qt PRIVILEGE

>Be Brown_qt
>A tippitytoptier qt of the highest quality
>A background character of unprecedented caliber
>Seriously though, it hurts to be this cute sometimes
>Taking a moment to preen in the mirror you take in your flawless mocha skin, your immaculately designed hairstyle, not to mention your trendsetting blue shirt/plaid-skirt combo
>With a flip of your hair and a well-oiled smile you turn this way and that, admiring every inch of your perfectly pristine body
>Yeah, that’s right, you a sexy bitch
>Alas, even bad bitches like you need an education, and so it is with no small amount of effort that you’re finally able to tear yourself away from the mirror and get back to business
>With a sigh and one last backwards glance you meander your way back to the bed, where a quick look at your nightstand alarm clock reminds you of the impending drudgery of the classroom
>Yep, not looking forward to that bullshit
>With a huff you grab your backpack, upend the whole thing, and give it a quick shake, scattering its contents all over the bedspread with a nice clatter; mumbling all the while as you go over your mental checklist for the morning
>Shower? Check. Fresh clothes? Check. Last night’s homework? Check.
>While that's going on your hands are kept busy, sifting through yesterday's pile of loose paper and books to find what you need for today's classes
>There’s your Math book
>Pretty sure we have Social Studies too
>Don’t know about Science though...
>As you reach for your books a tiny piece of folded paper catches your eye and stops you in your tracks.
“Hmm? What’s this?”
>Holding the tiny note up to the light of your window you inspect it with narrowed eyes, paying especial attention to the way it’d been folded up
>This wasn’t homework, that you were certain of
>No, this looked a piece of paper that had been torn in half and folded up, and immediately your mind connected the dots and realized somebody must’ve slipped you a note yesterday
>But why put it in your backpack and not just give it to you? And just who the heck was this from anyway?
>Curiosity peaked you turn the note in your hands this way and that but found no signature or other indicator that might tell you who wrote it or why
>Suddenly the door to your bedroom slams open and you jump at the noise, letting out a squeak as you frantically juggle the note in your hands
>After a good ten second rendition of a clown’s circus act you finally catch the damn thing and with a growl spin on your heels ready to chew out this obvious invasion of your privacy and--
>--immediately calm the hell down when you spy your baby sister grinning at you from the doorway
>Darcy Howeverthehellyouspellthatlastnamedollar was a little qt in her own right; with her unwavering enthusiasm, unparalleled levels of energy, and tiny floral print shirt she was easily one of the most precious little things you'd ever seen
>She was also your sister so you couldn't really chew her out even if you wanted to
"Good morning," Darcy chirped, toddling up to you to give the bestest big sis in the whole wide world (which is you) a hug
>You couldn't help but break out into a big smile as your sister tried her best to strangle your leg, giggling all the while as she nuzzled into your thigh
>Aw heck, cuteness like that deserves a head pat
>Cooing at your tender ministrations Darcy looks up at you with shining eyes and toothy grin, the face of pure unadulterated innocence
>...Screw it, let's throw in a couple tickles too!
>Squealing in delight Darcy tries her best to escape from your grasp, twisting and turning and wriggling with all her might as you dig your fingers into her side
>Her giggles prove infectious and soon your own voice joins hers as the room echoes with the sound of laughter
>After a minute you've decided Darcy's had enough torture and hoist the red-faced girl up and over onto your bed, giving her one last pinch on the cheek as you get back to getting ready for school
"So, sis," you amicably begin as you ruffle through yesterday's notes, stuffing them into the right binders. "You ready for school?"
>Darcy's face screws up in deep thought as she considers your question, pondering the subtle nuances of this inquiry for a full ten seconds
>Then she frowns and blows a raspberry
>You can't help but chuckle at the response
"Yeah, I'm with you there. But it's not all bad, you're still in, what, preschool? Can't be that hard."
"Kindergarten!" Darcy snaps, puffing out her cheeks and crossing her arms. "I'm not a baby!"
"Oooh, my apologies," you snark right back, giving her a smirk before turning your attention back your school supplies
>Let's see: pencils, erasers, paper, binder, textbooks--
"What's this?"
>Darcy's question cut through your mental haze like a hot knife through butter and with a blink and a shake of your head you turn towards to find her holding a small, folded up slip of paper
"Oh yeah!" With a flick of your wrist you deftly snatch the slip from your sisters’ tiny fingers, and she can only stare up at you in outrage for the offence
"Mom said no snatching!"
"Mom also said no yelling," you retort and that seems to take the wind out of her sails for now
>Momentarily free from the little menace your attention drifts back to the note and you turn it this way and that, taking stock of the mysterious little thing
>Might as well put this to rest you decide, and without a second to waste you unfold the note, eyes narrowed as you expeditiously scanned the paper
>It was, in fact, a note, like you’d thought; not a long one, just enough to get the point across no doubt
>Naturally, you immediately skip the entire thing and go straight to the bottom; momma didn’t raise no sucka’ and you weren’t in the mood to entertain this nonsense until you knew exactly who this was from
>Reading the name written at the bottom you...
>...well you read it again
>And again
>Third times the charm
>You rub your eyes, thinking that perhaps you were just a bit tired and seeing things, but, surprisingly, the name didn’t magically change in the time it took you blink
>Huh, go figure
>You weren’t exactly sure what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this
“Lincoln Loud?” you mutter to yourself, scanning the name a few more time just to be sure
“That’s Lisa’s brother!” Darcy chirps, clearly pleased with her deductive skills as she kicks her legs back and forth, now watching you with vested interest as she sits on the side of your bed
>Her words barely register with you, you’re far more interested in the fact that Lincoln would write you a note in the first place
>It wasn’t like you really knew Lincoln, at least not closely
>You were in the same class, you said hello to him in the hall, worked with him on the odd project or two, peeked on him in the boy’s changing room, talked to each other at lunch when the mood suited you; y’know, the usual
>Not really a friend, more like an acquaintance
>It wasn’t like he was a bad guy or anything, a bit doofy sure but not hard on the eyes
>The most anyone could really say about the white-haired wonder was that he had a penchant for being unlucky and that he was a bit of a nerd, but most agreed he was an alright guy, a regular sweetheart in fact.
““What’s it say?” Darcy asks, bouncing up and down in her seat, excited by this new and unusual development.
>Such enthusiasm proves contagious, and moreover your own curiosity is getting the better of you
“Hold on, hold on,” you try and mutter, but your smile is getting the better of you. “I’m getting to it.”
>A sudden gasp from Darcy steals your attention and when she looks at you its with bright, sparkling eyes and a smile so wide and toothy it’s practically radiant
“What if- what if- what if- what if-
“Darcy, count to five just like we practiced.”
