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bunnyonacupcake · 7 months

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Here, have some writing!

This is a little mini fic I wrote a while ago Class Wars, an AU @brbuttons has within the Factory Rejects verse.

Behold, a story about Miranda Mary Piker. Daughter of the Headmaster and her teachers biggest fan. Well, until she starts to visit Bills candy shop and he reminds her she’s only 12. She’s allowed to be a kid. This here fic handles the fallout.

——

All good things must come to an end. Miranda knows this, though, she’d foolishly and ignorantly hoped it wouldn’t end so soon. It’s Friday morning as she hurriedly sweeps water over her frizzed braids, slipping her Mary Janes on as she snatches her bag and scurries out the door. Her parents as always work early, so early as to leave little Miss Piker home alone in the mornings to get off to school on her own. Normally, she leaves early enough to prowl the hallways as their unofficial hall monitor. These past few weeks however, she’s been indulging in that extra half hour of sleep Bill encouraged her to take advantage of.

“You can’t burn the candle at both ends and expect it to last long,” He’d said sagely, setting down a peppermint stick on the counter and sliding it over to her. Miranda had scoffed and adjusted her glasses but silently took the peppermint stick. He had a point. Always did.

Miranda practically skips up the steps to the school doors, slipping inside and hurrying off down the semi crowded hallways towards the pristine classroom door neatly labeled 7S. Normally, she’s the first one in, standing near the door as some mock sentry, adjusting her glasses and crowing Pratt based propaganda.

Today, the only sentry is Pratt himself.

Miranda feels something wrong the minute she’s in front of him. His neutral resting face is usually something resembling smugness or casual disinterest. Today, he stands with arms crossed, glowering. Miranda grips the straps of her school bag tightly. “Good Morning Misther Pratt.” She says obediently, staring up at him. His glowering does not falter as he looks at her, does not break out into that fake, perfect smile he usually gives her. “Miss Piker.” He says simply. He generally only uses their names if they’re in trouble. Miranda gulps.

“Come inside. I fear we have some unfortunate news to discuss. Don’t we?” He says, stepping aside. The hair on the back of her arms stands to attention as she follows his instructions, trying desperately to think what she’s done wrong. She’s done plenty wrong, she knows that, but she’s been so careful. Her parents haven’t heard any news of her spending time outside of school, her grades haven’t slipped, she’s brushed her teeth twice after every night of sneaking sweets-

Every seat is full except for her usual spot in the middle of the front row. She steps towards her desk to set down her things but Pratt clicks his tongue. She knows his little quirks well and freezes in place. Slowly sets her backpack onto the floor. Slowly turns around as Pratt closes the door. He folds his hands behind his back and strolls over to the front of the room, tutting and shaking his head. “Miranda Mary Piker. Grade A student, top of the class… beating out Gabriel Carver for the final seat in class 7S by mere points. By all intents and purposes a picture perfect student. A winner.” He says, staring down at her. Miranda instinctively folds her hands obediently in front of her, now painfully aware of every wrinkle and stray hair in her appearance. 7S children are supposed to be pristine. Perfect. Pratt sniffs and reaches behind him to take up the infamous conductor's baton that rests on the chalkboard ledge. He looks out at the rest of the children, sitting obediently in their seats. His scowl turns to a smirk.

He slowly starts to tap a rhythm onto his palm with the baton.

“And yet… recent events have proven otherwise. I have reason to suspect you, Miss Piker, have been colluding with the enemy. With Turkentine.” He says and the accusation causes a gasp to ring out across the classroom. A flush starts to creep up Miranda’s neck. She opens her mouth to defend herself but is quickly silenced with a look, Pratt slapping the baton onto the desk with a quick ‘thwap’.

“Should anyone have come to me with this information, why, I would have found it preposterous,” He says, now turning to address the room, “Insanity! But I have seen, with my own eyes, Miranda Mary Piker at the sweet shop in town. Not only engaging with its owner and Turkentine but even eating candy.” He says, his emphasis on the last few words making it sound like a criminal offense. It might as well be one in Pratt's class.

“Miss Piker, you wouldn’t happen to remember what my first words were to you all as a class?”

Miranda didn’t cry. She never cried. But being humiliated in front of the class, stared at… She feels the back of her throat tightening up.

“Um. You are our god, our… Our leader and our savior.” She says slowly, trying to take a deep breath.

Pratt purses his lips and tilts his head, feigning confusion. “No, I don’t think that’s quite right. I believe I said… Messiah. I am your messiah. Can you say that, Miss Piker?”

Miranda’s face burns. “You… are our… Methhhiah.” She mumbles quietly. Her lisp turns the word into a jumble of ‘th’ and hard ‘s’ sounds. Pratt's face contorts into a wicked smile she’s used to seeing, but never aimed at her.

“What was that, child? Say it louder.”

“Mesthiah…”

“Louder.”

“Mesthhhiah.”

The room is silent except for her and Pratt, as she tries her best to look obediently up at him. Hold eye contact Miranda. Winners don’t cry.

Pratt sniffs disinterestedly and scans the classroom once again. The faces he sees must look sufficiently scared into submission because he turns to Miranda once again. “I must remind you child that in 7S, we are here to build winners. Winners are not born. Winning is achieved through hard, diligent work.” He says. He uses one finger to push his glasses up on his nose.

“Hands on the desk.”

The air feels like it’s sucked out of the room as every child gasps and holds their breath. Hands on the desk to receive a smack is standard punishment, especially in 7S. But not once, not ever, has it been Miranda.

“No- shir, please I can explain!” She tries but flinches as he snaps his head towards her, eyes glinting behind his frames.

“I won’t tell you again child. Hands. On. The desk.” He says. His voice is cold like steel and as Miranda approaches and tries not to shiver. She puts her hands on the desk, palms up. She wants to close her eyes and hide away from it all but she knows she’s to keep her eyes open and watch. So she does.

Pratt whips his conductors baton down onto her open palms, hard. Despite her best efforts, a whimper escapes her trembling lips even as she tries to calm herself. It stings like hell and will surely bruise she thinks to herself as he whips it down again. Then a third time. Tears sting her eyes but he pulls away and sets the baton back onto the chalkboards ledge. “To your seat, Piker. Let that be a reminder of what happens when you lose focus in 7S.” He says stiffly.

