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Sweet Treats (5) : There’s no shortage of holiday themed popup shops and specials at your local places, and after a long day there’s nothing better than a nice treat for yourself. Maybe you decided to try something new, maybe it was a gift, maybe you got one of the coupons in the mail to try the place out–however you wound up with this drink, you’re in for a good time. No matter what your preferences are, the drink is delicious. Hot, cold, sweet, bitter–there’s a version of it for everyone. But, the flavor isn’t what makes the drink so special–it’s how good it makes you feel. There’s no alcohol in it, but drinking it can leave someone feeling tipsy, warm, and in a general good mood. Inhibitions aren’t lowered and there’s no negative repercussions for having the drink; it might make children more hyper, but the drink just has the ability to put someone in a pleasant mood.
CW: eating disorders, body/fat shaming, Ilmari generally being a b***h about everyone’s bodies, especially his own.
Ilmari had sworn to himself that he would reserve judgment on the entire holiday season until after New Year. For every lovely example of holiday cheer, such as the way Faustite’s flames had lit up all rainbow-colored when Ilmari had refreshed them, you had all the absolutely rancid things about this stupid season. Things, for example, like the infuriating, putrescent trash food that people saw fit to stuff themselves on as if anyone—even people who got to be God’s Favorite with their perfectly calorie-resistant metabolisms—ever needed such heinous indulgence in their lives.
Boxes and bags of candy on sale absolutely everywhere, everything from high-end designer chocolates to the most basic b***h Hershey kisses with festively colored wrapping. Cookies as far as the eye could see, in every possible configuration of flavors and toppings. Cakes, cheesecakes, cupcakes, brownies, truly all manner of baked goods, both handmade with love and mass-produced for consumption by as many idiots as one could shove them at, whatever anybody wanted. Bakeries and cafés all over town seemed to have special holiday deals going right now, on top of the pre-extant market inundation that always came around this time of year. Spend $X on baked goods, get three of our candy cake pops free!
It made Ilmari feel like vomiting, even when he had behaved so well, and perfectly followed all of his self-imposed rules, and hadn’t broken his own diet, not the slightest hint of compromise anywhere in his journal.
Even when he’d kept up his normal workout routine as well and none of his daily body-checks—whether in the form of selfies shared to the tightly protected socials he didn’t tell just anyone about, or covertly surveying potential damage while preening in a mirror—had shown any signs of the holiday having a negative influence on his figure, not as of yet. (They also hadn’t shown any improvements, though, and the thought of his hard work adding up to absolutely ********> gnawed at Ilmari’s minds like ******** rats.)
Even when he hadn’t eaten all day but refused to let himself be tempted by calorie-laden sugar garbage.
Worst of all possible pieces to this puzzle, some feral, irrepressible, little gremlin that lived in the back of Ilmari’s mind made him struggle every time he needed to refuse. Shouldn’t have been this way, he reminded himself as he stormed through one Destiny City park or other, close to one of town’s big commercial districts. Fuming at his own weakness so much that he might as well have had cartoon smoke coming out of his ears, Ilmari ran over all the lies he always told in situations like this. (Even if he hadn’t broken his diet, feeling tempted at all was a sign of weakness that Ilmari needed to master, then crush beneath his pointy heels.)
As he stopped to pull energy off of some bearded hipster guy, making frankly indecent noises over his hot chocolate, Ilmari reminded himself that he knew the proper answers to use when offered an unwanted dessert. Politely declining because he didn’t feel well would work. But if it didn’t, he could fall back on claiming to have eaten too much for his stomach earlier. If that failed too, then Ilmari could always resort to an allergy or pointedly noting that not respecting his boundaries made whoever intended to fatten him up the a*****e in this hypothetical situation.
He knew all the moves. He knew all the words. He shouldn’t have felt any glimmers of doubt over his Dad—the one who was nominally on a diet himself, at that—trying to offer his eldest child some oversized brownie, trying to guilt-trip Baz about how he was young and it was Christmas and he’d never needed to show any “diet solidarity” with Dad in the first place, not with Baz having such a naturally slender figure.
If nothing else, Baz-Ilmari needed to always remain grounded in the fact that his physique wasn’t actually natural, though. Maybe he’d objectively never been as big as some of the success stories in his clandestine online friend-circles, but Ilmari knew anybody else would’ve agreed, looking at some of his older body-check photos as Baz, that he’d done the best thing for himself by knuckling down about phys ed at Romano’s, taking his figure-maintenance regime more seriously, and slimming down. Ilmari knew this because he’d certainly felt fat while taking those selfies, so how could anyone possibly disagree that he’d looked kinda chubby in his first-ever body-check selfies?
Moving on before the bearded hipster p***k completely passed out, Ilmari found his way to a girl who wore way too many clashing patterns in her outfit (******** who paired a striped, deliberately ugly Christmas sweater with cheetah print leggings and a plaid, pleated mini-skirt?), way too many pin-back buttons on her oversized messenger bag, and way too many bright colors for somebody her size. Much like the hipster guy, she had her hands wrapped around some hot-to-go cup from a nearby café, and almost exactly like him, she moaned over each sip in a way that almost made Ilmari blush……but only almost. Her ecstatic appreciation for whatever massively over-caloried drink she had on-hand didn’t scare him off, though. If anything, it made Ilmari feel more certain in his purpose as he lurked a few paces off from her, draining her energy.