“What if it’s a love letter!”
>For a moment you can only stare at you little sister, her outburst ringing loud and clear in your ears
>Slowly though, a smile starts to scrawl across your face, and before you know it, you’re chuckling and shaking your head
“Yeah, right, sure it is,” you snort, much to your sister’s obvious dismay
“What’s so funny?” she asks, unable to understand your mirth but well aware you’re making fun of her all the same
>You only shake your head yet again in derision, she’s too young to understand the subtle nuances of preteen romance now but, in a few years, she’ll get it
>Besides, like Lincoln would actually give you a love letter
>Pfft, as if...
>...
“Are you okay?”
>You snap to attention at your sister’s voice and give her a strained smile
“Oh yeah, I’m great...”
“You sound sad.”
“Well I’m not!” you snarl, a mite bit too harshly as it turns out judging by the way Darcy flinched
>Guilt immediately floods through you and you quickly reach over to scoop her up in a side hug, nuzzling the top of her head with your cheek
“Sorry, sorry,” you quietly apologies, giving the little twerp a kiss on the noggin. “Didn’t mean to snap, I just… well there’s no way he gave me a love letter so let’s just drop it, okay?”
>Darcy looks a bit down at your forceful tone but after a jostle or two mumbles out an okay and you nod your head in satisfaction
“Good,” you say, glad you’ve put an end to this little conversation. “Now, let’s see what this is all about…”
>And so, without further ado, you clear your throat, give the note a shake, and read the contents

Dear Brownie,
I was wondering if maybe you’d like to hang out with me after school.
We could go see a movie, if you’d like.
Or, maybe get something to eat, your choice, whatever you want to do!
FROM,
~Lincoln Loud

>With a snort you shake your head and give your stunned sister a smirk
“There, see, he just wanted to ask me out on a date, no big deal. Just your plain, simple, average, ordinareeeeeeeeeee...”
>We’re sorry, your qt has been disconnected, please redial and try to call again
>While you’re busy having an existential crisis, your sister is another matter entirely
“I knew it,” the child squealed, hands in the air while she danced around you, ignorant of your systems malfunction and more than a little caught up in both the excitement of her big sister being asked out on a date and the fact that she was RIGHT!
“This is great,” Darcy laughed as she grabbed your hands and jumped up and down, not at dismayed by your apparent inability to respond. “You and Lisa’s brother are going to go out on a date and then you’ll fall in love and get married and have kids and I’m gonna live in your garage!”
>As Darcy continued shaking what yo momma gave the both of ya your brain finally started coming back online
>Immediately your eyes snap back to the tiny note in your hands, frantically scanning the text over and over again, still not entirely sure you had read that right
>I mean, it couldn’t be real, there’s just no way
>But no matter how many times you reread it the words never changed
>Lincoln Loud, one the biggest dorks in the entire school, had actually slipped a note into your backpack while you weren’t looking
>Lincoln Loud, the kid who looked like he lived in a permanent state of constant stress and anxiety, had asked you out on a date
>Lincoln Loud, the cutest little bunny rabbit you’d ever seen, wanted to go out with you
>...
>...
>You laughed
>It wasn’t a particularly nice sound, more of a cackle really; hesitant at first, but slowly building up until you were naught but a wheezing wreck doubled over and red faced with tears streaming down your face
>Darcy wasn’t taking it well, backing up slowly with her hands held out as her eye frantically flickered between you and the door
“S-sis?”
>Your sister’s words rattled around in your head as the laughing fit slowly began to subside
>She sounded scared, and it was duly noted, but at the moment you were too busy thinking about other more important things to really care
>Still lightly chuckling you stood up straight and glanced down at the tiny note in your hand
>On your face was perhaps the biggest grin you’ve ever made – seriously it actually made your face hurt a bit smiling this much – and from the corner of your eye you could see Darcy calm down a bit at the sight of such a smile
>With one last snort you fold the note up, pull the top of your shirt open a bit, and drop it in before letting go of your shirt with a snap
>With a satisfied grunt you turn to your mirror and, with that toothy grin still on your face, fiddle with your shirt a bit, press out all the kinks in your skirt, triple check your hair to make sure it wasn’t all mussed up, then stand back to admire your hard work
>All the while your sister still stared at you, clearly anxious to ask you what the hell just happened but also too nervous to get close
>True to her age though avidity soon won out over caution and young Darcy found herself tiptoeing up to her possibly deranged older sister to give her a tap on the hip
“Are you okay?” she asks, her tone slow and even
>You look down at your baby sister, saying nothing as you simply smile
>And then something happens
>Darcy feels it clear as day, it hits her suddenly and without mercy and though she has no idea what it is, what it could be, she feels it all the same
>A sort of… energy has filled up the room. Like static electricity racing through her every nerve sending tingles up and down her tiny spine from the top of her head to the tips of her toes
>As the seconds passed the feeling only grew and grew. Darcy sucked in a lungful of air through clenched teeth, looking up at her sister with dilated pupils. Her skin felt prickly, her hair stood on end, but more than any of that there was that omniscient feeling of... of something!
>You stare down at your quivering little sister and, smiling all the while like you’d just heard the funniest joke in the whole world, give the tyke a little pat on the head
>And just like that the dam burst
>The energy was too much for her, at your touch Darcy began to literally vibrate from sheer excitement
>It started out slowly, her tiny body twitching and shivering, but soon the shudders spread out and as the grin on your face grew lazier Darcy became nothing more than a blur
>And, with a garbled mess of high-pitched whines that might’ve once been words, she was gone, a Darcy-shaped hole in your door the only thing to suggest she was ever even here
>Out in the hall you can hear the crashing of wood and a startled yelp from your mother as the almost electronic shrieking of your sister faded into the distance
>You smooth out your dress one more time and without a second to waste immediately follow, leaving your school supplies forgotten on your bed
>You wouldn’t be needing them
>Leaving the comfort of your room you begin your descent down the hallway of your humble abode
>Further down you can spy your mother staring at the toddler sized hole in the front door with a puzzled expression
>She turns to look at you, eyebrow raised as she jerks a thumb towards the hole
“The hell was all that?”
