Chapter Text
Jayce Talis hits five million subscribers on manofcuisine at thirty-two, a milestone he though to be impossible in his early days of YouTube.
After years of considerably low views, his claim to virality had been – of all things – causing an explosion in his backyard in an attempt to create his own flattop. Was it stupid? Most definitely, but that all it had taken for him to shoot straight to trending, his channel gaining a sudden influx of views. From there, he kickstarted a topical posting once he had the subscribers to keep his name circling – creating hand-made kitchen gadgets, debunking myths, recreating food from popular media, cooking challenges, rankings – and the views only continued to climb as he kept up with said schedule, exaggerating his personality to meet the demand of what he assumed his followers wanted to see.
He was entertaining, he was informative; other creators in the cooking community began to want to collaborate, which only boosted him further into the know until he was no longer known as the man who nearly blew the awning off his back porch, but Jayce Talis, Youtuber.
And came the accomplishments. He bought an office, hired his own team, helped purchase a store-front for his mother to further her baking career – even created his own hard seltzer line: the Atlas Gauntlets, with its electric blue can and specialty flavours of pomegranate, lemon-lime, watermelon and blueberry, personally chosen because of –
Scripting could take days, filming, hour upon gruelling hour, his mind always ablaze with the next best thing. He knew what had to be done to stay relevant and was willing to push himself in order to stay at the top. It was no longer a hobby and it hadn’t been for the past five years; it was his job, his image now a brand to be marketed.
That one explosion had quite literally changed his life.
“Cait, I need to pick up the ingredients for the video game special; the video’s scheduled to go out Tuesday.” Jayce definitely isn’t whining as soon as their five-hour thank-you stream is switched off. Going to a bar was the last thing on his mind on a Sunday night – Sunday nights were for preparing Monday mornings.
“Are you mad? This celebration is for you, Jayce. Are you aware that not everyone is fortunate enough to hit the numbers you have, right?” Caitlyn Kiramman, his stage manager, is on his right as they make their way out of the office, a hand taking stake at his elbow to ensure he didn’t suddenly become a flight-risk, “The least you can do is stay for a few hours.”
“God forbid you have some fun once in a while.” Vi – soon-to-be Vi Kiramman come a few months – his boom operator, is on his left. Following behind, the remainder of the camera crew, Steb, Loris Mylo and Claggor, who are all talking amongst themselves; Jayce isn’t as close to them as he’d like to be, but he’s never found the time to have a proper conversation with them that didn’t include aspects of work.
“I have fun.” He grumbles, allowing himself to dragged to Loris’s Honda Pilot.
In the end, he does end up drinking more than he intended to; he wasn’t the designated driver, so he knew the only way to stop thinking about work was to loosen up and treat himself to the moment – or more specifically, when Vi began egging him on with a toast of the Atlas Gauntlets.
One toast became several as the drinks continued to flow alongside the stories of past videos they particularly enjoyed filming. They’d gone into it a few times during the stream, answering one of the many, many questions their followers had given to them. While Caitlyn preferred the cooking challenges: high stakes, higher view count – and Vi the gadget creation: chance of causing another explosion; Jayce answers differed. On stream, he chose something popular, something safe; 1 Star Restaurant vs. 5 Star Restaurant, Recreating YOUR Designs, Debunking #Viral Food Hacks. But personally, his top pick was his own podcast, Take a Seat at the Table, where the only requirement for himself and his guests were to shoot the shit while they shared a meal from whatever local mom&pop was voted for that day. While it could be chaotic on days of certain topics, Jayce chose to keep things more laid-back; it was nice to be able to drop the high-energy persona every once in a while.
By the end the of night, Jayce is pleasantly buzzed.
After getting dropped off at his apartment by Loris – and refusing Cailyn’s offer of walking him to his door – Jayce manages to tap his key through the front entrance, the elevator up to the twenty-first floor, and finally his own personal door all without incident beyond the slight stumble in his step, suddenly fixated on needing to get home, home, home. If the night was all about letting loose, then what better way to top it off then with some personal time – hell, he was celebrating five million subscribers! He deserved it!
He kicks off his shoes, sheds his clothes on the way to his bedroom, his sanctuary, with its queen-sized bed and lush, plush-pile carpet,
pulls closed the curtains to shield the view of the floor-length windows overlooking the city,
takes his laptop from his bedside table, settles in,
opens to an incognito tab, and,
There was something he’s never told anyone.
clicks into spiceCore, a website dedicated to hosting adult material.
His following list only contains a singular creator, a man who went by the handle of heftyherald, who Jayce has been following coming on nine years now. The Herald catered to the feedism community, or, more specifically, belly related kinks in general. His channel offered a variety of content, some posted by personal preference, others by commission, though he was very particular about what he was willing to take on judging by his TOS. Stuffing was favoured, by both himself and by his commissioners, though it certainly wasn’t the only genre to be found; there was some hypnotism here and there, outfits like lingerie and suits, bondage, ASMR – the Herald did not shy away from a far amount.
Compared to the other creators in the community, there was just… something about the Herald that drew Jayce in. There was the mystery surrounding the mask, the persona that the Herald had created – and it could possibly be that the Herald’s updated mask looked too much like a certain character from League, whom he may or may not have had a crush on when the character first released a decade ago – but it wasn’t just that; there were whispers of the person beneath, curling strands of short, chestnut hair tamed into place with product. Moles of varying size that star-crossed his skin, near-forcing the eye to follow them as he moved. His hands; long, square fingers, protruding knuckles and calloused palms, elegant in the way they would touch himself, blunt nails digging into softened flesh.
Sometimes he lets himself think of what the Herald’s voice would sound without the hardened grit of the modulator built into the mask, how his accent would coil around each individual letter of his name.
He wishes he were brave enough to fully support the Herald, but beyond the monthly payment required to access the content of ones chosen tier – ten dollars to access both photo and video – Jayce simply lurks; no commenting, no liking photos or donating extra, all so that he could remain out of sight of the Herald’s radar, just an anonymous icon lost amidst the others.
given an upgrade, posted by @heftyherald on August 29 – length, 21 minutes, 58 seconds
There was a video that Jayce would rewatch quite often, a funnel feeding video posted a few years back when the Herald had upgraded his elevated feeding system. The design is custom-made, with a line of tubing connected with a food-grade silicone sealant to the spout of a 4-litre dispenser. The sprout originally made for the dispenser has already been locked in place to allow free-flow directly into the tube, that of which has its own twist-knob manufactured on the receiving end. It dangles, waiting, as the Herald pours in a blended mixture of strawberries and bananas thickened with skim milk and yogurt – For the Herald, consuming a lot of calories had never been his goal unless he himself chose to do it for a special occasion; he’d mentioned a few times prior an exercise routine he adhered to keep himself maintaining weight.
He was around 180 pounds, then.