Honestly, it’s community service to drain this one, he thought to himself, tracing his eyes up and down her figure. Sneering at her plump stomach and her full hips, he intensified his focus, worked at sucking the energy clean out of her. The more tired she gets, the less she can eat. Maybe she’ll learn how much better it feels than cookies and cheesecake, then turn her life around. We can hope for Christmas miracles, can’t we?
Boxes and bags of candy on sale absolutely everywhere, everything from high-end designer chocolates to the most basic b***h Hershey kisses with festively colored wrapping. Cookies as far as the eye could see, in every possible configuration of flavors and toppings. Cakes, cheesecakes, cupcakes, brownies, truly all manner of baked goods, both handmade with love and mass-produced for consumption by as many idiots as one could shove them at, whatever anybody wanted. Bakeries and cafés all over town seemed to have special holiday deals going right now, on top of the pre-extant market inundation that always came around this time of year. Spend $X on baked goods, get three of our candy cake pops free!
It made Ilmari feel like vomiting, even when he had behaved so well, and perfectly followed all of his self-imposed rules, and hadn’t broken his own diet, not the slightest hint of compromise anywhere in his journal.
Even when he’d kept up his normal workout routine as well and none of his daily body-checks—whether in the form of selfies shared to the tightly protected socials he didn’t tell just anyone about, or covertly surveying potential damage while preening in a mirror—had shown any signs of the holiday having a negative influence on his figure, not as of yet. (They also hadn’t shown any improvements, though, and the thought of his hard work adding up to absolutely ********> gnawed at Ilmari’s minds like ******** rats.)
Even when he hadn’t eaten all day but refused to let himself be tempted by calorie-laden sugar garbage.
Worst of all possible pieces to this puzzle, some feral, irrepressible, little gremlin that lived in the back of Ilmari’s mind made him struggle every time he needed to refuse. Shouldn’t have been this way, he reminded himself as he stormed through one Destiny City park or other, close to one of town’s big commercial districts. Fuming at his own weakness so much that he might as well have had cartoon smoke coming out of his ears, Ilmari ran over all the lies he always told in situations like this. (Even if he hadn’t broken his diet, feeling tempted at all was a sign of weakness that Ilmari needed to master, then crush beneath his pointy heels.)
As he stopped to pull energy off of some bearded hipster guy, making frankly indecent noises over his hot chocolate, Ilmari reminded himself that he knew the proper answers to use when offered an unwanted dessert. Politely declining because he didn’t feel well would work. But if it didn’t, he could fall back on claiming to have eaten too much for his stomach earlier. If that failed too, then Ilmari could always resort to an allergy or pointedly noting that not respecting his boundaries made whoever intended to fatten him up the a*****e in this hypothetical situation.
He knew all the moves. He knew all the words. He shouldn’t have felt any glimmers of doubt over his Dad—the one who was nominally on a diet himself, at that—trying to offer his eldest child some oversized brownie, trying to guilt-trip Baz about how he was young and it was Christmas and he’d never needed to show any “diet solidarity” with Dad in the first place, not with Baz having such a naturally slender figure.
If nothing else, Baz-Ilmari needed to always remain grounded in the fact that his physique wasn’t actually natural, though. Maybe he’d objectively never been as big as some of the success stories in his clandestine online friend-circles, but Ilmari knew anybody else would’ve agreed, looking at some of his older body-check photos as Baz, that he’d done the best thing for himself by knuckling down about phys ed at Romano’s, taking his figure-maintenance regime more seriously, and slimming down. Ilmari knew this because he’d certainly felt fat while taking those selfies, so how could anyone possibly disagree that he’d looked kinda chubby in his first-ever body-check selfies?
Moving on before the bearded hipster p***k completely passed out, Ilmari found his way to a girl who wore way too many clashing patterns in her outfit (******** who paired a striped, deliberately ugly Christmas sweater with cheetah print leggings and a plaid, pleated mini-skirt?), way too many pin-back buttons on her oversized messenger bag, and way too many bright colors for somebody her size. Much like the hipster guy, she had her hands wrapped around some hot-to-go cup from a nearby café, and almost exactly like him, she moaned over each sip in a way that almost made Ilmari blush……but only almost. Her ecstatic appreciation for whatever massively over-caloried drink she had on-hand didn’t scare him off, though. If anything, it made Ilmari feel more certain in his purpose as he lurked a few paces off from her, draining her energy.
Honestly, it’s community service to drain this one, he thought to himself, tracing his eyes up and down her figure. Sneering at her plump stomach and her full hips, he intensified his focus, worked at sucking the energy clean out of her. The more tired she gets, the less she can eat. Maybe she’ll learn how much better it feels than cookies and cheesecake, then turn her life around. We can hope for Christmas miracles, can’t we?
Distantly, Ilmari felt an Order aura crop up on his senses but like Hell was he going anywhere. Even the most starry-eyed, obnoxious airhead Order senshi or Knight would have to agree that he was doing the right thing by draining this specific civilian. Anyway, it wasn’t like she hadn’t brought this on herself a little bit, making such indecent sounds about……what? A hot chocolate? An overpriced latte?
Something she didn’t need to be drinking, Ilmari knew that much.
genovianprince