>You merely give her a noncommittal grunt and a roll of your shoulders and, still wearing that same lazy smile on your face, give her prodigious thighs a good pat before continuing on your way
>Your mother looks bewildered to say the least, and clearly contemplates going after you before ultimately deciding she hasn’t had enough coffee to deal with whatever this was and with a shrug of her own retreats into the kitchen
>Stepping out into the crisp morning air you take in a deep breath, hold it for a moment, then let it out with a sigh of contentment
>Time to get this show on the road

>Striding out into the front lawn with a feminine sway you quickly notice your father staring off down the street, scratching his head in confusion as he stares at the retreating dust cloud in the distance that marks your sisters passing
>Your lazy little grin gets a bit wider when you spy the old push mower the man’s obviously been fiddling with, the one with the pull cord that never seems to work when you want it to
>In the time it takes you to make your way over to him he’s already gone back to his chores, renouncing the enigma of the dust cloud as he flutily tries to start the mower
>Once... twice... three time he pulls the cord, each time being met only with the sound of a sputtering engine and a barrage of curses as he kicks the offending machine with a snarl
>His expression of irritation quickly changes to confusion as he feels a tug on your shorts and looking down confusion morphs to bemusement when he spies you looking up at him with that same grin
“Oh, hey Brownie,” your dad says with a grin of his own, albeit nowhere near as genuine as your own. “Shouldn’t you be making your way to school squirt?”
“Oh, I was,” you respond, your grin never wavering as you tilt your head towards the mower, “but I couldn’t help but notice you seem to be having a little trouble?”
>Your dad chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of his head as glares down at the offending machine
“Heh, yeah, this old boy’s been giving me grief,” the man chuckles as he grabs the cord again, prepared to give it another yank. “Never fret though, I’ll get this lawn mowed in a jiffy! Just gotta give it a little elbow grea-
>Your dad’s voice cuts off as your silky, tender hand falls on his
>He looks at you, confused at first
>And then it hits him
>It hits him like an avalanche, it hits him like a lightning bolt
>He isn’t even sure what it is, but it hits him all the same
>All across the neighborhood fathers stick their heads out of doors and windows, their tools and thermostats forgotten as they sense a change in the wind that compels them to the scene, much like how subtle magnetic pressures can compel the mighty whale to beach itself
“Please,” you say, your voice the very picture of civility even as you slowly pry each one of his fingers off the cord one by one, “allow me.”
>Your father opens his mouth but all that comes out is a shallow whine, like a dog that’s been kicked
>He slaps his hands across his mouth, eyes quickly darting around to the other fathers as they cringe, before finally swallowing his trepidation and fixing you with what he desperately hopes is a stern, masculine look
“N-now honey, that’s not nece-
>You grab the cord and in one yank pull it back without even a grunt
>The machine jumps with life, its ancient parts sputtering and grinding as it awakens with newfound purpose and energy
>All around the neighborhood you can hear the low groans of fathers everywhere as they recoil from the sheer emasculation they’ve just witnessed
>Your own father has nothing to say, he can feel the eyes of his neighbors weighing down on him and it keeps him rooted in his spot, his wide eyes listlessly staring down at your smiling face
>You clear your throat and the sound breaks him from his stupor
>He looks at you, then to the lawn mower -- now livelier than it’s been in years -- then back to you
>He smiles at you
>It’s a dead, empty smile, but it’s all he can do
“Th-thank you sweetheart,” your father whispers, his voice hoarse and throaty
>Your smile only grows, and you reach out to him for a hug
>Your father stares down at you, both wariness and weariness in his eyes, but eventually he succumbs and bends down to give his daughter a hug
>Your arms lash out and with an iron grip you pull the stunned man close to your face, his gasp echoing in your head as your soft lips brush against his ear
“It was my privilege.”

>Your walk down the street was nice, the crisp morning air agreed with you and you were looking forward to a few more months of nice Spring air before Summer reared its ugly head with its stifling heat
>As you meander on your way you stop now and then to glance about, catching the errant gazes of your neighbors when it suits you
>As expected, the men immediately cringe and look away, even those who had not born witness to your earlier actions found themselves unable to meet your gaze much to their shame and consternation
>At one point though you glance to a side yard and catch a woman’s eyes as she walks towards her car
>Across the street your eyes meet and instantly the woman goes still
>Her eyes widen, her arms go slack, and as she turns to you a small ghost of a smile graces her lips as the corners of her mouth ever so slightly turn upwards
>You give the lady a wink and a wave and keep on trucking, not even stopping as the woman drops to her knees, tears streaming down her face as she looks up to the heavens with arms held out in rapturous jubilation
>When you finally make it to the bus stop you notice that the school bus was already there, the last of the kids getting on
>Normally you’d start running, aware that if you weren’t quick the bus driver would just go on without you, thus submitting yourself to a days’ worth of teasing at school
>With a cocky little grin, you continue just as you were, keeping a nice even pace
>Hell, you even slow down! Why not? It’s a beautiful morning! Don’t get mornings like these every day, gotta learn to enjoy ‘em while you can
>Across the way you can see the bus driver giving you the evil eye, a smirk on his face and his hand on the door controls, no doubt ready to close them in your face at the last second before driving off
>A man’s gotta get his jollies somehow
>Unfortunately for him it won’t be today
>The second he meets your eyes the smirk dies. The hand stays on the clutch, but it never moves. The fat bastard swallows the lump in his throat and his face goes pale as he refocuses his gaze towards the floor
>As you board the bus you flash the driver a wide smile and a chipper good morning, waiting a few seconds for him to return the salutations with a tiny voice before making your way towards your usual seat next to your best buddy
>Cookie, aka your best basic bitch, lounged with all the ease of years’ worth of practice in making herself as useless as possible, trying her best to get a few extra minutes of rest before school starts
>So naturally when you sit down it’s with as much movement and noise as possible, making extra sure to jostle her around a bit before settling in
“BITCH!”
>Snarling and clawing like a feral wolverine Cookie lunges at you with murder in her eyes
>So fierce was her assault in fact, that the only reason you survived was due to your quick thinking, lightning fast reflexes, and the fact you were twice as strong with her
“I give! I give!” Cookie screamed, her voice muffled on account of the fact her face was being grinded against the window
>Yeah, that’s right bitch
>Mess with the bull you get the horns!
>Deciding you’ve tortured her enough this morning you let up, giving her a chance to breath as she shoves you to the other end of the seat
“What the hell Brownie!?”
>With a huff Cookie settles back in, giving you the stink eye
“And just what are you smiling about?”
>You don’t say a thing as you turn your head towards your best bud, the lazy grin on your face only growing more and more smug with each passing second
>Cookie blinks once, twice, then begins to fidget in her seat, noticeably unnerved not only by your smile but by something else as well
>There was something… off
>Something had changed, what exactly she wasn’t sure, but Cookie was picking up on it and it made her anxious, made her scared…
>Made her excited
“What’s gotten into you?” Cookie whispers, not even trying to hide her growing smile as the excitement bubbles up to the surface
>You’re about to respond when the creaking of the bus’s breaks interrupts you and you turn forward to see the bus come to a stop and quickly let on one more passenger
>It’s good ol’ Artie! Y’know, the donkey-faced shmuck with the red sweater. And would you look at that, but the poor lad seems to be lost
>Indeed, he should, for once again the poor boy must face his usual everyday dilemma, trying to find space on the bus after everybody else has picked a spot
>The first open seat at the front is usually reserved for these poor souls, but unfortunately for Artie that seat just so happens to be next to Sweater_qt, aka the biggest cunt that ever lived
“It’s just for a few minutes,” the boy complained, though his words had no effect on the sweatered lass other than to exacerbate her foul mood
“Well I said no, so piss off!”