= The stool creaks as the Herald takes a seat, the fat of his thighs spreading against the cushion. The shirt he’d chosen to wear still fits, cream in colour with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, though it’ll only take another year before it makes its last appearance in ‘outgrowing my clothes; a valentine special’. Behind him, his set is bare, a single, red curtain acting as a backdrop. =
= He takes hold of the tube at the end, swiping his thumb, teasing, against the twist-knob’s opening. “I’ve been training to, mm, stretch my belly,” his modulated voice speaks to the viewer, “Let us see if I can set a new record tonight, hm?” The address is not meant for the viewer, but for his stomach. He gives it a brief pat, letting the viewer take in the subtle jiggle as his palm makes contact. = When empty, his stomach looks so invitingly doughy, but there was a hint of muscle, too. = “You will behave today, won’t you?” =
The all-too familiar heat begins to stir from the Herald’s voice alone, Jayce’s heart-rate increasing as he reacts to the vocal stimulation. He keeps his eyes locked onto his laptop as it rests on the bed beside him, forging any lubricant in his haste to pleasure himself as his cock stirs to life in his fist – he won’t need it anyway.
= The mask is tipped up, only for a moment, only enough to catch a glimpse of softened chin, so that he can stick the tubing between his lips. And as quickly as it’s tipped up, it’s pulled back down, face out of sight, off limits to those who didn’t have the privilege to know him in person. Then, with a twist of the wrist, the Herald turns the knob and opens the shutter, humming in delight as the smoothie first hits his palate. =
Jayce picks up the pace, toes curling.
= The Herald gulps, gulps, moans, his stomach filling so much faster with the assistance of gravity compared to a regular stuffing. =
With eating, one could take their time, picking at this, at that, giving time to let a meal be savoured for all it was worth. Drinking, funnelled drinking, was swift, disallowing much in way of breathing room as there was no choice but to swallow lest a mess be made. It’s what made Jayce selfishly miss the earlier iterations of the funnel system, back before the shutter had been installed. Before, the only way the Herald could put an emergency stop to his funnel feedings was to plug the tube with his thumb – if he were bound, then he wouldn’t be able to use his hands at all –
= The editing is downright mouthwatering, switching between the three cameras set up around the studio – one is directed on his neck as he swallowed, following the apple in his throat as it bobs up and down, up and down as the smoothie makes it journey from the dispensers to mouth to stomach. Another is angled lower, to take in the growth as the snap-buttons on his short begin to pull around the growing bulge in his belly, close enough to hear the splash of liquid as it sloshes up against the inner-lining with even the slightest movement. The final is a far shot to have all of him in frame, and God, the posture, how he spreads his thighs wider to make room for his stomach to breathe, to show that he’s turned on, a tent pressing insistently at the fly of his pants. = The Herald never acknowledged it on camera but how Jayce wishes he would.
= The dispenser steadily declines as it’s emptied of its contents, but it’s far from empty, not even breaking the halfway point. =
Time slows, molasses sweet, as Jayce’s cock throbs in time with his heartbeat, so, so wet, now, his hand gliding so deliciously along his shaft. “Keep going,” He’s floating, looking outside himself, the remaining stress as he pumps himself to the sound of the Herald’s frenzied swallows. God, it feels so good to let go.
= As the video goes on, the Herald’s moans grow more desperate as he begins to run out of room, but still he drinks, determined to drink until every last drop has been funnelled down into his greedy gullet. = It’s impossible, Jayce knows, that the Herald could never drink four entire litres in one sitting. = His stomach is pushing out further now, nearing capacity. The front of his shirt is smooth from the strain, but the buttons still hold on. =
= “Come on,” he growls, voice rough as he takes a breather, “You’re going to take it.” His free hand rests atop his stomach where the distention is most pronounced, deeply massaging his palm along the swell in an order to make more room. He takes another gulp, winded, “You… you have room.” The camera placed to his stomach takes in the roiling within as his body tries to handle the amount within; there’s so much liquid absolutely packing him full that the Herald is now panting. “Haah, so full.” =
= There’s a creak of a button. =
= And the Herald continues, stubborn, gripping the funnel with both hands as he takes another gulp. He pauses, takes a breath, and then swallows once more. His stomach is loud, angry, declaring that it truly can’t take any more, maxed to the fullest it could be, when – =
= One of the buttons at the crest of his upper belly snaps open to reveal a diamond of flushed, sweaty skin, another button following in quick succession. The Herald moans in response, leaning his head back in surrender and letting his body go slack against the chair. The tube drops from his hand, a few droplets escaping from the now-closed nozzle. =
Only then does Jayce allow himself to come, breath puffing out of him as he rides the orgasm with fireworks dancing behind his eyes.
= In the end, the Herald isn’t able to drink it all - of course he can’t - leaving a few litres left in the dispenser. He barely has the energy to even move, only just panting as he rubs his belly where no doubt a cramp is wanting to form. =
= Then, a cut in the video as the Herald now stands, showing off the resulting bloat to his viewers, an arch in his back as he supports his belly, pitifully moaning about not being able to drink it all. But next time he’ll aim higher; he’ll continue to capacity train, to stretch his stomach until it behaves itself – said with a slap against its drum-tight surface for emphasis. =
= In turn, his stomach responds with a squelch of contentment. =
= Another drawn out moan, a weak, stifled belch, stomach too full for even air to escape, and then, =
the video ends, replaced by a block of text to remind subscribers that, for a price, he can fulfill something they specifically want to see – if it was in his approved listing.
‘Why not,’ Jayce thinks, the heat of the moment lowering his usual inhibition as he clicks onto the commission page – five million followers, nothing to scoff at! All of his achievements, the good he’s done, the sacrifices to his personal life, it’s all come to this! Doesn’t he deserve something more than a slab of painted metal? Something that was for him, and him only?
‘Read my TOS before you inquire.’ He has, dozens of times before chickening out.
Here’s to you, Talis!
His head is buzzing, vision swimming, dick still pulsing against his thigh. He could help make the Herald huge, logical thinking all but thrown out the window as he inputs $250 and presses send.
The next afternoon, Jayce wakes to his phone pinging, a pounding in his head and a rise of a nausea upon taking sight of himself; he’s naked, sticky and cold, having slept above the comforter. His laptop is discarded off to the side of the bed, screen dark.
He scrambles to fetch his phone from where it had fallen onto the floor during the night – there's Caitlyn in his messenger, asking how he is, Vi. sending photos from the bar (he really doesn’t think he can stomach the second-hand embarrassment at the moment), and a few emails newly sent to his inbox. At the top, an invite to guest-star in a fellow creator’s debunking video, sent at 9:32am. Below that, a confirmation of his convention appearance in May, sent at 8:12am. Mark as read, mark as read, switch to his alternate email –
Jayce’s blood runs cold.
A receipt for $2,500 dollars, spent on the Herald, and a message on-site from the Herald himself, sent at 6:02am.
He closes his eyes, opens them; the email remains.
What the fuck, what the fuck –
Of all the irresponsible, reckless things you could’ve done –
Stupid, stupid –
What were you thinking, Jayce –
Everyone is going to know, everyone is going to see you differently, you won’t be able to come back –
Breathe,
You’re spiralling,
Just, breathe,
Focus.
He rubs his thumb against the tattoo inked into the underside of his wrist, a habit that he used to self-soothe. Against the warm brown of his skin, tendrils of purple, cerulean and yellow surround a gemstone – not a larimar, but quite close in colour, a shock of marbled blue. It doesn’t have a name, just a feeling – the idea of the tattoo itself was something that’s always just… been there, with Jayce unable to remember where exactly it first manifested; a dream, he’d thought, or perhaps something he’d read in a book, taking up many a page in his sketchbook to keep its memory alive. By the time he was old enough to get an appointment booked, he knew whatever it was, it was his.
