Breakfast
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 11
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Sarah swept out of the gym with Chloe and Mia trailing behind her like stunned ducklings, their gym bags looking comically small next to her towering frame. The January air bit at exposed skin, but Sarah didn’t even shiver—her golden-bronze hide seemed to repel the cold like it was beneath her notice. She threw her hips side to side as she walked, PRINCESS rhinestones flashing with every sway, drawing stares from passing cars and early-morning joggers alike.
“Breakfast, ladies,” she declared, voice carrying that signature Brooklyn lilt turned up to eleven. “My treat. And we’re going big. None of that sad kale-smoothie nonsense.”
Chloe exchanged a glance with Mia. “Sarah, you just did like… three hours of lifting that should’ve killed a normal person. You sure you want—”
“Shush, bubbeleh. I’m starving.” Sarah pushed open the door to The Greasy Spoon, a 24-hour diner two blocks from the gym that smelled like bacon grease and broken New Year’s resolutions.
The bell jingled. Heads turned. Forks froze mid-air. A waitress nearly dropped her coffee pot.
Sarah slid into the largest booth—barely big enough for her seven-foot-four frame—and spread her arms along the backrest like she owned the place. Chloe and Mia squeezed in opposite her, looking like children at the grown-up table.
The waitress approached cautiously. “Uh… morning. What can I—”
“Everything,” Sarah cut in, flashing that smug, predatory grin. “Start with the Mega Breakfast Platter—double pancakes, triple bacon, sausage links, hash browns drowned in cheese, two orders of French toast with extra syrup, side of biscuits and gravy, and a chocolate-chip waffle tower. Oh, and a vanilla milkshake. Large. And coffee. Black. And orange juice. And another milkshake. Chocolate peanut butter this time.”
The waitress blinked. “That’s… for all three of you?”
Sarah leaned forward, breasts straining the pink crop top. “No, sweetie. That’s for me. They can get their sad little egg whites if they want.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Sarah, that’s like… 4,000 calories. Minimum. You’re trying to be an IFBB pro. You’ve literally cried over a single french fry before.”
Sarah waved a dismissive hand, long pink talons glittering. “Feh. That was old Sarah. New Sarah eats what she wants. Because new Sarah doesn’t get fat.” She patted her armored ten-pack under the cropped top. “Look at this. You think a little syrup is gonna ruin perfection? Please.”
The food arrived in waves—plates stacked high, steam rising, grease shining. Sarah dove in with feral enthusiasm. She tore into pancakes dripping with butter and syrup, moaned around a mouthful of bacon so crisp it shattered, licked maple syrup off her fingers with theatrical slowness. Chocolate milkshake dribbled down her chin; she swiped it up and sucked it off her thumb, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“Mmm. God, I forgot how good real food tastes,” she purred between bites. “All those years denying myself carbs like some martyr. For what? To look ‘stage-ready’? Screw that. I’m beyond stage-ready. I’m untouchable.”
Mia stared, fork hovering uselessly over her untouched fruit cup. “This is… luxurious. Like, obscenely luxurious. That waffle tower alone costs more than my weekly grocery budget.”
Chloe nodded slowly. “It’s giving ‘I just robbed a bakery and won the lottery at the same time.’ Sarah, seriously—what’s going on? You’re eating like you’re invincible.”
Sarah paused, syrup glistening on her fuller lips, and fixed them with those sharp almond eyes. “Girls. Relax. Everything is fine. Better than fine. Mamash perfect.” She took another enormous bite of French toast, chewed slowly, savoring. “I just… woke up with better priorities. Life’s too short for dry chicken breast and misery.”
While they gaped, she pulled out her phone, angled it for the perfect shot: her leaning over the mountain of food, tongue flicking out to catch a drip of syrup, eyes smoldering at the camera, one bicep casually flexed so the peak rose behind the plate stack.
Snap. Another: mid-bite, cheeks puffed like a greedy chipmunk but still somehow impossibly glamorous. Another: licking the chocolate milkshake straw, lips wrapped around it with deliberate suggestion.
