Chapter Text
The internet is really the only place Victoria Javadi’s parents can’t control her.
They think they can, with their private Instagram accounts, entire first and last names spelled out as their usernames. Dr.RaymondJavadi likes this photo and Dr.EileenShamsi likes this photo roll into her notifications like coins into a slot machine, betting on a jackpot so distant and unlikely, but doing it anyway because they want it so badly.
All that intelligence between them and they still underestimate her. That, or they just assume that they've hammered the rebellion out of her after all these years like she is one of those poor dogs in the Seligman experiment unwilling to escape because they learned not to try.
Her parents should know better.
In reality, they follow one of her spare accounts from freshman year of college; she updates it with the errant photo of a matcha, one of her anatomical doodles, or an aesthetic picture of her study setup.
Occasionally, she posts a selfie so they know she is still alive.
Facebook is even easier to leverage given that she essentially treats it like LinkedIn. Hardly ever posts, likes and comments on photos from her colleagues at PTMC and distant college acquaintances.
Victoria only posts there when she has some major accomplishment — which meant that she posted quite frequently, for a while. Mom and dad are always sure to Love those posts, stamping their mark on her milestones with enthusiastic pink Heart reactions.
Now, as an MS3, the accomplishments have dwindled from graduating college at 16 to just getting through the day. So, yeah, the posts have tapered off, but she knows for certain that they are none the wiser to what she really gets up to.
It’s rote, at this point, keeping up her fake feeds and letting them both think they know her internet hygiene. Like making a show of brushing her teeth in front of them and eating her vegetables only to masturbate in her bedroom — show them what they want to see and nothing more.
Let them think that she is the perfect daughter they always wanted. Never a toe out of line. Always doing what she is told. Excelling in every conceivable way, publicly, yes, but also with the grace and humility befitting the Javadi-Shamsi family.
She's made herself mythological, almost, in her perfection.
The daughter they think they know may as well have been floated down the Nile to them and plucked from the reeds. Or perhaps formed from their own bodies like Brahma and all the creatures of the world. Or maybe, simply molded from clay as Pandora was. Better yet, split from their skulls to avoid the headache of intercourse like Athena: no need to get their hands dirty with actual sex when they could make her through sheer force of will.
Victoria Javadi — made in their image.
Their idea of her is, anyway.
Out of nowhere, McKay's voice rings out in her mind, chagrined. Pressure Cooker Prodigy. As the words bounce around in her brain, she can imagine the bittersweet twist to McKay's grin, her lips crooking up at one corner like a fish hook is pulling them up as if McKay finds the title more sad than funny, but is amused despite it.
Since McKay said it, Pressure Cooker Prodigy, she hasn't been able to forget it, hasn't been able to forget how fucking angry it made her, how hateful she felt towards that baseball dad who was talking about a potential future his injured son may never have.
The rage, the energy has been living under her skin.
All that expectation. All that pressure.
It was just a matter of time and circumstance before she broke underneath it or rebelled against it.
So, really, it’s her parents' own fault that she has an OnlyFans.
It's their fault she has a dedicated, voracious, and cash-flush following of devotees sending her tips, sexting her, begging for her to message them back, and paying good green money to watch her touch herself on the internet.
It’s their fault that thousands of paying customers have seen just how perfect their little girl can be.