This isn’t the end of the world.
On a positive note, the Herald couldn’t have seen who sent the money; with anonymous payments switched on – an option he’d chosen upon first creating his account – any identifying information was scrubbed from the receipt, leaving a ‘sender chooses to remain unknown’ in its place.
Requesting a chargeback was out of the question; it would be entirely too cruel to dangle such a large sum over someone’s head, to call it a mistake and yank it away. Yes, $2,500 was a pretty amount of money, but with steady sales being made from his merchandise – especially now that the holiday season was soon arriving – the loss would barely even make a dent in his monthly earnings. By all accounts, he’d paid a considerable price for a life lesson – and it could’ve been worse. Maybe it could even be his sign to unsubscribe, quit cold-turkey, look into embroidery –
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It takes him three days to crack and check his messages.
@heftyherald [Nov. 23, 6:02am]: hello.
@heftyherald [Nov. 23, 6:17am]: was that a mistake?
@heftyherald [Nov. 23, 7:32am]: hello?
@mercuryhammer [Nov. 26, 12:21pm] Hey! I’m so sorry, I pressed an extra zero by mistake, it was supposed to be
@mercuryhammer [Nov. 26, 12:21pm] Hi! I am so sorry, but it was an accident, it wasn’t supposed to be that much, I was just lfdnlskgsdgslgs sssssssssssssss
@mercuryhammer [Nov. 26, 21:24pm] Okay this is going to sound funny, but
He can’t do it.
Instead, he tucks his phone into the depths of his bag, out of sight and out of mind, refusing to even so much look at the lockscreen as he readies himself for the day. Luckily, from how many times he’s swiped through his timetable, he can go off memory alone, keeping his mind busy with reciting his plans while he showers, dresses, shaves. Fortunately, the content in question was something he’d consider low stakes – Join Us in Secretly Decorating the Set Kitchen! – meaning he could get away with ultracasual wear, which in his eyes meant a candy cane patterned hoodie and black joggers.
As he waits in the lobby of his apartment for his Lyft, he watches the snow fall in delicate clumps, piling into the corners of the businesses lining the streets, the crevasses of the sidewalk, as the wind guides it through the city. Despite bundling himself, a quiver of unease still settles in his bones, the meager warmth of the room unable to off-set the lingering chill.
He’s only ever tolerated the winter.
With Caitlyn the only one scheduled to make an appearance in the vlog, it leaves their office empty. Where there would usually be music blasting from Vi’s phone in the lounge, or a jumble of voices drifting from the gaming room, silence prevails, the sound of their footsteps echoing the hall as the lights are switched on. From there, boxes of decorations are lugged from the closet, placed just-so on the floor of the kitchen for convenient access once the camera started rolling – well, phone; vlogs didn’t demand much in terms of equipment.
Then, the process comes naturally; Jayce falls easily into the role of his persona, pushing the last thoughts of the Herald from his mind to let his work take top priority.
“Wait,” Caitlyn cuts a shot short as she lowers her phone, her engagement ring catching the light, “I want you to throw the ornaments at me instead of just pulling them out – have me catch them. It’ll make for a good scene.”
“Do you want me to say anything specific?” Jayce puts back everything he’s taken out so far – they’re just plastic, so there’s no need to worry about anything being broken, “Just catch? Think fast?”
“Hm, catch should be fine.” Caitlyn steps into her previous position and they start again.
= “Hey, Sprout, catch.” As Jayce digs into the box, he tosses an ornament over his shoulder. =
= “Jayce!” Caitlyn makes to fumble, the camera shaking as she steps forward to make sure the balls don’t drop, “Warn me before you throw it at least! If you break anything, you’re the one taking a trip to the store!” =
They continue to film as the new decorations replace the old, each taking turns with the camera so that they both get enough face time. As autumn comes to an end, so does its accompanying items in the kitchen, back to being packed away until they were needed in the new year. And in their former spots does it begin to brighten with jovial cheer as new decorations take – pine and bow garland to the front of the island, festive mugs now adorning the rack, books filled with holiday treats taking to the shelves, miniature trees and other knick-knacks crowding the corners.
“Ready,” Caitlyn instructs, and then presses play.
= “Okay, I’m going to pour.” A large bag of craft peppermints is hoisted into Jayce’s arms, empty jars lining the counter waiting to be filled. =
= “Just get the scoop –” =
= “It’s quicker this way.” =
= And he spills them all over the floor. =
“Should we film getting lunch?”
Jayce doesn’t look away from where he’s hanging paper snowflakes from the ceiling, currently four rungs up a stepladder. He knows Caitlyn has the camera pointed at him for some b-roll, intending on making a montage at the end of the video, “You don’t think that’s a bit boring?”
“Do you think it’s boring?”
Truthfully, Jayce just hated filming on public streets.
He climbs down the ladder to move it a couple feet over.
“Let’s just order something in and shout-out the business. That way we can keep filming until it gets here and save a chunk of time.”
= “So, we ended up getting lunch at this place –” =
= Caitlyn scoffs, “’This place’, really, Jayce; it’s called Burger Tank.” Pause for effect and address the viewers. “But if you are in downtown Piltover, you need to order the Grilled Chicken Mushroom Melt, it’s to –” =
= “Less talking, more showing.” Jayce tosses the take-out bags onto the island with a flourish. =
A pre-lit tree is snapped together and positioned near their testing table, empty boxes wrapped to create a staggering amount of presents to pad the base. The floor is covered with scraps of leftover paper and paper tubes, crunching beneath them as they sit cross legged on the floor, the phone having been propped up on a stool to get them both in frame. They’ve been able to banter for the past hour as they wrap, commenting on the mess they’re making, the snow outside, how much shopping they’re going to be doing and how much they’ll be spending, but Jayce can feel his smile is beginning to feel a bit forced – it isn’t like it’s difficult work; he knows that he should be happy he’s able to just sit around and talk as part of the job, and he is, but trying to keep up his persona for such long periods of time can get tiring, fast.
“They never put enough wrapping paper on these damn things.” He doesn’t mean for it to slip out as he pulls yet another sorry excuse for leftover scrap from the tube.
“Jayce.” Caitlyn sighs, “That was good delivery, but forgo the swearing.” The paper is slotted back into the cardboard tubing, making it appear as it did in the shot prior.
= “They never put enough paper on these things,” he walks through the line again, once again pulling the last scrap from the tube. =
= “That’s because we bought the cheapest version we could possible buy; all of our budget is going towards the food for the month.” =
= Jayce points the remains of the tube at the camera, “So, we better see you tune in to see what we have planned; we’re going all out!” =
= “Watch my phone!” =
“And a happy holidays to all, and to all a good bite!”
“See you in the next one!”
Jayce feels the hours weighing him, but the need for perfection reigns. A groan of dissatisfaction pulls from his throat, “Actually, let’s run that again, I felt a bit stiff.”
“From the top?” Caitlyn yawns.
“From the top.”