Upload.
First caption: “Breakfast of champions who don’t give a single fuck anymore 🥞🍳 When your body is a temple and the temple serves bottomless syrup. Sorry if your clean-eating coach is crying in the corner 😘 #QueenSarah #EatTheRichFood #GluttonyIsTheNewGlowUp #PrincessDinesLikeRoyalty #CaloriesDontCountWhenYoureThisPretty #NarcissistAndProud #SorryYourDietIsSad #JewishAmericanGoddess #BetterThanYourMacros”
Second: “They said ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it too.’ I said hold my milkshake and watch me devour the whole bakery 🍫🥛 Who needs discipline when you’re built like divine intervention? Bow down, peasants 💅 #FoodPornWithASideOfSuperiority #EgoAndEggs #CondescendingAndConfident #IFBBWhoNeedsIt #SorryNotSorry”
Likes flooded in. Comments: “Girl you’re living MY dream” “This is body positivity on steroids” “How are you real???”
Sarah smirked, licked syrup off her thumb again, and glanced out the window.
Across the street, an ATM glowed blue in the cold morning light, attached to the side of a small branch bank.
A wicked idea curled her lips.
Her eyes narrowed, calculating.
She could hear the hum of the machine from here—heightened senses picking up the faint whir of fans, the soft beep of buttons waiting to be pressed. She could smell the ink on the bills inside, the metallic tang of money just sitting there.
She flexed her fingers under the table—long talons clicking softly.
No more scraping by on student loans and parental guilt checks.
No more begging for brand deals.
No more limits.
She looked back at Chloe and Mia, who were still staring at her half-demolished plates in horrified fascination.
“Finish your fruit cups, ladies,” she said sweetly, already sliding out of the booth—careful not to snap the vinyl with her thighs. “Mommy’s got some errands to run.”
She stood to her full height, towering over the diner, every eye in the place snapping to her like magnets. PRINCESS flashed one last time as she sauntered toward the door, hips rolling, hair swaying, a dark promise trailing behind her.
The bell jingled again.
Outside, the ATM waited.
And Sarah Adler smiled like a wolf who’d just spotted an unattended flock.
What Sarah do?
“Breakfast, ladies,” she declared, voice carrying that signature Brooklyn lilt turned up to eleven. “My treat. And we’re going big. None of that sad kale-smoothie nonsense.”
Chloe exchanged a glance with Mia. “Sarah, you just did like… three hours of lifting that should’ve killed a normal person. You sure you want—”
“Shush, bubbeleh. I’m starving.” Sarah pushed open the door to The Greasy Spoon, a 24-hour diner two blocks from the gym that smelled like bacon grease and broken New Year’s resolutions.
The bell jingled. Heads turned. Forks froze mid-air. A waitress nearly dropped her coffee pot.
Sarah slid into the largest booth—barely big enough for her seven-foot-four frame—and spread her arms along the backrest like she owned the place. Chloe and Mia squeezed in opposite her, looking like children at the grown-up table.
The waitress approached cautiously. “Uh… morning. What can I—”
“Everything,” Sarah cut in, flashing that smug, predatory grin. “Start with the Mega Breakfast Platter—double pancakes, triple bacon, sausage links, hash browns drowned in cheese, two orders of French toast with extra syrup, side of biscuits and gravy, and a chocolate-chip waffle tower. Oh, and a vanilla milkshake. Large. And coffee. Black. And orange juice. And another milkshake. Chocolate peanut butter this time.”
The waitress blinked. “That’s… for all three of you?”
Sarah leaned forward, breasts straining the pink crop top. “No, sweetie. That’s for me. They can get their sad little egg whites if they want.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped. “Sarah, that’s like… 4,000 calories. Minimum. You’re trying to be an IFBB pro. You’ve literally cried over a single french fry before.”
Sarah waved a dismissive hand, long pink talons glittering. “Feh. That was old Sarah. New Sarah eats what she wants. Because new Sarah doesn’t get fat.” She patted her armored ten-pack under the cropped top. “Look at this. You think a little syrup is gonna ruin perfection? Please.”