Miranda nods quickly, taking a shaky breath. “Yes shir. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now, everyone, let’s open our arithmetic books to page-“

Class passes by torturously slow. Half of the class looks at her with smug looks and the other half regards her with pity. Miranda can’t tell which she hates more. When the bell rings for lunch Miranda knows the first thing she should do is study like usual. Get cracking on her homework, forget these notions of rest, disregard her newly found routine of going out to have lunch.. Yet her feet carry her as fast as she can to the now familiar facade of Bill’s candy shop where she shoulders open the door and stares at the kindly gentleman behind the counter. He turns with that soft familiar smile that turns to a face of concern as soon as he sees Miranda's distress. “Hey now,” He says with such genuine softness it brings tears to Miranda’s eyes, “What’s going on?”

It takes a lot of deep breaths, soothing words and a peppermint stick to finally get Miranda to talk. As she does the tall girl slumps in on herself and mumbles, tucking her hands under her arms to hide evidence of her supposed failures, her usual confidence gone. When she’s done she looks up at Bill again, tears shining behind her thick glasses. He stands before her covering his mouth with one hand with a look of horror and pity.

The bell rings behind her. Miranda tenses at the sudden noise while Bill relaxes at the sight of whoevers walks in. “Mr. Turkentine.” He breathes and closes his open hand into a fist, pressing it against his mouth. Miranda jerks up and nearly chokes on her candy. “I have to go.” She says quickly, slipping off her stool. “I can’t let anyone from class see me here again! I’m already in trouble and if my parents found out, oh god-” She starts to ramble. Scrambling to gather her bag, she pauses when Bill clears his throat. “Miranda.” He says carefully.

“Show him what’s happened.” Miranda swallows and turns to face Turkentine who stands at the doorway, face screwed up with confusion at the conversation he has clearly missed. She takes a breath then holds out her hands, palm up to reveal the thin and tender line of bruising. David moves closer, dropping his bag and kneeling to meet her height.

“Christ. What did you do to get this?” He mutters.

“That’s from Mr. Pratt. He did that as punishment for talking to you.” Bill says. His usually gentle voice has an edge of hardness to it. The idea of anyone hitting a child is despicable, let alone hitting a child as punishment for talking to another person. Turkentine blinks twice at her hands. Then he looks up at Miranda in disbelief. “He did this, for talking to me?” He asks.

Miranda nods silently. He looks to Bill behind the counter.

Turkentine clenches his jaw before standing and snatching his bag back up. He turns on his heel and marches for the door. “Wait! Where are you going?” Miranda cries, running after him.

He pauses with his hand on the handle as he turns to look at her.

“I’m going to have a talk with Mr. Twat.”

#ww: class war #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #miranda mary piker #bill the candyman #mr turkentine

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gothgirlsakura · 14 days

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ok buddy + ban appeals + gaming later?? i'm still sad but this does help.

#well let's see what he actually does #if mr piker can keep his word

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hasanabiouttakes · 1 month

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youtube

#HasanAbi #Hasan Piker #Fantastic Mr Fox #Hypnotized Possum #Youtube

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lovable-liar · 5 months

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Dad Hasan is living in my brain rent freeeer!!!! I feel like he’d definitely be the parent that gets angry at the school if his kid was mistreated in any way. Like he’d want to burn the school down type shit.

His eldest daughter comes home holding her younger sister's hand while the little one cries.

"Papa! Yavru is crying!" (translation: baby, young, cub, nestling, youngster, little one - Turkish)

"What's wrong, yavru? What's wrong my baby?" He coos as he picks his daughters up, placing one on each knee.

"Huh? You hurt, yavru?"

When she mumbles something through tears, he leans in to hear her better.

"What'cha sayin', baby? Speak up, papa's got bad ears!"

"My teacher- wouldn't let me play soccer with the boys at lunch time..." She blubbers out, her little wobbly words send a pang to his heart.

"Awh, yavru... büyük yavru, go find Renna. Papa's gonna make everything okay." (translation: big baby, big young, big cub, big nestling, big youngster, big little one - Turkish)

The next day, he takes the girls to school himself. Well- not *all* by himself.

He gets Uncle Ludwig, Uncle Will, Uncle Austin, Auntie QT, Uncle Schlatt, Uncle Ted, and Uncle Marche to tag along.

The kids are *so* happy to see them all!!!

Your littlest one is strapped to Schlatt's chest in a sling, your son sits in Ludwig's lap and your two girls sit with QT between them.

When they get to school, the kids are a little sad that their time with their Uncles and Auntie is over today but their daddy promises they'll see them again soon and that they'll walk them into school.

Once the girls are in their class room and your son is in the nursery, all that's left is your littlest one. (Who is snugly snoring and dribbling on Schlatt's shoulder.)

Well- that's not all that's left.

Unbeknownst to the kids, there was an actual reason for their Uncles and Auntie being here.

To intimidate a certain someone.

Of course, Hasan is intimidating enough, but after you'd heard what happened, you wanted that teacher to shit himself.

Your husband insisted you stay home because he knows you, and he knows you had an 80% chance of getting into a physical fight over your kids.

"Hello, I called yesterday, we're here to see Mr. Keller!" His tone is so sweet, and gentle, and kind towards the lady in the office. A complete juxtaposition he intends for later.

"Name?"

"Hasan Piker."

"Oh! You're Ece and Elif's father! Your daughters are such angels, everyone absolutely adores them. They're so polite! Tell me your secret! My son doesn't even know how to pronounce the word 'please' and he's 15!" (Ece: 'The Queen.' - Elif: 'Honest.')

He chuckles softly at her words and replies with, "It's all their Ren! They'd be rabid animals if it weren't for them."

"Are you all going to see Mr. Keller? I don't remember seeing anything about multiple people on the meeting form..."

"Sorry, I should have prefaced! We're seeing Mrs. Maddox about an issue with Mr. Keller."