The vlog goes well; with well over six hours of footage, they should definitely have enough to make for an hour’s worth of video once everything was edited down, cutting away all of the content that didn’t meet the bar of their brand’s expectations. Come a few days, the video would be uploaded on December 1st, signalling the start of their holiday schedule.
After locking the office doors and bidding Caitlyn goodbye, Jayce huddles under the awning while he books another Lyft, head bowed.
Upon stepping back into the privacy of his home, everything that he’d been pushing, pushing, pushing down comes rushing back, and this time he allows himself to feel it. He knows he needs to make a decision, that he can’t keep running from it – deep down, he needs the Herald, needs the release he so desperately craves from watching his videos. This is his chance to confront it.
@mercuryhammer [Nov. 26, 8:23pm] Hey, sorry for the late reply! It wasn’t a mistake! I’ve been watching you for a really long time, so I wanted to give back to say thanks!
@heftyherald [Nov. 26, 11:46pm]: okay.
would you like to discuss what you would like? you left the prompt blank.
@mercuryhammer [Nov. 26, 11:48pm] That was intentional! Just treat yourself with the donation!
@heftyherald [Nov. 26, 11:56pm]: okay. the gesture is very much appreciated.
The gliding door screeches as Jayce shoves his way to the balcony, his breaths coming in shallow, pathetic gulps as he wrangles with self-regulating. After years of lurking, yearning, it feels surreal to have actually been responded to, even if it had been because of an unintentional mis-click. His heart hammers in his chest, his legs threatening to give way beneath him. Snowflakes catch in his eyelashes.
But he did it.
The clocktower strikes midnight with a bellowing gong; time continues as it does. Down, down to the heart of the streets, the honk of a horn, the sound of laughter, the call of a distant siren announcing its arrival – Piltover does not sleep.
From now on, the Herald will be using his money to fund his videos, to splurge on food – maybe even on toys or new lingerie sets – that of which is most definitely not going to make him pass out just thinking about it.
@mercuryhammer [Nov 27, 12:16am] Have a great night! :)
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Viktor truly enjoys what he does for a living.
After nearly a decade of committing himself to the feedism community, he can surely say he’s found his place among some of the more well-known creators. The Herald brought stability, a source of income paid for by his subscribers that gave him the privilege to be able to support himself. And with that money, had he been able to purchase his own home, a lifted burden bearing relief to finally leave behind his former apartment to move into a two-bedroom mobile home located on the edges of Pilt Lake – though in small-town Zaun he remained, lacking the desire to upend his life so thoroughly by moving to the city.
And even if he had, he couldn’t put Rio through the stress of being carted around in a heavy-duty tub for two hours – Rio being a six-year-old dirty leucistic patterned axolotl he’d rescued from a negligent home. Even the fourteen-minute drive across town had him on edge, unable to help the moving company handle the heavier items in his home, her 40-gallon tank being something he was especially concerned about getting damaged.
What mattered was, was that he didn’t require a lot of space. In the living room, the usual essentials were anything but – he’d managed to both fit a loveseat and a coffee table, bought from a bargain shop downtown, but they barely saw use. And the TV mounted above the faux fireplace, missing most of its stations, might as well have been decoration. Really, if he was in the living room, and if he was in the mood for it, then he was at his desk recording for potraythemachine, a channel dedicated to his paintings featuring the mechanical, Victorian futurism.
His desk was, as he would describe it, chaotically organized, cluttered with his work, his supplies, mugs, even, that he’d left to dry out despite the kitchen being merely ten steps away. Tucked beside, an easel stood empty, yet to be put to use as his inspiration strayed on the smaller end of canvas blocks – easier to film, too, to keep his anonymity intact as he only allowed his hands in frame. And to watch over him, Rio’s tank was set up across the room, adequately shielded from the sun with slabs of black poster board taped to the sides.
Between the two bedrooms, the master was the one elected to film in for heftyherald, gradually transformed until it encapsulated a proper studio – and it had been difficult; bedrooms in mobile homes were notoriously small in size, making it a crucial point to ensure every item had its own place. All of the props he’d gathered over the years, the outfits he’d bought, were put to the closet, only to be retrieved when needed. To the wall, centred to the window – where the curtains were to remain permanently closed – a folding table was pushed flush, meant to hold his equipment when not in use, cables kicked beneath to prevent a tripping hazard. By the door, a basket to hold his forearm crutch so that there was no risk of it tipping over mid-filming.
And, most importantly, it was his own; he was the only one permitted to enter, he was in control of how things were run. Cocooned within the privacy the studio provided, Viktor could let himself exist, unseen, unjudged.
And, when he wasn’t filming, the door was to remain shut.
Enter, then, a subscriber by the handle of mercuryhammer.
Concerning the specifics of money, Viktor was no stranger to the extra donations given during his livestreams, nor the odd few commissions he would take on throughout the month, but seeing $2,500 of all numbers displayed beside the receipt total nearly made him choke on his morning coffee.
It had to be a mistake – even the previous title holder’s $350 custom office-themed stuffing was nowhere near comparable to what mercuryhammer had given. It wasn’t just generous, it was unheard of.
@heftyherald [Nov. 26, 9:39pm]: are you sure?
@heftyherald [Nov. 26, 10:27pm]: i can’t take that.
@heftyherald [Nov. 26, 10:32pm]: i can’t
But mercuryhammer insisted.
All that money and you want nothing in return? Why?
For as long as Viktor had been earning above his means, he often wrangled with the guilt of spending money on himself – after growing up in poverty, he couldn’t think to keep more than what was needed, thus any money specifically given – by donation, commission – was to be spent on his channel, while a fair amount was stripped from what was earned per month to be spent on necessities that could be given to charity-works benefitting those were struggling – he found it easier than a monetary donation, fearing what negative attention could be brought if one were to look into where exactly the money was coming from. So, taking the time to not only purchase the items himself but to physically drop them off in-person calmed his anxiety surrounding the exchange.
But to be given $2,500…
He could be selfish,
he could be,
but his morals stay true.
Still, there will be money leftover, and then, and only then, will he spend it on personal means. Even if mercuryhammer had declined a commission to be made in response to their donation, Viktor refused to leave them empty-handed…
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…9
Just one more.
Jayce’s arms tremble in near-exhaustion as he bears the weight of the bar against his sternum, grip evenly spread to better target his triceps – it’s all in the posture, keeping his shoulder blades tucked in while puffing his chest up, breaths measured, body planted flat against the bench in exception to the arch in his back.
Behind him, his spotter is ready to interfere if need be.
Don’t hesitate.
He heaves, muscles flexing under sweat-damp skin as he focuses all of his strength into pushing back, straining, teeth grinding down into the mouthguard as he completes the final 315-pound lift. the bar slots back onto the rack with a clattering squeal of metal against metal.
10.
Alone in the locker room, he checks his email.
In his inbox, a new upload from heftyherald.
A generous donation –
Jayce nearly drops his phone in his haste to shove it back into his duffle bag.
don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it –
He makes a beeline for the treadmill.
The sky is dark by the time he makes it back home after his workout.