>Artie flinched under the verbal onslaught, and more than that his resolve had wilted
>With a sigh the lad seemed resigned to move further down the line, no doubt hoping to find an available seat next to someone that won’t tear his arms off
>At least, that was the plan before your arm shot out across the aisle, planting itself firmly into the opposite seat
>The noise on the bus gradually stopped, laughing kids jostled each other for a better view of the show though none of them knew exactly what was going, nor did they understand why exactly they were beginning to feel so agitated, so tense
>Standing up to your feet you fix Artie with that same lazy grin you’ve been wearing since you first left your room
>It wasn’t your smile though that had his attention, it was your eyes; wide and bright with something almost like mischief but far more potent as you stepped out of your seat and into the aisle
“What are you doing?” Cookie whispered, still smiling though she wasn’t sure why. Even Sweater seemed suddenly fretful, her eyes wildly cycling between the three of you, eager to see where this was going
>You look back at your friend, smile at her, and give her a wink
“I was just offering Artie here my seat.”
>And like a canon shot your words pierced the quiet of the bus and in its wake left the true quiet, the quiet that will not suffer hushed words or muffled laughter, not the rattling of backpacks or the shuffling of clothes, not the squeaking of cheap bus chair cushions nor even the whisper of a breath of air
>For the first time since the bus had been operational there wasn’t a single sound, and the machine itself seemed to sink in around them, as though cringing from the unnaturalness of it all
>But you weren’t paying attention to any of that, you were too busy looking at Artie, who himself was too busy looking at you with wide eyes and an open mouth
>Slowly though, his senses began to come back to him, and though he did so with a trembling voice he tried to preserve what little pride he had by gently refusing your hospitality
“O-oh! Well... that’s very k-kind of you, but you don’t have to-
“I insist,” you interrupt, placing your hand on the small of his back
>Before Artie can even react it’s far too late, the will of Shakti compels you and by the time he notices what’s happening he’s already being gently guided into the seat
>In that last second, he locks eyes with you, and it is only then, when he truly realizes what you’ve done to him, that the fight is taken out of him
>He sits down without a fuss and every boy on the bus flinches
>You smile down at him, stopping only for a moment to glance towards Sweater – who very quickly grabs up her backpack and offers you the empty seat with wide apologetic eyes – before looking back down at him
>You’re waiting, and Artie knows it
>He can’t fight it, he knows he can’t, and so after swallowing the rising bile in his throat he looks up at you – all the while desperately trying to ignore the smile that Cookie is flashing him as she presses in close on his side – and gives you a tear-filled smile
“Th-thank you,” he whispers
>Your grin stretches from ear to ear as you lean in and lie your chin on his shoulder to whisper right back...
“It was my privilege.”

>The bus ride to school is a quiet affair, if you discount Artie’s muffled sobs of course
>Nobody else is saying a thing, the energy of the room plus the… thing they’ve just witnessed is too much for their tiny bodies to comprehend
>All that can be truly said is that while each and every boy on the bus carried with an expression of profound shock and horror, the girls were smiling
>And they weren’t very cute smiles either
>No, these smiles were much too hungry for the boys’ liking
>When the bus finally comes to a stop, you’re the first one to stand
>You flash Artie a quick grin, relishing the way he whimpers and sinks even further into himself, and start to make your way out of the metal deathtrap
>And like remoras trailing in the wake of a shark the rest of the girls on the bus follow
>There was chum in the water and the small fry wanted a piece
>Not you though, you were after something far more substantial
>Students parted before you and your horde like the Red Sea as you furrowed through the crowds, single-minded determination propelling you on your quest
>And all the while your eyes are scanning the crowds for a flash of white
>...
>Alas, not a sign. Oh well, no real rush, you could afford to bide your time
>As you approach the front door you glance to the right and spy none other than Rocky Dennis from the hit movie Mask!
>Oh wait, no, that’s just Rusty
>Honest mistake really
>And speaking of mistakes you really shouldn’t have glanced in his general direction, much less actually look at him
>The second his eyes spot you that he started grinning that smarmy little grin of his and did that irritating finger gun maneuver he’s been trying to pull lately
>His eyes flicker and the grin only widens when he sees that the front door to the school is still closed, and in a flash of movement he starts racing towards it, eyes narrowed and tongue stuck out in determination to reach it first
>You don’t even bother increasing your pace, your face one of vague amusement as you watch Rusty duck, weave, and even leap to get to the door
>He reaches it just seconds before you do, slamming into it panting and drooling like an idiot
>You politely cough and the lad scrambles to make himself presentable, leaning against the door and grinning in what he is no doubt hopping to be a suavely manner
“Hey there good lookin’, what’s cookin’?”
>Nigguhpls
>You don’t say anything back, which is pretty much what he was expecting. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to not immediately hit him, or start swearing, or really react in any way to demonstrate your overwhelming disgust for his continued presence
>He’s also not expecting your lazy little grin; as a general rule you don’t smile at Rusty, nobody does, and the fact that you’re not abating is doing more to frazzle his nerves than any rejection ever could
>Rejection Rusty could handle, but he was quickly beginning to realize that this, whatever it was, was far more dangerous
>Trying to swallow his mounting nerves with a gulp Rusty gives you a shaky smile, eyes flickering between you and the growing horde of girls watching with shining eyes and toothy grins of their own
“L-l-ladies f-first,” the boy mumbled, and pushed his weight against the door
>It didn’t move
>Rusty’s eyes, and your smile, widen as his mistake becomes clear
>youpoorfool
>In his haste of gallantry, he’s forgotten that these are pull doors
>Trying to laugh off his mistake Rusty quickly apologizes and reaches for the handle--
>--and immediately recoils with a yelp when his fingers brush against yours
>Your grip on the door handle tightens as your grin stretches from ear to ear
>Behind you the girls begin to whisper, a soft noise that soon becomes a cacophony of shame for poor Rusty whose wide eyes are focused solely on you, his face now as red as his hair
>Eyes locked, Rusty finally understand what it was the made him trepidatious, what about your smile, your demeanor, he found so off-putting
>Tears spring forth from his eyes
“No,” he whispers.