"Ah! Yes, I see that now! God... he's always got something going on with him. Never liked him. Always very cold, never refills the coffee in the staff room. I've also heard he got a parent pre-"

"Mr. Piker!" Mrs. Maddox's voice reverberates off the walls. She was a lovely woman, she made sure the school offered free school meals, she'd escort kids to their buses personally, she baked every single kid a sweet treat for the holidays, she was wonderful.

"These are the girl's Uncles and Aunt, I see! It's lovely to meet you all."

After getting acquainted with her, they all entered her office and took their seats and waited for Mr. Keller to arrive. Which took a little longer than expected.

He sauntered into the room with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, accompanied by an exasperated sigh and an irritated "Yes?" directed towards Mrs. Maddox. The air practically froze with his evident disinterest. However, the cool guy act was swiftly abandoned when he realized the unexpected presence of more people in the room.

"Take a seat, Robert! This is Mr. Hasan Piker; you have his youngest daughter, Ece, in your class," Mrs. Maddox announced warmly.

'Robert' walked in, his face transitioning from its initial nonchalant expression to a slight shade of pale as he took in Hasan's appearance.

The shift in atmosphere was palpable, and 'Robert' went even paler when Mrs. Maddox excused herself to take a phone call, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air.

As soon as Mrs. Maddox shuts the door behind herself, QT springs into action.

"What's this I've heard about you banning the girls from soccer, 'Robert'?"

"Mrs. Piker-"

"Mrs. Ahgren." She corrects him with a sting of malice woven into her words.

"Apologies, Mrs. Ahgren... I have no idea what you mean! The girls are absolutely allowed to- and are encouraged to play sports of all kinds at this school! Hinting at the idea that I've 'banned' them is completely preposterous!"

"Are you trying to tell us that our niece lied to her own father?" Will speaks next, completely bewildered by this teacher's boldness.

"Absolutely not, Mr..."

"Neff."

"Neff. Mr. Neff. I simply mean that our school is not 'old-school' in that regard. We have a girls soccer club for after school on Wednesday if your daughter would like, Mr. Piker!" 'Robert' continued, attempting to smooth things over.

QT narrowed her eyes, unimpressed by 'Robert's' attempt to deflect the accusation. She shot a glance at the rest of the group, and a silent agreement passed between them.

Hasan, Will, QT, Austin, Ludwig, Ted, and Schlatt formed a united front, ready to confront the teacher.

QT leaned in, her voice cutting through the room like a knife. "What's your game, 'Robert'? Our niece doesn't lie. If she says you're banning girls from soccer, we're inclined to believe her. Now, you have a choice: either you come clean right now, or we escalate this matter."

"Are you threatening me, Mrs. Ahgren?"

QT chuckled, a humorless sound that sent shivers down 'Robert's' spine. "No, 'Robert,' I'm not threatening you. I'm promising you. Promising you that we know you're not all the innocent teacher you like to make people believe you are." (Best believe QT did some CIA type background check on this guy.)

"You're not *all* related to Ece, are you?"

The room fell silent for a moment as 'Robert' attempted to sow seeds of doubt.

Hasan Piker added, "Blood or not, this is Ece's family. Count yourself lucky my partner isn't here, they would've ripped you a new one by now."

"I'm sure."

Schlatt, with a sly grin, said, "You're in for a lesson in community, buddy."

Said man stands and saunters over to Mr. Keller's seat. He places his large hands on the arms of the chair and, still with the baby strapped to him, leans in real close to say, "You might not know this about me, but I've been around. My connections go deep. Ever heard of discretion? I've got resources at my disposal that can make your life a living hell. Now, we're here to resolve this peacefully, but I'd strongly advise you to drop this 'girls can't play soccer with boys' nonsense. Trust me, it's in your best interest to cooperate."

"Thank you for taking the time to meet, Mr. Piker! I'm looking forward to seeing your spouse at tonight's charity event."

"Oh, they wouldn't dream of missing it! It's a priority for both of us," Hasan replied with a warm smile.

"Wonderful news! Will you be the one picking up Ece, Elif, and Aslan today?" (Aslan: 'Lion.')

"Absolutely, we'll all be here to pick them up," Hasan confirmed.

"Sounds great, I might even see you! If I don't, have a great rest of your day!"

As they bid their farewells, a palpable silence settled in the car during the drive home. The hum of the engine was the only audible sound, and the air inside the vehicle seemed to carry the unspoken tension that lingered from the meeting.

Hands were balled, jaws clenched, brows pinched.

REACHED A WORD LIMIT!!! PART II HERE!!!

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slut4calum · 3 months

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Hasanabi: Teacher's Assistant

Halfway through junior year, and the finish line was starting to shimmer in the distance. Just push through this final year, the mountain of exams, the stress-fueled ramen nights, and then it would be freedom. Freedom from textbooks, freedom from professors' drone-like lectures, freedom from the constant pressure to prove yourself. But for now, there was only the present, the slightly stale air of lecture hall B-12, and the prospect of three more hours grappling with the intricacies of 17th-century French literature.

My first class, European Romanticism, was familiar territory. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, was practically an old friend after two semesters of dissecting Byron's angst and Wordsworth's musings on daffodils. The next two classes, however, were uncharted waters: Medieval Art History, where I desperately hoped the professor wouldn't quiz us on the difference between Romanesque and Gothic arches, and Advanced Genetics, where the potential for complex Punnett squares already had my head spinning.

By the time I stumbled into my fourth class, PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization, I was ready for a nap. But the exhaustion evaporated the moment I saw Dr. Kemp. He was tiny, a sprite of a man with twinkling eyes and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. As he outlined the syllabus, his voice was a warm rumble, like well-aged whiskey swirling in a glass. And then, the door creaked open, and my heart did a triple flip.

"Ah, Mr. Piker," Dr. Kemp welcomed, "Nice of you to join us. Class, this is your TA, Hasan. Hasan is working on his PhD in political science here, Hasan, what are your office hours this semester?"

The man who walked in was…well, breathtaking. Dark hair tousled by invisible hands, eyes that held the glint of mischief and intelligence, and a smile that could charm the sunrise. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, yeah, pretty packed schedule this semester, so just email me if you need to meet up, and we'll find a time."