He’d ended up going an extra forty-five minutes longer than planned, only realizing the time when Caitlyn was buzzing his phone about possible dinner plans. And it wasn’t like he didn’t want to go, he did appreciate the thought, but it was starting to feel as though every invitation was an act of pity – he was well aware of his non-existent social life, but that was a conscious decision he made. He even forwent the gym’s showers in order to shorten the outing to make up for mismanagement of time, deflecting the mock-disgust in Caitlyn’s voice as she called him out on it, loudly, over the phone – “You’re seriously going to put whichever sorry sap picks you up to that? You’ll peel the interior of their vehicle for goodness sake!”
So, she did take the flake well, even if he did feel guilty about it.
Now,
As the tension in his body coils tight, it makes it difficult to sit still. Even after a bout of pacing, it’s not enough to shake away the nerves.
He escapes to the second-bedroom-turned-office, blackout curtains already closed to the world outside. The shelves lining the entire wall are completely full, its books now dusty with time spent untouched. Acting as bookends are his achievements in the community, the play buttons he’s received, though he’s made sure to prominently display them for when he streams from home. And then, placed wherever would fit them, his extensive gemstone collection he’d started in childhood.
His laptop is as it should be, slipped under the riser of his main computer on his desk. He swipes away some scrap paper as he pulls it out and opens the lid.
His reflection stares back at him in the monitor, eyes wide and face flushed. His foot taps a hole in the floor.
a generous donation, posted by @heftyherald on Dec. 6 – a photoset, containing 25 images.
= First in the set, the before shots, the Herald posing in front of the backdrop as he shows off his current size. 210 pounds, as typed into the bottom left corner. The weight he’s put on over the decade has only increased by a 90-pound margin = as explicitly stated, the Herald wasn’t actively gaining = padding his frame in it’s entirely, though not at all evenly. = While at first the weight was content to settle wherever it may to make the gain appear balanced, it soon came to not be the case; as the numbers climbed, so too did the growth begin to favour his belly, his hips and thighs, giving him a marginally more pear-like appearance. = The Herald shows off how he looks when empty, his belly snugly encased in a stiped button-up long-sleeve and matched with a relaxed-legged trouser. =
‘dedicated to a very kind subscriber’, the description reads, ‘i hope you enjoy’.
= Next, a shot of what was ordered: just at first glance, it’s clear that the platter is expensive, absolutely packed full of the most luxurious fruit one could find, fresh, glistening and plump - there is the typical fare seen in the more common displays, such as a lavish sprinkling of strawberries, raspberries and blueberries throughout, but there’s also diced mango, dragon fruit, slices of persimmon and star fruit, all placed strategically by a professional hand and garnished with mint. And to pair, three ramekins, each filled with their own sauce for dipping should he have the craving for it. =
‘He bought that because I gave him the money,’ Jayce thinks, delirious.
= The next few shots are of the Herald sitting at the table, one arm reaching for the platter, while the other is already forking fruit into his mouth as the mask is tipped up to give him access = If there was one thing the Herald refused to do, was eat out in public - With each following shot, the platter is slowly picked of its goods, every mouthful giving passage to a stomach eagerly welcoming it = He favoured watermelon, clearly, as it was the first to go, swiped generously through the melted chocolate, followed by the batch of blueberries. = Nothing is left untouched, fingers coated in saliva as he switches to his hands, clearly having sucked away the cream, the chocolate as they handle the fruit. =
Jayce takes his time as he swipes through the photos, not wanting it to end. His arousal prods at his fly, aching for attention. He rubs his palm against it, just to tide it over.
= There’s one more shot of the Herald’s clothed belly, now swollen = the watermelon most certainly the biggest culprit of the distension = before he sheds his shirt, unbuttons his pants to let his stomach breathe. The pineapple is gone, the strawberries, too. Lines of chocolate trail along the side of his navel, smeared in a way to reflect an attempted massage to make more room. And he does make more room - as the pictures continue, the platter more reveals the white of the dish and a belly that only continues to swell with its intake, flushing as it grows taut. Stretchmarks crawl up his love handles, some turned silver with time, others fresh and pink, showing continuous growth. = If there was something to be proud of, it was how much the Herald was able to pack away when he was determined to. = His back arches to take the pressure off of his lower back, an achievement of capacity training long-since conquered. = Jayce didn’t usually think of certain comparisons, but the Herald truly did look pregnant with how big he could blow up.
And the Herald liked being big.
= Close ups of his mouth, taken from the right side, as he teases a blueberry on his tongue, another as he licks his fingers = What Jayce wouldn’t do to trail his lips against the mole that graced the left of the Herald’s navel, peeking through the light dusting of hair – what was he saying?
= The final photos are of the aftermath, of the Herald holding a strip of measuring tape around his belly for the grand reveal, a 4-inch stretch compared to his stomach when empty. The posture, though confident, is fatigued by the act of eating, slumped shoulders and a hand cradling his stomach as though it were delicate – the other grips the table edge, knuckles white, seeking balance. The platter has been thoroughly ravaged, all but a few less-favoured fruits dismissed, ramekins licked clean. =
Oh, to rest his head against the Herald’s stomach, to trace his finger against the swell and list off everything that had been devoured, pressing down in spots as if he could map out each and every morsel inside.
Fuck.
Jayce doesn’t hesitate to pull up the messenger after liking the photoset, skin prickling.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 6:54pm] Hey there! Me again!
He doesn’t mention the photoshoot – logically, the dedication couldn’t have been for anyone else but himself, but there was the off-chance someone else could have donated a large sum in the last two weeks; he couldn’t make a fool of himself.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 6:54pm] I know I said I didn’t want to commission anything on top of my donation, but is it too late to change my mind?
I promise it won’t happen again!
Changing my mind, I mean! Not about giving donations!
It’s okay if not, I understand!
Okay, starting now, he wouldn’t make a fool of himself.
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:11pm]: not at all.
you have read my tos, yes?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:12pm] All the way through!
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:19pm] then proceed.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:21pm] Can you show your face? [It’s in the ‘NO’ tier, Jayce.]
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:21pm] Regular voice? [Also in the ‘NO’ tier, Jayce.]
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:22pm] Jockstrap?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:24pm] Can you boss me around?
Do not screw this up.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:29pm] Could you do a roleplay? Maybe something along the lines of attending a party or something?
Don’t think, just type.
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:36pm] anything specific?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:37pm] I’m not very good at creating scenarios haha, but that’s the general idea!
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:39pm] speaking or no?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:39pm] Speaking please! Can you address the viewer?
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:43pm] yes. how would you like me to address you? would you be dominant towards me or subservient?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:43pm] Subservient.
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:47pm] noted. what do you want included?”
Jayce is so worked up that he fears he might be sick.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:50pm] Stuffing. Button popping. Stomach noises. Spoil yourself :)
And burping is good too!
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:51pm] okay. is that all?
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:53pm] That’s it! Everything else is free reign!
@heftyherald [Dec. 6, 7:55pm] okay. i will make something work for you mercuryhammer. i do not need much to go off of.
And thank the Gods for that; he truly doesn’t think he would’ve been able to get his fingers to cooperate further, anyway.
@mercuryhammer [Dec. 6, 7:58pm] Thank you so much! No rush! Cheers! :)
He immediately takes a shower, jerking off to the thought of the Herald ordering him to feed him.
˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚
Jayce Talis | @manofcuisine.social, Dec. 15
I’m excited to announce that I will be joining the internet celebrity roster at the Piltover Exhibition on May 7-10!
We can’t reveal much yet, but stay tuned for further details!
#manofcuisine #piltoverexhibition #piltoverevents #youtubestreamer #cookingcommunity #foodtuber
PHOTO ALT TEXT: A 32-year-old man wearing a pair of blue coveralls and a straw-hat smiles as he poses in a white, modern style kitchen. On the counter behind him are various dishes recreated in real life from the game Stardew Valley. He is holding a dish called the Pink Cake, a signature dish from the game. The pink cake is a circular, two-layer pink cake, with pink frosting piped around the borders. There are freeze-dried strawberries cut into hearts to form a circle on the surface of the cake.
Conventions weren’t something Jayce attended in the past. As he once admitted on his podcast – Episode 26, Come Hell and Boiling Water, specifically – there was a lack of esteem to believe he belonged among the other guests, regarding himself as ‘just some guy who does whatever was trending’. But it was a process – said in Episode 62, Convention Confessional. As his popularity grew, he’d come to acknowledge the comments left on his social media, on his channel – accept that people really did want to meet him – and that he was open to the idea of making an appearance. After all, his fans were the sole reason he could continue to create content; he wanted to be present as a creator, to meet those who supported manofcuisine as it came into its own.
But, when he did start booking consistent appearances throughout Piltover, he kept to smaller conventions, smaller timeslots, smaller lines – unfortunately for most, with those limits, if a ticket wasn’t reserved in advance, it was near-impossible to make his line by chance. And even when he began to work his way up, from shows with seven-thousand in attendance, to thirteen-thousand, to twenty-five thousand, did his lines stay full until they were forced to be cut off.
So, by the time the announcement pops up on Viktor’s feed, it’s already booming with engagement, happy fans declaring that they’ve already reserved all of their tickets. The Piltover Exhibition isn’t something to be missed out on, being the largest fan convention Piltover had to offer, with three floors packed with things to do and an attending rate of over one-hundred-thousand people.
And most importantly, more people meant longer lines, more tickets to be sold.
In previous cases, he would talk himself out of going – there was the hassle of packing, of navigating a city he wasn’t all that familiar with, of having to deal with crowds so dense he would worry about his crutch getting bumped or snagged. And he didn’t want to leave Rio for an extended period of time despite knowing she would be fine on her own for a few days –
Don’t meet your heroes.
Since childhood, Viktor struggled with socializing, preferring to spend time on his own verses trying to force awkward conversations with his fellow peers – and with that solitude came with the consequence of deteriorating social skills as he grew older, keeping him well-mannered but distant to those intending to reach out. He’d managed to combat the very real threat of his avoidance turning to a full-blown anxiety of leaving his home by tending to errands, weather permitting, to keep himself sociable, though he wasn’t much for anything further than polite, short-lived exchanges.
By design, his circle remained small, very small, only having ever opened himself up to a former classmate by means of happenstance by the name of Sky Young – she’d gotten a new job working for the postal service in Viktor’s zone. As per protocol, she couldn’t give out her personal number, but it was clear she wanted to keep in touch. By the end of their catching up, Viktor was the one to offer his own – under the table, of course, as he didn’t want her to get in trouble.
But, while Sky had become a close friend, she was still busy with her own life. This is where Jayce came in.
There was a charm about Jayce that pulled Viktor in, an air of positivity that made for a good escape for when he was alone with his thoughts. But it wasn’t just that; Jayce was transparent to a fault, often sharing stories of his past that Viktor felt was too private to be taken in by the ears of millions of strangers. Jayce had lost his father just before his family was planning to immigrate to Piltover, only six at the time, having to then navigate a new country with his mother all while actively mourning the loss. Even as his mother found good work as a pastry cook, Jayce would pick up random jobs in order to help support her – even before he entered high school himself. He’d grown up too fast, unable to properly enjoy his childhood, but – as he stressed this in Episode 116, Family Matters – he would do it all again in a heartbeat.
Jayce was human and Viktor deeply respected him, showing his own support by buying merch, watching his videos over and over until he’d come to memorize his favourite parts.
manofcuisine’s videos were around twenty-to-forty-minutes in length, perfect for putting on while Viktor busied himself – kitchen myths were best for doing dishes, their chaotic energy in testing theories distracted from the tedious repetition of washing and drying – cooking videos could be set alongside his own food preparation, as if they were cooking together – and his podcast, with most episodes ranging over an hour-and-a-half, were ideal as background noise while he painted, Jayce’s calming voice and bubbly laugher essential in keeping Viktor grounded; in times the brush stilled, when ideas refused to dislodge, could he just watch until the gears began to turn anew.
But, too, does he put on Take a Seat at the Table to keep him company as he ate his own meals, his phone propped up on the surface of his tiny, 2-person dining set. To Viktor, it was something to be ashamed of, that he relied on a content creator to fill the void of needed companionship. But at the same time, he couldn’t see himself not depending on it.
So, he might have a crush, if the collection of sketches hidden in his coffee-table were anything to go by, Jayce’s stubble always rendered in loving detail.
‘I’m excited to announce that I will be joining the internet celebrity roster at the Piltover Exhibition on May 7-10!’
Viktor has moved his stool to sit himself in front of the console that held Rio’s tank, phone discarded face-down in his lap. ‘Living as an axolotl would be a content life’, he thinks, able to swim around without a care in the world, not having to worry about money or silly crushes – he was thirty-four for God’s sake.
“Do I go?”
Rio rests on the mesh hammock he’d suctioned half-way up the tank, staring at him with unblinking eyes. From the angle he was sitting at, it almost appeared as if she were smiling at him.
“You have no right to look so cute.” Instinctively, he grabs his phone to snap a few photos –
And now his phone is in his hand.
Viktor knows he can’t let this opportunity pass, having stalled long enough.
Okay,
Okay,
➛
Piltover Exhibition Pre-Registration Prices
Thursday Only····$35 Friday Only ···· $40 Saturday Only ···· $50 Sunday Only ···· $40 Full Weekend ···· $75 ☑
➛
VIARoute
Round Trip One-Way
📍 Origin: ↔ 📍 Destination:
ZAUN, RT PILTOVER, RT
📅 Departure (dd/mm/yyyy): 📅 Return (dd/mm/yyyy): 👥Passengers:
08/05/XXXX 10/05/XXXX 1
🏷️ Add a discount code: ☐ Pet on Board
☑ Passenger with Disability or Reduced Mobility
Total: $84.00
➛
North Crown Hotel in Piltover International Airport
1 King Bed, Guest Room, Mobility Accessible Room with Bathtub Room Details
Member Flexible Rate 199 Avg / Night ☐
Rate Details 597 Total Per Room
Flexible Rate 234 Avg / Night ☑
Rate Details 702 Total Per Room
➛
Piltover Exhibition – Internet Celebrity Guests
JAYCE TALIS
Youtuber | @manofcuisine
Appearing Fri, Sat, Sun
Selfie – $30
Photo – $35 ☑
Autograph – $45 ☑
Premium Autograph – $50
Thank you for your purchase, Viktor Novák!