>All around boys are gasping in shock, some shuddering in fear at the absolute nerve of you, others just looking away simultaneously outraged and ashamed
>Your grip tightens
>A warmth begins to spread through your lower body
>Your smile defies all known parameters of smug
“Please,” you say, pulling on the handle and opening the door, “you first.”
>For a moment Rusty can do nothing but stand there, defeated
>He shudders, disgusted by what has taken place, knowing that there is no way he can recover the dignity that he had once cherished
>Somewhere in the crowd a girl whoops, holding her clenched fists aloft as she cheers
>She’s soon joined by others, and Rusty’s open sobbing is drowned out by a cacophony of jeers and laughter
>The broken boy takes a step forward, sniveling even as he turns to you and tries to smile
“Th-thank you,” he mumbles
>Your own smile widens into something short of a sadistic grin, and you bow your head slightly
“It was my privilege.”

>Strut down the crowded halls of Royal Woods Elementary, a swagger in your step and a grin on your face as you leave a score of stunned boys in your wake
>With bold strides you make your way to the classroom; intent on claiming what’s yours
>Teachers left and right are noticing your bizarrely bold antics, your daring smirk
>Lads turn their heads when you walk by, word of your deeds has spread like wild fire and none want to press their luck by accidently catching your eye
>And wherever you look young lassies, qt’s of all shapes and sizes, are watching with bated breath and wide eyes, rapturous smiles on their faces
>There’s a change in the wind and they can smell it, they can feel it
“Good morning boys,” you cry out to Chandler and his cronies
>They all gasp and swoon at the merest display of gallantry
>You don’t even stop; your feminine wiles have already alerted you to the presence of something far more tantalizing
>Over yonder you can see Liam struggling with his locker combination
>Oh no
>Oh no, no, no
>That just won’t do
>Before Liam even has time to realize what is happening you’ve already sidled up to him and plucked the lock from his calloused farmers hands
“Allow me,” you whisper, your voice carrying even through the fracas of a noisy school to alight on his ears like dew on the morning grass
>Before he can even gasp the lock is made opened and you’re already gone, your voice nothing more than a purr in the wind to rattle his dreams for years to come
“It would be my privilege...”

>Continue down the busy crowded halls
>You can’t help but notice the boys are giving you a wide berth, and the girls are now watching your every move with hawk-like intensity
>A muffled curse quickly grabs your attention and you turn to spy a boy walking down the halls carrying a tower of books twice as tall as he is
>Towers, being phallic in nature, means this is a clear sign of provocation
>That all too familiar warmth once again spreads through your loins as you make a beeline towards the boy
>As you walk towards him the expected happens as the precariously stacked tower of books begins to wobble and topple
>The boy, that one short brown-skinned one with the yellow shirt and pierced ear, lets out a shriek as he’s instantly lost under the tide of text
>Before he’s even had a chance to extricate himself, you’re already there, knees on the group and a helpful grin on your face as you grab up books by the handful
>A deathly silence washes over the masses
>For the boys there’s a note of solemnity to it, a hint somberness for this grim and dour scene
>For the girls it’s far more anxious, an air of apprehension but also keenness, like the lull in an orchestra they’re soaking in the silence but also bracing themselves for the explosive next half to begin
>The little midget shrinks in on himself even further as he feels the eyes of nearly every girl in the school on him, their leering faces, the lewd glint in their eyes
>In a desperate effort to regain some small measure of his masculinity he scrambles to his feet and grabs up a book or two…
>Only to find he’s too late, you’ve already grabbed the rest
>You balance the tower of books effortlessly in one hand like its nothing, a cocky little grin on your face as you glance over at the wide-eyed boy in front of you
>The boy gulps, trying to choke down his arousal/shame until he finally finds the strength to mumble out a half-hearted, “Th-thank you.”
>You merely give him a nod of your head in return, turning on your heels
>All around you girls lean in, disappointment and betrayal clear on their faces as they stand there open-mouthed and wide-eyed
>The boy behind you perks up a bit, gripping the meager load in his hands with a sense of renewed masculinity
>You take about three steps, stop, and turn on a dime
>Your other hand lashes out quick as a whip and you deftly pluck out the two books in his arms and add them to your pile
>The hallway explodes into pandemonium as boys fall to their knees and keen wildly in lamentation
>Their ululations, however, are nothing compared to clamor of the girls, who at once begin to wildly gesticulate, making rude gestures and howling like beasts
>Tiny fists beat against the ground like drums as the clangor of backpacks being slung against lockers rings loud and clear over the din
>Doors are slammed, selfies are snapped, windows are smashed, and books thrown with brutal efficiency at teachers and students who qual alike under the barrage
>You barely even notice
>The boy is trembling, the power of your civility has rendered him helpless, numb to the world
>All is lost to him now
>You can practically hear the patriarchy crying out in despair as you violate it with your gentle yet firm femininity
>You lean forward and slowly, agonizingly, you drag a tongue across his cheek, drinking in his male tears
“No need to thank me,” you say. “It was my privilege.”

>Enter the classroom with an extravagant flair; the strut of a warrior, of a conqueror
>The room’s not all that packed today, you note
>In particular there seems to be one seat conspicuously empty
>Your eyes narrow and a dangerous chill fills the room
>What few students sitting there all shudder and try their best to remain as inconspicuous as possible
>Unfortunately for one of them, that tactic won’t be working today
>Clyde was already sweating bullets before you’d even entered the room, he’d heard of what you did to Rusty and Artie and the others and to say he wasn’t looking forward to class today would be an understatement
>But now that you’re here, standing in front of him with that dangerous look in your eyes, it’s all he can do but keep himself from curling up into a ball and passing out
“’Sup fag,” you snap, slamming a hand onto the desk
>Clyde flinches but tries his best to meet you with a nervous smile, tears leaking from his eyes as he raises a trembling hand
“P-please say friend.”
“Shuddup Clyde.”
“Y-yes ma'am...”
>What a weenie
>With a snort you jerk a thumb over your shoulder at the empty desk in front of the loser
“Where’s Lincoln?”
>Clyde blinks away the tears and gives you nothing more than a shrug
“D-don’t know. He’s probably running late. Maybe? I don’t know! OH GOD DON’T EMASCULATE ME!”
>fckingreally?