That was it? No booming baritone introductions, no grand plans for interactive seminars? Just a mumbled email address and an evasion of office hours? Disappointment flickered across my face, quickly masked by a cough. Dr. Kemp chuckled.

"First day and already zoning out, Ms. Y/N? We have a lot to cover this semester, globalization is a tangled web, isn't it?"

He launched into a whirlwind explanation of the coursework, detailing everything from intricate trade agreements to the rise of populist movements. I tried to focus, tried to decipher the complexities of cultural homogenization and international power struggles, but Hasan kept drifting into my vision. His hand resting on the lectern, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the playful glint in his eyes as he met Dr. Kemp's gaze. My mind was a chaotic dance floor, Professor Kemp's words mere background music to the silent symphony of possibilities playing out in my head.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. Charts of global trade flows morphed into Hasan's sculpted jawline, intricate political maps became sketches of his smile. Finally, the class ended, the sweet release from academia and its alluring distractions. As everyone shuffled out, I lingered, hoping for a chance encounter, a stolen glance, anything to break the spell before it consumed me whole. But Hasan was already gone, swallowed by the labyrinthine corridors of the university, leaving behind only the faint echo of his name and the intoxicating image of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes holding mine for a single, lingering moment.

My legs finally stumbled out of lecture hall B-12, the weight of the day settling on my shoulders like a damp backpack. My notebooks bulged with scribbled notes and half-formed insights, remnants of the academic marathon I'd just run. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, urging them shut, but the phantom heat of Hasan's gaze still pulsed beneath my skin. Could his name become a mantra tonight, a whispered incantation against the inevitable sleep that beckoned? Would I dream of power dynamics and trade imbalances, or would his face, framed by that dark, tousled hair, be the only image etched in my subconscious mind?

Dinner in the cafeteria was a blur of lukewarm pasta and whispered gossip about the new TA. My roommates peppered me with questions, but my answers were mumbled monosyllables, my attention already caught in the web of possibilities Hasan had woven around me. Even the rhythmic thrum of the washing machine sounded like a heartbeat, my chest pounding a primal rhythm against my ribs.

Finally, curled up in my bed, surrounded by the familiar chaos of textbooks and half-eaten candy wrappers, I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and trepidation. Junior year might be about finishing lines, but with Hasan lurking on the horizon, the only finish line I could see was the one blurring the edges of my consciousness, pulling me toward a dream where textbooks and exams dissolved into the intoxicating haze of his smile. One thing was certain – this semester, at least, was going to be anything but smooth sailing.

The Tuesday morning sun peeked through my blinds, but the usual jolt of caffeine-fueled urgency was missing. Today, with only CJ 290: Criminal Theories on my schedule, the pressure valve hissed a sigh of relief. Professor Evans, a woman with a penchant for dissecting motives and questioning morals, was never one for early morning torture sessions. I lingered in bed, savoring the luxury of stolen minutes, my mind a tangled mess of globalization, trade agreements, and, more persistently, Hasan's captivating eyes.

My day unfolded in a leisurely waltz, devoid of the usual academic frenzied pace. I drifted through a bookstore, getting lost in the labyrinth of dusty spines and the promise of new worlds, then indulged in a leisurely lunch in the park, watching squirrels chase each other across the sun-dappled grass. But even the chirping birds and rustling leaves couldn't drown out the persistent hum of his name in my head. He was a phantom presence, whispering possibilities around every corner, making the mundane seem vibrant with anticipation.

As dusk began to paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, I found myself drawn to the familiar warmth of the campus dining hall. My heart did a somersault when my gaze landed on a familiar figure seated at a corner table. It was Hasan, his head bent over a book, his brows furrowed in concentration. My breath hitched, and I instinctively ducked behind a towering stack of trays, my heart pounding a frantic tattoo against my ribs. Should I approach him? Strike up a conversation about trade agreements or political philosophers? But the words caught in my throat, choked by the sudden shyness that bloomed in my chest. I watched him from the shadows, a voyeur to his book-filled world, content with simply stealing glances of his coffee-sipping lips and the way the light played on his dark hair.

He was gone by the time I gathered the courage to emerge from my self-imposed exile. The dining hall was bustling, the hum of conversation washing away the quiet intimacy of my stolen observation

. I left with a pang of disappointment, the taste of his unspoken presence lingering on my tongue, a sweet-sour mystery I couldn't quite decipher. As I lay in my bed, I couldn't help but think of him. His tall, muscular body, piercing brown eyes, and the way his voice commanded attention in the lecture hall. I had been his student for the past semester and every time I saw him, I couldn't help but feel a surge of desire.

I know it's wrong. He's my TA, someone in a position of authority. But the more I tried to suppress my thoughts, the more they consumed me. I finally gave in to my fantasies. I closed my eyes and imagined him in my bed, his hands roaming my body, his lips on mine. I could feel the heat between my thighs as I thought of him undressing me, his touch igniting every nerve in my body. I ran my hands over my breasts, imagining his lips on them, sucking and flicking my nipples. My breathing became more rapid as I thought of him trailing kisses down my stomach, until he reached the place I craved him the most. I could practically feel his tongue teasing me, his fingers exploring every inch of me. My own fingers moved faster as I imagined him entering me, making me moan his name.

As I reached my peak, I couldn't help but scream out his name. I collapsed back onto my bed, panting and flushed. But my mind couldn't stop there. I needed more, I needed him. I imagined him holding me close, whispering dirty words in my ear as he continued to pleasure me. I wanted him to be rough, to dominate me. And in my mind, he did just that. That night, as I drifted off to sleep, the shadows behind my eyelids danced with the image of his smile, a silent promise of encounters to come, of a semester forever teetering between textbooks and stolen glances, between academic pursuits and the intoxicating allure of a TA with a name that was becoming my own personal forbidden fruit.