➛
There. Away goes his phone, tossed carelessly onto his bed.
Whatever happens, he is not going to back out, having gotten further than he ever has in the convention-attending process. The tickets are his and he’s going to be meeting the Jayce Talis, manofcuisine, live in person in five months time. It feels surreal, like he didn’t just spend the past forty-five minutes hunched over his phone as much as his back allowed while Rio bopped her nose against the glass to watch, curious.
Back in the living room, he’s suddenly overwhelmed by a thought that refused to leave: what would happen if a connection happened to form during Jayce’s meet-and-greet? Maybe if Viktor off-handedly mentioned a few recipes that he wished to see Jayce take a crack at; the Total Biscuit of Everlasting Will from League of Legends was something he hadn’t done, Viktor knew confidently – Jayce had collaborated with another creator to create drinks based on the elixirs of the same game, undeniably a fan from the restrained tone as he described the gameplay. Maybe that could segue into a discussion about League? Viktor didn’t play, but that was a good a start as any to get the ball rolling, leading to the conclusion that Jayce just had to give Viktor his personal phone number and show him the ropes, paving the way to potential friendship, perhaps even love –
“Well? What do you think?”
He looks at Rio, hand on his hip. She’s floated down from her hammock, now swimming around in her tank – zoomies, as the axolotl sub-reddit often called it.
“At least pretend you care about this.” He turns away towards the kitchen so that he can divert his thoughts by focusing on supper, the rubber end of his forearm crutch silent against the hardwood floor, “Silly thing.”
Just a fantasy, nothing more.
˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˚
It takes around three weeks for Jayce’s commission to be uploaded, popping up in his email around dinnertime.
He’d been checking obsessively for the past two, given that he wasn’t provided with a date for when paid content was supposed to go up, only stopping himself when it came to focusing on his family and friends for the holiday season. It passed by with little fanfare, the spirit of the season not quite what he had hoped it would be. He’d first spent a short amount of time at the Kiramman home for the annual Yuletide party, bringing along a container of homemade Sopapillas to be part of the potluck’s dessert table and spending the night taking photos to distract from the fact he was still single at thirty-two in a roomful of couples. Then, the next three days were spent with his mother in the cozy little apartment directly above her bakery, cooking alongside her in the comfort of not needing to preform for anyone.
He hadn’t decorated his own apartment.
Yet, now that the video was here, something he knows he should be excited for, all he feels is queasy, only getting as far as opening the link, unable to click onto the enticingly large play button in the middle of the thumbnail – the image is heavily blurred, rendering what lied beneath a mystery. He’d never struggled to open a heftyherald video before, but those videos were never addressed to him personally. Even with the simplicity of his prompts – The Herald was always stuffing himself, Jayce, this time will be no different – it all came down to the why it now existed, and that reason why was because Jayce asked for it.
God, why did he ask for the Herald to talk. A standard stuffing video was silent; Jayce could’ve so much easier dealt with silence.
The stand-off continues, his hand frozen in place as the mouse hovers about the title, mocking him.
Worse still, his dick remains soft, the nerves halting any semblance of arousal; he can’t watch like this.
A game of solitaire is played.
The leftover dishes piled in his sink from last night are washed.
His office is reorganized.
He takes his laptop into his room and presses play.
an extravagant evening, posted by @heftyherald on August December 28 – length, 33 minutes, 24 seconds
The area that the Herald uses to film has been utterly transformed. Curtains of white have been hung up onto free-standing dividers on all four sides, brightening up the room to give it a façade of elegance. The rustic pine of the table is covered by an embroidered, lace tablecloth and topped with a full-length burgundy runner. Tall, fluted vases filled with roses decorate the space, filling in the gaps, not that there were many; the feast set out was impressive indeed, a proper buffet style, with stacks of plates in various size to give the illusion of other people hoping to partake – pulled pork, mashed potatoes, pasta salad, sauteed vegetables, tortilla pinwheels, pierogi, candied yams, dinner rolls – It’s unclear if the Herald had ordered in or made the spread himself, but it all looked delicious regardless, presented as if it were taken directly from the cover of one of the many cooking magazines tucked into Jayce’s bookshelf.
‘There’s no way he could finish even a quarter of that’, Jayce’s brain unhelpfully supplies.
= The Herald steps into frame with the aid of a cane that looks too solid to be that of a simple prop, the handle engraved, polished brass. He’s dressed sharply in a custom-fit burgundy suit that looks to be five pounds from being sent back to the tailor, gold buttons holding snug. At his neck, a gilded tie, fastened in place by a tip-clip nearly hidden by his lapel. =
= “Ah, there you are; I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” = The hard lines of the Herald’s mask stand out against the lavish atmosphere he’s curated, giving him a fantastical appearance in what should be an ordinary scene. = “I hope you know that you are the only reason I bothered to come here tonight.” In the background, a track of muffled voices, clinking silverware. He laughs, gentle puffs of air hardened by the modulator, “Yes, I’m aware of my obligation to appear on stage; I do not rescind my statement.” =
= The Herald regards the buffet table, a hand going to his tie to smooth it, fingers trailing ever so slow to draw the eye down, down to where they then adjust the tie-clip; the shape is peculiar, but too small to make out exactly what it is. He seems lost for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before the moment is interrupted by the faintest cry of an empty belly clamouring for food, loud enough to be picked up by at least one of the microphones positioned around the studio. The Herald simply pats it in response, turning back to address the camera as if someone had spoken. =
= “Socializing, you say?’ Eh, in time. For now, I would much rather, how do you say, grab a bite to eat; I have not eaten since morning.” He pauses again, giving enough time for the viewer to ‘speak’. “Busy with work, yes. Now, come, join me.” =
Jayce can hear the continued growl of hunger that wails from the Herald’s stomach; he must’ve really gone without eating for the day – understandably so; if he had eaten beforehand, he ran the risk of running out of room quite early on, making for an underwhelming video. With an empty belly, he could indulge in so much more, stretch out the scene, the pleasure. The Herald knew very well the craft.
= He grabs one of the largest plates, hand outstretched in contemplation on what to eat first. “That is quite a selection; I simply do not know where to start.” He plays his part of the roleplay naturally, as if Jayce was really there with him, making sure to keep the viewer included as he fills his plate with a little bit of everything, “I assure you I intend to sample everything; how can one not take advantage when riches are spent in such a way.” Gravy tipped atop a spoonful of mashed potato, a generous self-serving of pulled pork, his hand moving purposely from serving dishes to plate – just enough to whet the appetite. =
= Once his plate is moderately filled, the scene changes, angled now to the opposite side of the room where a small table is tucked to the corner. It, like the buffet table, is decorated to match the scene, its surface adorned with a vase of flowers and a bundle of three candles to enhance the intimacy of the atmosphere. Next to the wrapped silverware, a bottle of wine waits to be poured into the glass set beside it. The Herald takes a seat opposite the camera, his back to the wall. “Watching the speeches? I have no interest in that.” He takes a bite of pulled pork, the fork disappearing behind the mask as he tips it upward for space, a groan drawing from his lips, “Mm, let me know when it is my turn to go up.” =
The way the Herald is speaking to him finally stirs Jayce’s arousal, heat pooling between his thighs as the tension melts away. Based on appearances, his followers tended to paint him as someone who would take charge in bed – searching his name online, despite Catilyn’s command not to, provided… interesting results. In actuality, however, he was fine to switch, preferred it even, at least in the rare moment he became close enough with someone to comfortably do so. But in those rare moments, he acted far from what he would call dominant, leaning more towards a serviceable personality in wanting to submit to his partners whims – and, in the Herald’s case, theoretically, meant that he would keep him well-fed, that Jayce would ensure every need would be met before he himself was given permission to receive pleasure.
