it's the only thing you see? when it's something so engrained in you now, that's it's become an obsession? that's right, you're a shameless piece of shit who liked the pain (another theory online, one of the many you've accepted as fact.) a fucking masochist who just couldn't get enough of the pain.[break][break]

yeah, maybe you liked the pain a little too much.[break]
it's not like they gave you a choice.[break][break]

they whisper words of contempt, of hatred and of envy, and it resounds so loudly that covering your ears only makes their hate-filled words louder, louder. they crashed into you as a cold hand wraps itself around your ankle, threatening to pull you and fill your lungs with the very same contempt that you, only thirteen, tried desperately to push away. why were you crying, when you were just so damn lucky? not everyone gets this opportunity, and you're just throwing it away. don't make friends, just focus on your acting. don't talk to these people, don't talk to those people. why are you studying when you already have your future thought out for you? surely, you couldn't be thinking of abandoning such an enviable life? wow, you must really be entitled. think about what your family has done for you, think about how much pain that you're putting your parents through.[break][break]

(you had to be better. you had to get better. prettier, prettier, it doesn't matter what price you have to pay. suck in your tummy and eat less, less. it will work, even if it's a little risky. it's okay, the voice in your mind tells you time and time again. you're ready, and it just means that you're desperate enough to be that much more perfect.)[break][break]

three meals turned into two, then one, then small snacks turned into your dinner. a gruelling process indeed, your body refused to let you continue on (but you had to become skinnier, thinner. you had to become more beautiful, so of course it was going to hurt. didn't they always say that beauty was pain?) and your mind revolted. the pain that started dull turned piercing, until your arms were wrapped around your stomach as it ached and ached - but you had to press on. keep going, because you run enough. were you just going to cower with your tail between your legs again, and be the embarrassment of your family again?[break][break]

endure it, even when your body began to show signs. getting up in the morning was stressful and moving your body became a taxing thing. pushing yourself off the mattress once, and you're already out of breath. the only time the pains and the aches stop is when you've fallen asleep at night, and even then you can feel the faint throbbing of hunger pains.[break][break]

your body screamed.[break]
your body screamed in pain, it begged you.[break][break]

but you needed to be empty, you needed to be empty.[break]
just fill up on a glass of water and shame then smile and say "it's fine, i just ate".[break][break]

you're fine, you're fine. you have to become skinny. as pretty as your classmates and as pretty as the models on the covers of magazines. your skin wasn't white enough, it wasn't clear enough. why was your skin so oily? but it was working, it was working. week after week, you stand on the scale with expectant eyes (what were you hoping for? for the numbers to go down, from the double digits that approached triple until they could go down, down and down.)[break][break]

and still? still?! still, no one ever looked at you! no one would look at you with affection, with praise! day in and day out, the only thing you ever wanted to hear was "good job", or "you're doing your best" or even asked if you were okay?! but of course, you never looked okay, and that was only to be expected now. you were a mess. you were a stain on the family, you were the abandoned child of the song family, who only kept you around so that they could feed the narrative of a poor, poor family who had to care for that one mistake. ah, you can't take it. you couldn't take it anymore (you never wanted to be like this, yet the voice in your head smiles as it tells you, whispers hopeful lies within your ears with such sweetened words). [break][break]

even when you finally got treatment, was it really for you? no, it was for the parents who didn't want to see your face anymore. in your absence, and when you came out, you found magazines and articles: they're saints for taking care of you. for giving everything to you, for loving you. you were the troubling child of a family who was nothing but rich, famous, beautiful and loving. how dare you lash out at them? how dare you lash out at others you selfish, worthless, starving piece of--[break][break]

(you can't live like this anymore, you were going to die. you couldn't be with your parents anymore, even after you've recovered and regained most of your body weight. again, you're thrown into the spotlight to pose, to smile for people who sneered at you. who were disgusted by you.)[break][break]

hoenn is supposed to be a sanctuary for you, yet you're still given work. you're given people to talk to, to smile in front of; it was so repetitive, and you just couldn't ignore the rumours, the whispers. wouldn't it be nice if you couldn't hear them? how nice would it be for you to relive the days where you were famous, before the days where you were forced in front of a cruel, cruel reality? it started with a blunt, one that made you hack and cough. one that made you feel like hell, then you tried again. and again. and again. you kept trying it again and again, telling yourself that it was just to see if they worked (it worked enough to get you hooked, and you just couldn't stop). such a shame that such a pretty face fell victim to drug abuse. ashame you were a pretty face to begin with. [break][break]

it's the only thing you'll ever be.