The Wednesday morning sun rose, casting a golden hue over the campus as I made my way to my first class of the day, EN 370: European Romanticism. Professor Dubois, with his tweed jacket and perpetually surprised eyebrows, greeted us with his usual enthusiasm, diving into the depths of Shelley and Keats with fervor. But my mind wandered, drifting back to Hasan and the tantalizing possibilities he represented. HY 346: Medieval Art History followed, the lecture hall echoing with the professor's passionate discourse on the intricacies of cathedral architecture. Yet, as I scribbled notes on flying buttresses and pointed arches, my thoughts strayed once more to the enigmatic figure of Hasan, his presence a magnetic pull that defied the boundaries of the classroom. BIO 243: Advanced Genetics brought with it the complexities of Punnett squares and genetic inheritance, but even as I grappled with alleles and phenotypes, Hasan's image lingered in the recesses of my mind, a persistent whisper of distraction amidst the academic clamor.

Finally, the moment I had been waiting for arrived as I stepped into PSC 419: The Political Effects of Globalization. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room, a soothing undertone that hinted at the depth of knowledge and experience lying just beneath the surface. "Good morning, everyone," he began, his voice carrying the weight of years spent navigating the intricate web of global politics. "Today marks the beginning of a journey into the heart of one of the most pressing issues of our time: globalization."

As he spoke, each word seemed to carry with it a sense of urgency, a call to action in the face of a rapidly changing world. "Globalization," he continued, "has reshaped the political landscape in ways we are only beginning to comprehend. From the rise of transnational corporations to the erosion of national sovereignty, its effects are far-reaching and profound." His words hung in the air, a silent invitation to delve deeper into the complexities of this modern-day phenomenon.

But even as Dr. Kemp expounded on the intricacies of trade agreements and cultural exchange, my attention was inexorably drawn to Hasan. His presence at the front of the room was like a magnet, pulling my gaze away from the professor's lecture and into a world of tantalizing possibilities. I found myself captivated by the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his lips curved into a half-smile as he listened to Dr. Kemp's words. I couldn't stop staring at Mr. Piker, wondering if he knew what I had done the night before. I tried to focus on the lecture, but my mind kept drifting back to the thoughts from the previous night.

"Hasan," Dr. Kemp's voice broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the present moment. "Would you care to share your thoughts on the role of globalization in shaping political ideologies?" Hasan's eyes met mine for a fleeting moment, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken connection that crackled between us. "Uh, yes, of course," he replied, his voice steady despite the hint of surprise that flickered across his features. "Globalization has undoubtedly had a profound impact on political ideologies," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "It has facilitated the spread of ideas and information on an unprecedented scale, challenging traditional notions of sovereignty and identity." His words were measured, his tone confident as he delved into the complexities of the topic at hand. And yet, despite his obvious expertise, there was a hint of vulnerability in his eyes, a fleeting glimpse of the man behind the TA facade.

As Hasan spoke, I found myself hanging on his every word, caught in the magnetic pull of his presence. His voice was like a siren's song, drawing me deeper into the labyrinth of his thoughts and ideas. I couldn't tear my gaze away, couldn't shake the feeling that we were connected in some inexplicable way, bound together by the invisible threads of fate.

The rest of the class passed in a blur, the minutes slipping by unnoticed as Hasan and Dr. Kemp dissected the nuances of globalization and its political ramifications. I scribbled notes furiously, my mind racing to keep pace with the torrent of information flooding the room. But amidst the chaos of academia, one thing remained constant: Hasan's presence, a beacon of light in the murky depths of my subconscious.

As the class ended, I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment wash over me. Relief that I could finally escape the confines of the lecture hall, but disappointment that I would have to wait until next week to see Hasan again. I lingered for a moment, watching as he gathered his belongings and made his way to the front of the room. Our eyes met briefly, a silent exchange that spoke volumes without a single word being uttered. And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me to navigate the swirling currents of my thoughts alone.

As I made my way back to my dorm, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted, that a door had been opened to a world of possibilities I had never dared to explore. Hasan had awakened something within me, a hunger for knowledge and connection that transcended the boundaries of the classroom. And as I lay in bed that night, the echo of his voice still ringing in my ears, I knew that this semester would be unlike any other, a journey into the unknown with Hasan as my guide.

Two weeks passed in a whirlwind of lectures, study sessions, and stolen glances. Despite my best efforts to focus on my studies, Hasan's enigmatic presence continued to linger in the back of my mind, a constant distraction amidst the academic chaos. But as the days flew by, the impending exam in PSC 419 loomed larger and larger on the horizon, a stark reminder of the need to buckle down and prepare.

The next time the class met, the atmosphere crackled with nervous energy. Dr. Kemp's warm rumble filled the room as he handed out the exam papers, his eyes flickering with a mixture of anticipation and gravity. "Alright, class, you’ll have 50 minutes to complete this exam," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "You may begin."

As the minutes ticked by, the rustle of papers and the scratch of pencils on paper filled the air, each stroke a testament to weeks of diligent preparation and late-night cramming sessions. I kept getting distracted by Hasan sitting at the front of the room, his gaze flicking across the rows of students, no doubt looking for any signs of cheating. Every time our eyes met, I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and excitement swirling in my chest.

Despite my nerves, I managed to focus on the exam, my mind racing to recall the intricacies of globalization and its political effects. But as I flipped through the pages, answering each question to the best of my ability, doubt crept in. Had I studied enough? Had I missed any crucial details? The uncertainty gnawed at me, a constant companion as the seconds ticked by.

As I gathered my belongings and made my way out of the lecture hall, a sense of unease settled in the pit of my stomach. The weight of Hasan's gaze lingered on me, a silent reminder of the unspoken tension that simmered between us.

Friday came, and I anxiously awaited the exam results, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach. When Dr. Kemp finally handed back the papers, my heart sank as I saw the red mark glaring back at me. Hasan had failed me. Confusion and frustration swirled in my mind as I scanned through my answers, unable to comprehend where I had gone wrong.

Desperate for answers, I sought out a classmate to compare notes. To my disbelief, our answers aligned perfectly. Each question meticulously answered, every concept grasped with precision. With newfound resolve, I confronted Hasan, armed with evidence of my innocence.