The thought of being bossed around –
“Goddamn.” Jayce rubs his hand against his clothed dick, the stimulation enough to keep him feeling gratified, “God.”
= “This suit,” The Herald offhandedly grunts, pausing in his meal to tag at the hem of his waistcoat, “Surely it must have been mishandled at the drycleaners.” He finishes his sentence with another forkful of candied yams shoved into his mouth. The camera cuts to another angle, this time in profile, perfectly showcasing the before that Jayce can compare to the after. He takes a drink of wine, covering his mouth as he hiccups, “Parden me.” =
= The Herald continues to eat until his plate is empty, scrapped clean of even the most miniscule crumb. With a satisfied sigh, careful not to tip his mask too high and reveal too much, he wipes his mouth with a napkin. There’s barely any difference made to his waistline after the first portion, so subtle that the buttons haven’t even begun to pull = But Jayce knows that the he’s far from done. = The buffer allows the Herald to give himself a moment to breath, to readjust his clothes. He takes another sip of wine, taps his fingers against the table, muted by the tablecloth, “No, it is not yet my time to make an appearance; have you not been paying attention?” = If there was an actual audio cue playing in the background for Jayce to hear, he certainly hadn’t heard it. = “Now that I’ve finished my meal, I suppose I have no choice but to mingle.” =
= “Hm? A second helping? Yes, I did say that I haven’t eaten all day, but...” He swirls his wine in his glass, waiting for the viewer to finish insisting their point, “Fine, if you insist that I eat, I will eat. Anything to keep my hands busy.” =
= It cuts back to the buffet table as the Herald begins the process over, refilling his plate with savoury dishes. = Jayce wonders if dessert will be on the menu – he didn’t dare check where he was at in the runtime. = “So many patrons and still so much left.” He takes a single spoonful more to add to each portion, rounding out the plate and filling it to a near-spill. “There we are – more? Don’t you think this is enough?” He pauses again, tilting his head towards the buffet, “Even if it’s remained largely untouched, the chance of food going to waste is low; someone else will want to take part, eh, eventually. This should suffice.” = For now, goes unsaid.
= The Herald’s pace quickens as he works his way through his second portion, barely pausing to chew. “So good,” he moans around a mouthful of pasta salad, words slurred. The camera is back to his face, catching the moment where each mouthful is loudly gulped down into the abyss that is his bottomless stomach. In a transfer from spoon to mouth, gravy accidently spills onto his lapel; the wine is clearly starting to affect him, his cheeks rosy and his movements clumsy. “Look at me; such a mess. But, mm, it’s too good to stop.” He takes another deep swallow of wine, moaning as it makes the journey down his throat to splash upon everything else he’s taken in, the sound of it captured by the camera positioned at his waist. =
= Again, the plate is emptied, silverware hitting ceramic. The Herald’s stomach gurgles, wet and content, now far, far from empty. And yet – =
= “The dessert table?” He stifles a burp behind his mask, “No, it isn’t as appreciated as it should be. There’s still time before I need to appear; surely, this will tide me over until then.” Groaning, he makes to stand, hand placed firm against the table as he reaches for his cane to aid him. He struggles once, twice, the two portions clearly weighing on him. Yet, he refuses to unbutton his waistcoat to give his stomach room to expand; it’s sweet torture, waiting until the last possible second. =
The dessert table is across from the buffet, set up on the other side of the room. Compared, there’s much less to choose from, though no less decadent – slices of cheesecake, peach cobbler, mousse, a tempting mountain of cannoli oozing with chocolate. It must have cost so much money to pull off –
Your money paid for this, Jayce.
= The Herald’s stomach leads the way as he approaches the table, now for a third time. The set of plates are small, but that doesn’t stop him from loading two completely full of treats. “Yes, I should take more cobbler; normally it is hard to find.” =
= When he sits once more, the chair audibly creaks beneath him, but he pays it no mind. “Nonsense; there’s still room.” The cheesecake is the first to go, disappearing in a matter of moments, the two slices of cobbler vanishing quickly thereafter. Then, he lifts his mask higher in order to pop four cannoli, one by one, into his mouth – the act is messy, leaving smears of chocolate in their wake as he uses his finger to push them slowly between his lips. Directly after = to the devastation of Jayce’s stuttering heart = he makes an attempt to lick it away, his tongue slipping out to make its rare appearance, only for the effort to be fruitless as it remains to the corners of his mouth. “Just, ghh, a little more – hicculp!” At last, he spoons the mousse into his mouth, his movements sluggish and his stomach angrily protesting the influx of calories, churning – too much, too much – a bubbling cauldron of dinner and dessert. =
= And then the Herald hits his wall. =
= “Naughty, naughty, telling me to unbutton my pants.” It’s hard to be intimidating when he’s panting, reduced to lethargy, “I’m not exactly in, haah, private company – brrp! Parden.” =
Naughty. Naughty. Naughty. Naughty.
= “But I, mm… it hurts – too tight.” Finally, the Herald does deem it the right time to unbutton, but the act doesn’t come without struggle. He has to suck in his belly in order to make enough slack for the buttons to slip through their respective holes, but it does take a few tries to succeed, at least a full minute of not being able to suck in enough with how full he is. When they do finally give way, there’s a whine of relief, but he still has his belt to tackle, just one more roadblock. He paws at it, desperate for the release of pressure, sucking in once more, until – clink! – the buckle comes undone and his stomach greedily expands into his lap, swollen to the point it barely even wobbles as he cradles it, his hands resting protectively on each side, “Ohh, better.” =
= A moment, two, as he rubs his belly, breathing deeply. = Jayce can hear his stomach loud and clear.
= “I, mm, cannot go up like this.” The Herald eases himself up slowly, slipping a hand underneath his stomach to take the brunt of the weight. “Let us go to the private quarters; I need somewhere proper to lay down and digest all of this.” He takes his cane, bearing down onto it. “Someone will take my place, don’t you worry about that.” =
= As the shot switches to take in the backdrop of the closed door, the only section of the room undecorated, the Herald looks back at the viewer, poised as if he were ready to leave with them, “You will rub my belly when I get comfortable; you didn’t stop me, so the fault is clearly upon you.” =
And then Jayce sees it – the tie-clip – when the Herald adjusts his lapels. All throughout the video, he was focused on the Herald as he ate, his mask as he would move it out of the way, his hands as he handled his silverware. Now that the scene is over, he realizes with a jolt that the tie clip is of a specific shape:
A hammer.
He slams the laptop shut just as he comes, spilling into his boxers.
Oh, he’s fucked.