>With a scoff of disgust, you (and literally everybody else in the room) turn away from the sordid scene
>You make your way to your desk and by the time you sit down the rest of the class begins to stream in
>The boys look like hell, their eyes red and blotchy, their hair disheveled, their clothes ripped and torn
>The girls are another story, with their wide eyes and crooked grins. There was a predatory air about them, abut their sharp gazes, about the way they eyed the poor boys cringing in their seats, and in the way they moved, how they stalked to their seats like tigers crouching low to the grass
>Jesus Christ Cookie get off the fucking ground you moron
>You can’t help but roll your eyes at the way the confectionery craving lass literally slinks into her seat behind you, but otherwise you didn’t really pay her any mind
>Ms. Johnson came in just as the bell rang, from her sheepish expression and still steaming cup of coffee you ventured that she’d been running a little late
>How, seeing as she lived in her van outside the school, you’ll never know
>Not like you really cared either, there was only one late person that concerned you
>Class in and of itself was mostly a blur
>You didn’t really participate much, nor did you pay attention
>Hell, you didn’t even bring any of your books or anything
>The teach tried to start some shit about it but after glaring at her for a good two minutes straight the older generation finally acquiesced before the virility of the new and the cow stammered out an apology before going back to earning her meager salary
>And if that wasn’t irritating enough Cookie kept trying to get your attention
>Damn girl never seemed to get the hint, no matter how many times you waved her off
>No, she was too wired up, too excited, all of them were
>The fragile normality of the ecosystem had been irrevocably changed in the span of one morning, and as any biologist could tell you rapid and explosive changes like these can lead to radical new forms of wildlife behavior
>Where girls would normally quietly gossip or pass notes they were now lounging and laughing like the best of them; slapping their buddies on the back, sitting sideways in their seats and spreading their legs out as far as they could go, catcalling the boys and laughing when they blushed, it was utter madness!
>And where the boys would normally be dozing off or clowning around, they now sat stock-still and stiff-backed in their seats, eyes glancing around wildly as they fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats while girls shamelessly leered at them from every side
>And all the while Ms. Johnson mindlessly pattered on and on about a lesson she herself barely even understood, idly wondering how much whiskey she’d accidentally put in her Irish Coffee
>Suddenly the door is flung open, the energy of that single act more than enough to stun the entire classroom and capture the attentions of everyone
>None, of course, more so than yours
>Lincoln Loud stood in the doorway, panting like a dog as he leaned against the doorframe
>His clothes were shredded, his hair tuft neatly cut in half, he had bags under his eyes and a frazzled look about him
>After a few seconds of wheezing Lincoln looked up and noticed that everyone was staring at him, and with a nervous chuckle he stood up straight and rubbed the back of his head
“S-sorry about that,” the lad stammered, “had a bit of rough morning, it all started when Lisa-
“Yes, yes, your sisters are awful, we get it Lincoln just take your seat please,” Ms. Johnson interrupted, not even bothering to look away from the board as she continued writing up the day’s lessons
>Lincoln wilted under his teachers’ blasé attitude, not to mention the few obligatory chuckles from his classmates, and with his head ducked he quickly made his way over to his empty seat in front of Clyde
>For the rest of class Lincoln tried his best to keep his head down and do his work diligently, and it was for this reason he didn’t quite pick up on the general tone of the room until much later in the day
>It came gradually, a feeling here, an inkling there, a general all-around presentiment that something was up
>And then came the chill up his spine
>Suddenly feeling quite nervous Lincoln looked up from his work and glanced around the room
>He noticed the boys, the rigidity of their postures, the trepidation on their faces
>He noticed the girls, their predatory smirks, the unmistakable gleam of mischief in their eyes, and he especially noted the way they leaned forward in their seats, an air of expectancy about them as they… waited? Waited for what?
>And then Lincoln noticed you
>Yeah, that’s right, You!
>Ever since Lincoln had entered through that door you hadn’t taken your eyes off him
>Ever since he’d sat down, you’d been watching him
>Throughout the entire lesson, through Ms. Johnson’s incessant gibbering, through Cookie’s persistent pestering, throughout every single second of every single minute you kept that boy in your sight
>And now that he was looking at you, you made sure he wasn’t about to start looking away
>The stare you were fixing him was low, even. Not at all a glare, but not necessarily welcoming either
>It was the kind of stare that makes the small reptilian part at the back of the brain grab the reigns and start jerking them
>Danger, danger, it squeals, but what or why can’t yet be ascertained
>And so, even though he was nervous and more than a bit scared (for good reason) Lincoln tried his best to give you a smile and a little wave
>Slowly, that lazy grin you were wearing became a little less lazy, a little less innocent
>A little more hungry
>Across the room Lincoln’s own smile began to falter, his hand lowering back to the desk where he twiddled his fingers
>The lad no doubt had an inkling of what was happening, there was no way he couldn’t
>After all, he started this
>Slowly, you raised a hand and unceremoniously reached down the top of your shirt, rooting around and grinning as Lincoln’s eyes bugged out of his head, until you finally pulled out your prize
>A tiny folded up note
>Lincoln’s face went as white as his hair
>You gave the note a jaunty little wave in his direction before tossing it over your shoulder onto Cookie’s desk
>The thirsty bint wasted no time and in mere seconds had already devoured its entirety with her eyes
>And when Lincoln caught the smile she gave him his face went a nice shade of carnelian and he started shaking like a leaf in the Autumn wind
>Naturally Cookie passed the note herself, and round and round it went until every girl had taken their fill of gossip
>Amidst the chorus of impressed whistled and bawdry catcalls, not to mention the unremitting stares and smiles, Lincoln could only wither and sag in his seat, a downright miserable countenance to be sure
>And all the while your eyes never left him, not even when Ms. Johnson weakly tried to protest your passing of notes did you bother turning your head, not even Cookie’s laughter or prodding could make you look away
>The only thing that mattered was Lincoln Loud
>So, when the bell for lunch rang out in the air, and Lincoln Loud literally leapt out of his seat and raced out the door with his sidekick at his heels, you could only keep on smiling
>Looks like he wants to play this out to its conclusion then
>That’s fine, more than fine actually
>Without even a sound you slowly get to your feet. There was no need to rush, no need at all. You had all the time in the world, why rush something like this?
>If Lincoln wanted to play, you’d be more than happy to play with him
>It’d be an honor...
>No, not an honor
>It’d be a privilege

>Stride out the classroom and into the hallway
>The school has descended into complete and utter chaos
>Everywhere you look, madness! Pure madness!
>Girls acting like beasts, boys cornered by roving packs of qt’s, teachers holding out crosses being backed into their rooms
>It was enough to bring a tear to your eye
>You take a moment to drink in the sights, turning this way and that to take in every scene
“Here, let me get that door for you,” Joy says to a teary-eyed Poppa Wheelie
“O-oh,” he stammers, “that’s.. uh, you don’t need to-
>She flashes the boy a grin and plants her hand on his back
“Don’t be silly,” she replies, pushing him forward. “It’d be a privilege.”