Summoning every ounce of courage, I made my way to Hasan's office hours, determined to confront him about the unjust grade. As I entered his office, the air seemed charged with tension, the weight of our unspoken conflict hanging heavy between us. Hasan's eyes met mine, but there was no warmth in his gaze, only a guarded wariness that sent a chill down my spine.

I launched into my argument, laying out the evidence of my innocence with a conviction born of righteous indignation. But instead of engaging in a rational discourse, Hasan's demeanor grew increasingly defensive, his rebuttals growing more vehement with each passing moment. It was as if he were grasping at straws, desperate to deflect blame and avoid accountability for his actions.

As the minutes ticked by, it became painfully clear that Hasan had no intention of acknowledging his mistake, let alone rectifying it. His refusal to even entertain the possibility of an error left me feeling helpless and betrayed, a pawn in his reckless game of academic manipulation.

But then, as I prepared to leave, Hasan's tone shifted, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "There might be another way to resolve this," he said, his eyes locking with mine in a knowing gaze. My heart raced as I realized the implication of his words, the sudden surge of desire mingling with the lingering anger and frustration.

In that moment, I saw an opportunity to turn the tables, to reclaim control over the situation and emerge victorious. The thought of using my newfound leverage to secure a better grade both thrilled and terrified me, the line between right and wrong blurring in the heat of the moment.

With a tentative nod, I accepted Hasan's proposition, a rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I realized the power I held in my hands. As we drew closer, the air crackling with anticipation, I knew that this was a gamble I was willing to take, consequences be damned. For in that fleeting moment of forbidden desire, I saw not only a chance to right a wrong but also a glimpse of the intoxicating allure of surrendering to temptation.

With a sense of both trepidation and excitement, I agreed to Hasan's proposition, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins. As we drew closer, the air between us crackled with anticipation, the tension palpable as we stood on the precipice of a decision that would alter the course of our academic and personal lives.

Hasan's gaze bore into mine, dark and intense, as if searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all I could feel was a fierce determination, a resolve to seize control of the situation and emerge victorious, no matter the cost. The lines between right and wrong blurred in the heat of the moment, overshadowed by the intoxicating allure of forbidden desire.

Without a word, Hasan closed the distance between us, his touch sending shivers down my spine as he brushed his fingers against my cheek. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of us locked in a silent dance of longing and anticipation.

His lips met mine in a searing kiss, igniting a firestorm of passion that threatened to consume us both. With each touch, each caress, the boundaries that had once separated us melted away, leaving only the raw intensity of our desire.

As our bodies entwined, the air around us crackled with electricity, charged with the urgency of our shared longing. Hasan's hands roamed my body with a hunger that matched my own, igniting a wildfire of sensation that blazed through every nerve ending.

In that moment, all thoughts of exams and grades faded into obscurity, replaced by the primal need to surrender to the irresistible pull of desire. As Hasan's lips trailed down my neck, his touch setting my skin ablaze, I knew that there was no turning back.

With each passing moment, the intensity grew, building like a tidal wave ready to crash over us both. And when it finally hit, the sheer force of our passion left us breathless, tangled together in a web of tangled limbs and whispered promises.

Hasan's fingers found their way between my legs, trailing along the wetness that had welled up there. A gasp escaped my lips as his thumb circled around my clit, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through every nerve ending.

"You like that?" he growled in a low murmur against my ear.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form any coherent words as desire consumed every fiber of my being. The intensity grew with each passing second, building like a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Hasan's fingers explored my depths with a skill and finesse that left me breathless. The way he teased and pushed against my gates of pleasure, driving me to the edge of madness, was exquisite. My body clenched around his fingers, begging for release, but he held back just enough to keep me teetering on the precipice.

"Just like that," he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips. "You want me to fuck you so badly, don't you?"

I moaned in response, unable to form coherent words as desire coursed through my veins. The urgency within me grew with each passing moment, demanding satisfaction. But Hasan knew exactly how to wield power over me, to keep me desperate for him.

"No," he replied with a mocking tone. "You're not going to come yet." A flicker of frustration crossed my face as I struggled against his firm grip. He chuckled at my futile attempts to break free from his hold.

"Don't worry," he continued, his voice dripping with seduction. "I'll make you scream my name when I give you what you crave." His touch intensified, fingers pressing deeper inside me as if testing the strength of my walls.

The anticipation was unbearable, my body trembling with a mixture of impatience and ecstasy. "Fuck," I moaned, frustration coursing through my veins like wildfire.

Hasan smirked, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. "Not just yet," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slowly pulled his fingers out of me. My breath hitched in disappointment as I felt the ache deepen between my legs. "You're going to have to beg for it properly."

My hesitation mingled with defiance as I locked eyes with Hasan. He knew exactly how to push all of my buttons - the power he held over me was intoxicatingly dangerous. But even amidst the haze of desire, there was a flicker of reluctance deep within me.

"Please," I whispered hoarsely, barely able to form the words amidst the overwhelming need coursing through every inch of my body. Hasan chuckled darkly at my plea before pressing his lips against mine in a searing kiss.

With a swift movement, he lifted me up effortlessly and threw me over his desk. Sharp and dirty furniture scraped against my skin as I landed with a thud. The air crackled with anticipation as Hasan positioned himself at the entrance of my wetness.

"Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice dripping with seduction. My heart raced in response, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through me like electricity.

I nodded eagerly, unable to form coherent words amidst the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume me. The uncertainty mingled with desire as Hasan pressed against the entrance of my core.

"Fuck," he growled lowly, gripping my hips tightly. "You want it rough, don't you? You want me to fuck you hard and fast?"

My breath hitched in response as I nodded frantically, unable to resist the magnetic pull that drew me towards him. He began to thrust into me with a force that made the desk move forward with each thrust.

"You like that, huh?" Hasan taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You like how I'm taking you so fucking hard?"

My mind was consumed by a mix of pleasure and frustration, but I couldn't deny the raw hunger between us. With each powerful thrust, my walls clenched around him tightly, desperately begging for more.

Hasan's eyes locked onto mine as he picked up the pace, his grip on my hips growing tighter with each passing second. The air in the room was thick with anticipation, filled with moans and curses that echoed off the walls.

