Title: The Greatest Love of All
Characters/Pairings: Tyra/Tyra (because seriously, what other pairing makes more sense for her?), Mr. Jay, Ms. Jay, Sutan
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am not making money from this. All I’m getting is a twisted sense of pleasure, which is payment enough.
Summary: “Learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all…”
Rating: PG
Word Count: 700+
Notes: For whatever reason, I was watching Top Model last week and I thought to myself, “I wonder if there’s any Tyra Banks fanfiction out there?” And then this happened.
Tyra sighed as Sutan put the finishing touches on her flawless makeup. It had taken a few hours, but it was all just a part of her morning ritual. Ms. Jay was pulling out today’s outfit, while Mr. Jay stood by her side, reading off a list of important things on her schedule. She looked up at him, smiling (with her eyes).
She made a motion to get up from the make-up chair, but stopped, clutching her forehead in pain.
“What’s wrong, TyTy?” Mr. Jay asked, perfectly plucked eyebrows raised in alarm, “Is it one of those headaches again?”
“Yes,” Tyra said with a wince.
She had had these headaches since she was a child, but over the years they had gotten progressively worse. She didn’t know what caused them, but she did know that they were a good way to milk others for their sympathy.
“It’s like a sharp pain. But it’s not like ‘model pretty pain’,” she said, striking a pose, “its like ‘owww!’ pain,” she said with an ugly grimace.
“Poor thing,” said Ms. Jay, “Don’t worry, girl, we’ll get you some medicine.”
Ms. Jay started to head toward the kitchen, but instead Mr. Jay screamed “Now!” and the three of them made a run for it.
“Wait!” Tyra yelled, “How did you…?”
But then she saw their disabled house arrest anklets lying in a heap on the floor. They must have taken them off when she wasn’t looking. Otherwise they wouldn’t have had a chance of making it past the perimeter.
“Wait! Don’t leave me!” she cried, dramatically falling to her knees.
But Sutan and the Jays were long gone. She supposed she’d just have to hunt them down again (what was this now, the fifth time?), but for now she was completely alone. No lackeys. No audience.
Tyra Banks was a narcissist of the highest caliber. And that was the greatest tragedy; it was impossible for anyone to love Tyra as much as she loved herself.
Her head began to throb again and she flopped back on a chaise lounge.
And then (in a rare moment of lucidity), it finally hit her. The headaches, the increase in their frequency… it all made sense now. Over the years, Tyra had perfected the art of inflating her own ego. But no matter how many Top Model contestants she reduced to tears in order to build them back up in her own image, no matter how many “Very Special Episodes” of The Tyra Banks Show she did, it would never be enough. No, she had to face the simple truth.
Her ego had simply grown too large for her body to contain.
She clutched at her forehead, trying to think of some way to relieve the pressure that wouldn’t require her to question herself or learn any humility.
In a brilliant burst of narcissism, she realized what she had to do.
And just like mighty Zeus birthed Athena, Tyra Banks reached into her massive forehead and gave birth to…
Herself. She screamed in happiness at the perfectly formed Tyra in front of her, who in turn screamed and jumped up and down in excitement.
“You’re me!” Tyra One exclaimed. The pressure in her head was gone. Now, with the two of them there was enough room for her massive ego, and even some room to grow!
“This is so exciting!” said Tyra Two, “You’re perfect. We’re perfect. Together.”
Tyra Two gazed into Tyra One’s eyes and reached for her hand. When their hands met an electricity brushed through them and Tyra One felt her breath catch in her throat.
She could already tell that this was the beginning (or perhaps really the continuation) of a beautiful love affair.
Tyra One smiled at Tyra Two with a quiet contentment (also known as #22 in her arsenal of smiles).
“Aww, I love smile #22,” Tyra Two said, returning it with smile #27 (also know as “touched and teary-eyed”). She wiped her eyes dramatically, careful not to smudge her make-up.
“Come on!” Tyra One said, “Let’s go cast the next cycle of Top Model!”
“Fabuloooooussss!” Tyra Two sang unnecessarily, as if she were in some kind of demented musical. “This time let’s pick a girl in a wheelchair!”
As they poured over the photos of naïve girls, Tyra One had never felt so joyous in her life. She had finally found someone who loved her as much as she did.
Fin