“Now why don’t you let me carry that,” Shy says, her tone nothing but kindness even as she plucks away a shocked lad’s backpack and slings it across her shoulders
“N-n-no than-
“Oh, you’re absolutely right, no thanks are necessary. After all... it’s my privilege~”
“How about I get that for you-
“A boy like you doesn’t need to be holding all those books-
“Let me help with that-
“It’d be no trouble at all-
“No trouble-
“In fact it’d be a privilege-
“It’d be my privilege-
“It’s my privilege-
>Smiling ear to ear you strut down the hall, an empress in her kingdom
>With every step you take the situation becomes even more unhinged
>Hair is pulled wantonly, cheeks are pinches openly, butts are grabbed shamelessly, weenies are groped brazenly.
>You’re pretty sure you see Girl Jordan grab her male counterpart and drag him screaming into the janitor’s closet
>Haha, oh Jordan
>You nasty bitch
>With the sound of screaming girls and boys serenading your senses you strut right on down to your destination
>The lunch room doors stand tall before you like some great forgotten monument of bygone ages
>The final leg
>No going back, time to claim what’s yours
>You take a step forward, place both hands on each door, and with as much flair possible sling them open
>The echoes of your actions drown out all competition, the world goes silent
>Take note girls, that’s how you make an entrance
>You enter the lunchroom, casting wide sweeping glances around as you make your way over to the lunch line
>Girls in the line step aside as you walk by them, tears streaming down their faces as they salute you
>You wave jovially to them and walk by as they begin to weep, finally realizing that they are free
>Grab your tray and ask the lunch lady for that extra green slop like a boss
>ohshitnigguhisthatchocolatemilk!
>Just as you’re about to exit the line a cry of dismay perks your ears
“Aww, no more chocolate milk!”
>You spin on your heels and stare down the line where just behind you Zach the up-and-coming circus freak is lamenting is loss.
>A feeling of contempt mixed with pity fills you up inside, swelling your breast with the warm and fuzzies.
“Excuse me!”
>The line collectively gasps
>Zach looks up at you and his pug-ugly face goes green as he realizes his error only too late
>You take three steps, towering over the likely malnourished malcontent with a sickly-sweet look on your face
>He trembles, a mixture of fear and impotent rage begins to envelop him as the horrid realization of what is going to happen washes over him
>The feeling of power and control lifts up your feminine spirit, that unmistakable warmth spreading out from your lower regions at the thought of what you’re about to do to him
>Boys in the line sob and look away while girls stare on arrogantly, drinking in this feeling of power through you vicariously
>With one hand you grab the precious carton of chocolate milk and hold it in front of his tear-stained face, dangling it for a second or two
>And then, with all the force and might of the hammer of Thor, you drop it onto his tray
>The time has come
>And so have I
>With a wild scream Kat grabs Zach and hefts him over her shoulders, slamming onto the ground hard enough to crack the linoleum
>The boy’s screams are quickly drowned out by the sound of tearing clothes and the wild howls of girls as they descend upon him
>The other boys in the line make a mad dash but are quickly dragged down and buried under the tide themselves, their pleas for mercy and common decency falling on deaf ears
>Welcome to the jungle baby
>With your food tray in hand you turn 360degrees and walk away
>You walk out into a scene from some old western movie and its high noon
>Probably because it’s lunch time
>On one side the girls, on the other the boys
>Both sides are tense, waiting for the inevitable explosion that will determine the course of not only today, but for the rest of time and history itself
>The commotion from the lunch line is taking its toll on the boys, the screams of their compatriot’s ring loud and clear in the air and as one they grieve for their fallen brothers
>The screams have the opposite effect on the girls, like sharks in the water they can smell the blood and they want in on the coming feast
>It don’t matter
>None ‘a this matters
>You spy a fleck of white and home in on it like honey bee on her flower
>Lincoln Loud is sitting at the usual loser’s convention with his hands in his head
>Clyde is trying his best to cheer up his downtrodden chum but isn’t making much headway
>Periodically he switches his gaze from his buddy to the table across from them
>Your table
>The table where, right now, your own friends are sitting, tense and alert, their attentions fixed solely on the boys sitting across from them
>Cookie in particular looks a mess, drumming her fingers on the table and twitching with barely repressed vivacity
>You make your way up to your table and unceremoniously drop the tray with a loud clang
>Your friends jump and look up at you, awe and fear alike shining bright in their eyes as you make your way over to your target
>You make it halfway and stop
>You plant your feet on the ground, place your hands on your hips, and suck in a lungful of air, holding it for a few scant agonizing seconds before-
“LINCOLN LOUD!”
>A hush descends upon the cafeteria as every single set of eyes swivel over to you
>Here it is, the end of your journey, the denouement of this little saga
>Lincoln’s head shoots up and Clyde tactically faints
>After a quick second to make sure his friend is still breathing Lincoln stands up and, with a mighty sigh, turns to face the music
>With all the reverence of a man walking down death row Lincoln gets out of his seat and begins the arduous trek over to you
>The eyes of the entire male student body population are on him, and Lincoln can feel every one of them
>Swallowing thickly, he looks at you and tries his best to smile
“H-hey there Brownie,” he stammers, cringing as his voice cracks but trying his best to stand up straight. “H-h-how’s it going? Did you... get my, uh, get my note?”
>You hold out the note and unfold it, making much ado about reading it
>We’re talking pursed lips here, raised brow, fingers under the chin, the slow nod, whole nine yards
“Oh yes,” you finally tell the red-faced boy, “I read it. And I have to say Lincoln Loud, I’m shocked at you! I mean really? Sneaking a note into a girl’s backpack while she’s not looking? For shame!”
>Lincoln tries to swallow, chokes, and spits a wad of pure shame onto the floor
>Boys across the lunchroom cringe
>By the time he looks up you’ve already closed the distance. His mind screams at him to scramble back but his legs have decided to take a lunch break
“It’s just so... antiquated,” you continue, purring into his ear
“Antiquated?” he squeaks, tears quickly pooling in the corners of his eyes. “I-I-I di-didn’t m-m-mean t-t-to, I just th-thought that, be-because you’re always s-so nice t-to me you muh-maybe-
“Come now, Lincoln,” you say with a warm smile, reaching up to wipe a few stray tears away with your thumb
>Lincoln gasps at your touch and reflexively leans in, something that does not go unnoticed by the girls who themselves lean in, hunger in their eyes
>You can feel your ovaries kicking into overdrive as we speak
“I think you know all too well. I mean, this is the modern age, we’re enlightened now. Surely a girl’s allowed to ask out a boy in this day and age? I mean, you are a feminist, aren’t you?”
>There’s a series of gasps from around the lunchroom
>Lincoln’s tear-filled eyes widen in alarm
>He’s being baited
>He’s being baited, and he knows it
>He’s being baited and there’s nothing he can do about it
“I-I mean, of course I am-
>A chorus of jeremiads cascades from the mouths of boys across the entire school for with those words all hope has been lost
“Well then,” you say, dancing your fingers up his lithe and trembling chest to cup under his chin, “I was just wondering if you would like to accompany me this evening for a lengthy sojourn to the movies, say around six-thirty?”