I could feel myself teetering on the edge once again, desperate to surrender to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my veins. But Hasan knew exactly what he was doing to me - he chased my sweet spot relentlessly, and I could feel myself edging closer and closer to the brink once again.

And then it happened. The intensity intensified until I exploded in ecstasy, crying out Hasan's name as waves of pleasure crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Hasan's thrusts grew more intense, his grip on my hips tightening as he fucked me harder and faster. The friction between us was unbearably intense, sending shockwaves of pleasure cascading through every inch of my body.

My mind spiraled with a mix of guilt and desire, torn between the forbidden desires that consumed me and the rational thoughts screaming for moderation.

"Fuck," I moaned, unable to contain myself. "You're so fucking good at this."

Hasan's eyes smoldered with dark amusement as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a hungry kiss. "That's right," he whispered huskily. "You love being fucked. You love how I use you for my pleasure. God youre such a whore, letting your TA do this to you, all for a good grade. You're my little slut, aren't you?"

He growled, his voice low and husky. I moaned and came again, my pussy clenching around his cock.

"Yes! Yes! I'm your little slut!" I cried out as he pounded into me hard and fast.

I moaned and writhed beneath him, my body responding to his dominance. "Yes! Yes! Fuck me harder!" I cried out as he pounded into me with a force that made the desk creak and squeak.

The door to the office was locked, but it didn't matter. The sound of our bodies slapping together was loud enough to be heard outside. Hasan's hands gripped my hips, pulling me back onto his cock with each thrust. I could feel his balls slapping against my clit, sending waves of pleasure through me.

"Fuck, Hasan," I moaned. "You feel so good inside me." Hasan grunted in response, his eyes locked on mine as he continued to pound into me. His grip on my hips tightened, and I could feel him starting to lose control.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groaned. "Where do you want it?" I bit my lip, considering. "Inside me," I finally said. "I want to feel you fill me up." Hasan grunted again, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared his climax.

He thrust one last time, burying himself deep inside me as he came. I could feel his hot cum filling me up, and the sensation sent me over the edge as well.

I came hard, my pussy clenching around his cock as he continued to thrust into me. I was panting and shaking as he slowly pulled out of me. He sat back on his heels, looking down at me with a satisfied smile. "That was amazing," he said, stroking my hair gently.

I smiled back at him, feeling a sense of satisfaction and contentment. "Thank you," I said, my voice still shaky from the intensity of the orgasm. He leaned down and kissed me gently on the forehead. "You're welcome," he said, his voice low and husky with desire. “I think someone earned themselves a 105%,” he winked at me as we left the building.

#smut #hasanabi #rough smut #ta #collegesmut #sleepingwiththeteachersassistant #hasan piker x y/n #hasan piker #hasan x reader #hasanpikersmut #hasansmut #hasanabismut

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alphaman99 · 1 year

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“Did you really think that we want those laws to be observed?" said Dr. Ferris. "We want them broken. You'd better get it straight that it's not a bunch of boy scouts you're up against - then you'll know that this is not the age for beautiful gestures. We are after power, and we mean it. You fellows were pikers, but we know the real trick, and you'd better get wise to it. There is no way to rule innocent men. The only power any government has is the power to crack down on criminals. Well, when there aren't enough criminals, one makes them. One declares so many things to be a crime that it becomes impossible for men to live without breaking laws. Who wants a nation of law-abiding citizens? What's there in that for anyone? But just pass the kind of laws that can neither be observed, nor enforced, nor objectively interpreted - and you create a nation of law-breakers - and then you cash in on guilt. Now, that's the system, Mr. Rearden, that's the game, and once you understand it, you'll be much easier to deal with."

~ from Ayn Rand's “Atlas Shrugged”

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leffee · 7 days

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Something to tie you over!

- whenever bored games get played with Vinnie around he never understands how to play even the simplest games out there BUT somehow every great while he wins out of pure luck it drives Russell (mr follows the rules crazy)

- Vinnie always looks good in photos even if he doesn’t know a picture is being taken he could have just woken up looks good he could be talking looks perfect sleeping looks adorable Zoe can’t figure out how he does it she says she has never seen a bad photo of him ever

- he LOVES pancakes idk why it’s just something I always see him enjoying they are soft,fluffy and sweet and his all time favorite thing he craves besides mangos he gets so excited and does a little happy dance in his seat when the pancakes are sat in front of him he has to have a limit though because he’ll keep eating till he pukes

- I feel like he would be able to touch his tongue to his nose and show it off whenever asked if he has and “special skills”

- he would have tattoos but they would each have meaning to him each and every one so if asked he could talk about them with pride!

- he copy’s anyone he’s around just out of habit or maybe because he wants to fit in or mimic his friends let me explain- for example in the episode where Mrs twombly was doing the DNA test and Sunil was mad Vinnie started to copy him by crossing his arms too after seeing Sunil do it- I feel like he would copy his friends because doesn’t understand what’s going on in general but others do so coping them is what works best if that makes sense

- whenever he’s really upset Sunil is the only person Vinnie will open up to because he’s the only one who knows how to since they are so close and he knows him so well it’s like second nature to know what Vinnie needs something everyone else can’t do for him

- he zones out so often that he’s missed parts of conversations and while watching tv so he gets lost at what’s happening with a lot of things it’s also something he does when he gets bored or wants to not listen to someone on purpose he’s gotten to good at doing it though and doesn’t realize how often he starts to do it a habit he’s trying to break because he’s tired of the lectures from others about paying more attention to things

- he hasn’t found a wine he’s liked yet but is still willing to keep trying different ones! beer though and hard liquors are alright he is more of a soda guy after all lol

- I have to add this in here because it makes me happy if Vinnie met Russell in another universe (the little hedgehog version)he’d immediately fall in love and hold him and repeat the words “baby rusty” “baby rusty” “baby rusty” over and over he’d feed him snacks and stop anyone else from taking him from his grip because he wants to be with him (according to Vinnie)so they’d have to eventually take him and give him back to Blythe while Vinnie tries to scream and take him back from her

