(I'm just rambling no need to read)
It's crazy how much feedee content is reblogged by people with "fat fetishists/feeders/feedees DNI" in their bios
Like, I think lots of people in the world are tummy lovers and fat admirers (bc it's inherently lovely as are all bodies) but the label of feedism (or specifically FEEDERISM) is seen as this manipulative and sick kink when... it's rly not. So many people seem to really be into soft feedism, but think that if gaining to immobility and health problems aren't involved that means it's no longer feedism? They don't see that extreme feedism is not what the majority of the community partakes in.
Not that extreme feedism is manipulative or bad either! But they're just so repulsed by the concept that they won't take any time to approach it and learn what it is. So they think there's no way for feedism to be practiced ethically and write it off entirely.
I think feedism and fat admiration in kink is something that people are going to need to evaluate and accept if we are ever going to get true fat liberation. It's okay to want to be fat, it's okay to be turned on by your fat body, and it's absolutely okay to be aroused by eating and/or getting fatter. Food and fat and body worship is the basis of feedism (in its simplest form) and I think none of that is inherently evil. If being fat makes you happy and horny, get fat.
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asksjshd I missed when you rbed this I think so I’m trying my luck!
“could you be happy here with me?” for armand/louis/lestat 🥹
azsfdxfcavsdcjhgv bold of you to assume I'll ever turn away my favorite trio!!!!!!!
It's rare, for Louis to be awake so close to the sun. Each morning he is first to fall victim to the first rays of light, and the last to shake the spell the following evening, but tonight he strains against the undertow for just a few more moments with Lestat, a few more minutes in this liminal wonderland.
They had demanded so much of Armand this evening, poor thing. And the mortal sleep suits his young body so well, the way the apple of his cheek presses right up against Louis' chest, the way his soft little toes curl back and press against Lestat's knee.
In an hour or so the Death Sleep will take hold and his body will bare no evidence of his lovers' passion; the kaleidoscope of black and blue and red will dissolve back to a blank porcelain canvas, ripe for the taking once more. But here, trapped between Louis and Lestat, Armand is no one but himself, beautiful and perfect and surrendered wholeheartedly to the depths of slumber.
"You need a bigger bed," Lestat hums with a smile, taking one strand of auburn hair and curling it around his finger.
"I like this one," Louis sighs.
"There's hardly enough room."
"It was only meant for one person."
"And you mean to tell me," Lestat unwinds his fingers from Armand's hair and reaches instead to cradle the fine slope of Louis' jaw. "That you expected to look this beautiful and somehow end the evening in bed by yourself?"
Louis says nothing, simply snuffs out his laughter with a little hum and nuzzles against the welcome embrace of Lestat's hand.
"How very foolish of you, indeed."
"Foolish of me to think I might be afforded a modicum of privacy?"
"Yes!" Lestat laughs. "Foolish of you to feign annoyance when you were the one who batted your lashes and lured us into this very bed in the first place."
There is something especially delicious about watching Louis through the darkness; the way his lips twist into an almost-smile before he regains control and presses them into a flat line once more.
For a moment, they drift together in peaceful silence, guided by the steadfast drum of Armand's heart in between them.
"What time will you head back tomorrow?"
So typical of Louis, to pull the rug from under them with a goddamn question like that. It's both a relief and a disappointment all at once; he always gets so wound up on the evenings before he's due to depart. It's the only thing that has been in his head all day, weighing down his chest with anticipatory grief. His only respite had been the whirlwind of passion, the distraction of Armand's mouth at his throat and Louis' blood on his tongue. But perhaps it is a mercy, that Louis is the first to broach the subject. Perhaps Louis dreads it as much as he does. Or perhaps, thinks that traitorous voice in his head, he is looking forward to you finally leaving him alone.
"I don't know, whenever it pleases me," Lestat removes his hand from Louis' face, rests it gently on Armand's waist as he mumbles into the crown of auburn hair nestled between them. "Not too late, I think."
"You'll wait until I'm awake tomorrow, yes?"
There's a hint of worry in Louis' voice, and it is so singularly shattering to Lestat that he even needs to ask.
"Of course."
In the dead air of this little bedroom, he feels thankful for the veil between himself and Louis. He doesn't want to go back to court, truth be told. It's an odd realization that has only struck him recently— it's not the work that he dreads upon his return, nor the pang of loneliness that inevitably follows when he finds himself without Louis or Armand. It's the pure and simple knowledge that their world will continue to turn without him in it, that Trinity Gate will stand firm as it always does, that Louis and Armand will be just fine without him.
"You could come with me," he offers, and his voice sounds so small, so frustratingly fragile.
"You could stay here," Louis replies without hesitation, as if he's rehearsed this volley a thousand times over.
Again, there is something striking as he catches Louis' eyes through the darkness and wonders just how long the invitation has been there, waiting on the tip of his tongue.
"Could you be happy here, with me?"
Lestat doesn't know why he asks such a humiliating question, but it's out before he can stop it. It's not even the happiness he's worried about, it's the balance, the organization, the delicate ecosystem that Louis and Armand have woven together that leaves no margin for error, no margin for someone like Lestat.
"Mon coeur." Louis' delicate fingers on the side of his face are the only thing that keep him from spiraling. "I could be happy anywhere so long as I am with you."
The simplicity in Louis' voice is what gets to Lestat, in the end, as he feels his brows draw together and his bottom lip begin to tremble.
"Especially here," Louis adds as Armand shifts in his sleep between them, cocooning them both that seductive warmth until suddenly the little bed doesn't seem too crowded at all.
"Especially here," he echoes, breathless.
"Yes, Lestat. Especially here."
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