>The words have scarcely left your mouth when a chorus of terrified screams fills the lunchroom
>Boys everywhere begin to scatter in fear at the very suggestion that a girl could do such a thing; several of them pass out then and there
>The girls watch on, confused, but eager to know more of your conquest
>Lincoln looks up at you, mouth hanging open and eyes wide
>Dear God you can taste him
>The floodgates have been released
>Arousal literally pouring down your legs you bite your bottom lip and flutter your eyelashes at him
>Lincoln opens his mouth, let’s out a high-pitched whine, and promptly shuts his mouth
>After a quick cough –- not to mention a hasty gaze around the crowd to spy his friends egging him on from the sidelines –- Lincoln looks back at you and raises a single finger in defiance.
“W-well, of course,” he whispers hoarsely. “That’d be great. But wouldn’t it be more romantic if I asked-
“Say no more,” you insist, holding up a hand to assert your dominance
>The sheer preeminence of your words cowers the boy, and Lincoln shrinks a little
“Oh! Oh, well, um... that’s fine too. I, uh, that is to say... I-I’ll see you then...”
>He smiles at you, and though his mouth is wavering and his eyes are leaking there’s a genuine honesty to it that makes your heart (and your genitals) melt
>With a smile you take Lincoln’s hand in your own
"And another thing," you say, your shiteating grin so wide you can hardly speak
>He looks up at you with pleading eyes, begging you not to take this any further
>But you can't help yourself
>You bring Lincoln’s soft and silky hand up to your lips and kiss it gently
>And then, slowly, holding his hand for as long as possible, you pull away, walking backwards until you reach your seat whereupon you daintily pull up your skirt and sit down
>A pained silence fills up the room
>And then, suddenly, a single noise rushes in to fill the void
>A sound of thunder lashes out, a primal noise from the dawn of time
>A pregnant pause follows, only to be interrupted again by an eruption
>Cookie raises her fists up high for a third time, holds them for a moment, and slams them down on the table
>The fourth time the pause is shorter, and the fifth even shorter than that one
>On the sixth she’s joined by Shy, and then Panda and Sweater
>And then the rest join in
>And suddenly the room is filled with the sounds of drums, a primeval, primordial din that echoes in the skull, that reverberates the bones, a noise to stoke the embers of the soul
>It’s a wild sound, a terrifying sound, the sound of the first ancients huddling around the fire in their caves, a sound to echo the creation of the world itself
>A whistle rises above the cacophony, a shrill noise that pierces the skull and stabs into the brain
>Lincoln flinches
>Just a few steps in front of him lays the safety of his table, a safe space where he may retreat to and try to forget about the day’s events until the evening
>But alas, it’s not to be
>He turns around and looks at you
>You lower the fingers from your mouth and grin at him
>Slowly, inexorably, you crook a finger towards you, wiggling it to and fro
>Lincoln sucks in a breath through clenched teeth and looks back at his table, then to his ashen-faced friends, desperation in his eyes
>don’t look at them boy they can’t help you now
>Lincoln looks back at you
>You look at him
>The kids all look at the two of you
>The world stops
>...
>...
>...
>Lincoln takes a step towards you
>The world explodes
>With a rabid shriek Cookie grips the table and in one fluid motion upends it, scattering its contents (with the exception of your plate which you grab out of the air) to the four corners of the cafeteria
>Girls leap out of their seats howling like bests, beating their chests and throwing everything in reach
>Chandler tries to make a break for the door and gets clotheslined by Mollie who then taps her elbow and delivers an absolutely devastating elbow-drop
>Stella stands on top of a table, beats her chest, and with the cry of a luchador launches herself into a crowd of quailing boys in a no doubt illegal flying press maneuver
>Rusty tears off his clothes and screams for the ladies to come get some and catches a chair to the head for his troubles
>Boys run helter-skelter in a mad dash to get away only to be dragged down or suplexed by rampaging qt’s; the sobbing of young men provides a nice backdrop to the primal chimp-like shrieks of the girls as they are pinned to the ground and shorn of both their clothing and dignity
>At one point the principal himself bursts through the door, furious and intent on putting a stop to the travesty, but he’s quickly put into a piledriver by Ms. Johnson and knocked out cold
>All of this, of course, goes largely unnoticed by you
>The only thing that matters to you is what’s standing in front of you
>Lincoln Loud stands before you, naked and bare
>Metaphorically
>But maybe if you play your cards right...
>He looks at you with defeated eyes, and you realize it will take a while for you to build him back up again after this
>But that’s okay, you’ll have all the time in the world
>He moves to sit down but you slam your hand on the seat and he jumps back
>The confused lad gives you a look and you raise up your hand to give him a disapproving wag of the finger
>A finger that, slowly, begins to trail along your soaked, glistening legs, tracing every muscle, every curve, before finally resting on your inner thigh
>Lincoln gulps as you give your lap a good pat
>And, after a second or two of hesitance, he breaks
>He doesn’t weigh as much as you thought he might, and the thought that he wasn’t getting enough to eat gives you cause to worry
>That just wouldn’t do
>With plate of food still in hand you wrap your arms around his trembling body, snaking your legs around his, and the feeling of him wriggling into your now thoroughly damp skirt makes you hiss in pleasure
>As the world descends into chaos you hold your boo close and give him a peck on the check, giggling at the way he squirms further into your chest with a whine at your tender ministrations
“Here,” you whisper, holding out the tray in your hands. “I got the extra green stuff, just the way you like it~”
>takin’careofyomanbitch
>das’right
>Lincoln looks up at you with trembling lips and it’s all you can do not to assault him right then and there
>A pale hand reaches out to take the spork off the tray but before he can dig in your own fingers worm around his, gently squeezing and wheedling the utensil out of his frail grasp without even a fight
“Here,” you coo, “let me.”
>You scoop out a nice chunk of pre-mashed school cafeteria gruel and offer it to him
>Your eyes lock with his
>It lasts for a second
>It lasts forever
>The rest of the world falls away
>He leans forward and seals his fate
>Your breath hitches as you watch Lincoln’s luscious little lips wrap around the spork
>Your tongue trails the outside of your lips as he slowly draws back, leaving a little bit of drool behind
>Your eyes widen as he chews, and an altogether different hunger consumes you
“Thank you,” Lincoln mumbles through a full mouth, smiling at you with full cheeks
>You lean forward and press your forehead against his, never breaking eye contact, drinking in everything those bright eyes of his had to offer you as you peered into the very depths of his soul
“It was my privilege.”