The food arrived in waves—plates stacked high, steam rising, grease shining. Sarah dove in with feral enthusiasm. She tore into pancakes dripping with butter and syrup, moaned around a mouthful of bacon so crisp it shattered, licked maple syrup off her fingers with theatrical slowness. Chocolate milkshake dribbled down her chin; she swiped it up and sucked it off her thumb, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“Mmm. God, I forgot how good real food tastes,” she purred between bites. “All those years denying myself carbs like some martyr. For what? To look ‘stage-ready’? Screw that. I’m beyond stage-ready. I’m untouchable.”
Mia stared, fork hovering uselessly over her untouched fruit cup. “This is… luxurious. Like, obscenely luxurious. That waffle tower alone costs more than my weekly grocery budget.”
Chloe nodded slowly. “It’s giving ‘I just robbed a bakery and won the lottery at the same time.’ Sarah, seriously—what’s going on? You’re eating like you’re invincible.”
Sarah paused, syrup glistening on her fuller lips, and fixed them with those sharp almond eyes. “Girls. Relax. Everything is fine. Better than fine. Mamash perfect.” She took another enormous bite of French toast, chewed slowly, savoring. “I just… woke up with better priorities. Life’s too short for dry chicken breast and misery.”
While they gaped, she pulled out her phone, angled it for the perfect shot: her leaning over the mountain of food, tongue flicking out to catch a drip of syrup, eyes smoldering at the camera, one bicep casually flexed so the peak rose behind the plate stack.
Snap. Another: mid-bite, cheeks puffed like a greedy chipmunk but still somehow impossibly glamorous. Another: licking the chocolate milkshake straw, lips wrapped around it with deliberate suggestion.
Upload.
First caption: “Breakfast of champions who don’t give a single fuck anymore 🥞🍳 When your body is a temple and the temple serves bottomless syrup. Sorry if your clean-eating coach is crying in the corner 😘 #QueenSarah #EatTheRichFood #GluttonyIsTheNewGlowUp #PrincessDinesLikeRoyalty #CaloriesDontCountWhenYoureThisPretty #NarcissistAndProud #SorryYourDietIsSad #JewishAmericanGoddess #BetterThanYourMacros”
Second: “They said ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it too.’ I said hold my milkshake and watch me devour the whole bakery 🍫🥛 Who needs discipline when you’re built like divine intervention? Bow down, peasants 💅 #FoodPornWithASideOfSuperiority #EgoAndEggs #CondescendingAndConfident #IFBBWhoNeedsIt #SorryNotSorry”
Likes flooded in. Comments: “Girl you’re living MY dream” “This is body positivity on steroids” “How are you real???”
Sarah smirked, licked syrup off her thumb again, and glanced out the window.
Across the street, an ATM glowed blue in the cold morning light, attached to the side of a small branch bank.
A wicked idea curled her lips.
Her eyes narrowed, calculating.
She could hear the hum of the machine from here—heightened senses picking up the faint whir of fans, the soft beep of buttons waiting to be pressed. She could smell the ink on the bills inside, the metallic tang of money just sitting there.
She flexed her fingers under the table—long talons clicking softly.
No more scraping by on student loans and parental guilt checks.
No more begging for brand deals.
No more limits.
She looked back at Chloe and Mia, who were still staring at her half-demolished plates in horrified fascination.
“Finish your fruit cups, ladies,” she said sweetly, already sliding out of the booth—careful not to snap the vinyl with her thighs. “Mommy’s got some errands to run.”
She stood to her full height, towering over the diner, every eye in the place snapping to her like magnets. PRINCESS flashed one last time as she sauntered toward the door, hips rolling, hair swaying, a dark promise trailing behind her.
The bell jingled again.
Outside, the ATM waited.
And Sarah Adler smiled like a wolf who’d just spotted an unattended flock.
What Sarah do?
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·
June 13
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