- if you send Vinnie on a mission for something he’ll do whatever it takes to complete it because he’s determined until he gets distracted and he forgets what it was he was doing R: “Vinnie,where are you?” “I sent you to the store an hour ago” V: “oh yeah! Now I remember I was getting milk!” “Im at the mall!” R: “……”

- I feel like he would just have so many random facts in his head and they are super random so it’s anyone’s guess as to what he really knows and when it’s going to come out of his mouth

- he’s a piker and not in the way you’d think lol he sees a pimple it must be gone he’s got a healing wound from falling it must be gone a stray hair nope can’t be there Zoe tell me him that what he does will leave scars and that sticks in the back of his mind but he can’t help it and does it anyway

- he gets so dirty so fast to the point that he has spare clothes at the ready Just in case because it happens so often paints with minka dirty, it rains he’s muddy, eats it’s all over for him

- I feel like he would sometimes shave his legs or armpits because he likes how soft he feels and tells everyone to feel him when he does it

- being scratched is almost as good as being cuddled especially on his back it’s his other form of comfort it’s the one of his ultimate forms of touch and he lives for it

- he doesn’t like being in wet clothes they stick to him and are super uncomfortable so he whines about it when it rarely happens like when pepper pushed him into a pool or when it rained super hard or when he fell at the beach in the water just walking to close to the water he hadn’t changed into his swimsuit and he freaked out about it

- he believes in lucky objects like if he finds a penny or a four leaf clover. he thinks he’ll have luck the whole rest of the day holding either one

- sunil’s parents ask about Vinnie during video calls with Sunil. They check up on him because they’ve gotten just as attached as Sunil has and treat him like a second son. Vinnie loves it though and blushes/smiles when they compliment him in anyway because parent approval is something Vinnie longs for so badly…

- ok last one for now-

- Vinnie doesn’t understand gossip when the girls talk about it. so they freely talk in front of him he gets so lost on who is who and they tell him not to worry about it. he’s tried to ask the other guys why girls do it but they had to break it to him that everyone does it and it’s mostly harmless. well safe to say he did try it himself and ended up accidentally telling madam Pom that Zoe waxes her mustache.. luckily madam Pom is a good friend and explained to him his wrong doing and how it works.They both agreed to keep what he had said a secret in exchange of Vinnie never trying to gossip again lol

Hopefully this amount is ok for now! Sorry if there are any errors or mistakes I was typing fast! let me know what you think! :)

As I said, I already replied to this multiple times in my head, but now it's time to actually, physically reply to it :>. And thank you so much for sending me this when I was in hospital, believe me it really helped to entertain me for a good while, as Mario says let's-a-go:

yes exactly, he sometimes wins by pure luck and without a bit of trying. And of course it drives Russell crazy the most, I mean he follows the rules, actually thinks of strategies, learns from previous mistakes, all that stuff, but then there's Vinnie, who does the exact opposite and still ends up winning sometimes lololo and Russell is just at wits' end

this one actually made me verbally "awww", especially that sleeping part. Of course he looks adorable :3. And Zoe lmao, she's like Russell from the previous headcanon, because of course looking good in pictures is important to her and she tries her absolute best to look good in pictures and still sometimes deletes those pictures because "they're not good enough". And then there's Vinnie who gives absolutely zero fucks about something like that but somehow always ends up looking good ✨. And wait, idea for a follow-up headcanon! Zoe ends up having almost suspiciously big number of pictures of Vinnie on her phone because she tries to get a bad picture of him but just CaN't. "Zoe, why do you have like 200 pictures of Vinnie sleeping?" "Darling, shhh, it's not important."

omg that is also adorable, my boy eating his pancakes happily, sooo cute! And the eating till he pukes. Yeah, that's Vinnie, that's how I see it too. I imagine pancakes with mango would just make him so effing happy because it's basically just a combination of his two favourite foods

yes yes, and touch his elbow with it too. I mean, it's pretty reasonable to headcanon that or rather just headcanon him with a longer than average tongue since you know, lizards have long tongues and all that. But yes, this is my headcanon also. He can just do a lot of unusual things with his body

not only would he talk about them with pride, but he would show them off (sometimes even without being asked lol). And if they're on his arms then it's whatever, but imagine they're on his idk, chest or legs. And then he just starts removing his pants unasked. "Woah, woah, woah, what the hell are you doing? Stop taking off your pants in public!" "What? No no listen, I just have tattoos here, you need to see." Now that makes me also wonder if you have any specific ideas of exactly what tattoos he might have and what they mean.

ok ok yes, it makes sense, and he really does sometimes copies others, doesn't he? My favorite reason for him to do so is to fit in or because he thinks others are probably right so it's easier to just copy whatever they do. But also because he wants to be as similar to them as possible because they're the best and know better than he does. So yeah, he copies others to be more likeable to others (Tbh, according to psychology copying others' mannerisms does make them like you sooo.)

nawww, yes, I mean, it makes sense. And Sunil is just the only one allowed to know especially when he's sad, maybe really sad. I'd imagine that Sunil aside from different things also brings him snacks because he knows that Vinnie stress-eats and it helps him a bit. Though my Vinnie just does not open up to anyone because damn he does not deserve it, the little whiner

Ok, hear me out because I literally have the same headcanon, yes, he zones out a lot. But this one is honestly kinda canon-related? I mean the whole The Very Littlest Pet Shop episode was literally made in Vinnie's head like huh?? Well, not whole but most of it. Did you see how hard he zoned out? So yeah. My favorite part of this headcanon is probably that he just does that not to listen to somebody lmao. I mean, this is such a bastard move and I love it, "Yeah, I don't really wanna listen to this guy but walking off would be rude sooo," and then he completely zones out. I imagine he zones out a lot more when he's very sad, so he doesn't have to face the reality, he just puff! Not mentally there suddenly. However, I'd imagine others often catch up because they'd stop talking and wait for his reply and he's just standing there's motionlessly with gaze not exactly on them. And saying his name doesn't work either in those situations. Like you have to actually slap him sometimes in order for him to come back to reality. Once he does, he's completely bamboozled though because he has no idea what's been happening the last minutes. Also, because I have way too fitting clip I will link it here, because that's what it would probably look like

youtube

yeeesh, he is such a soda guy, that's true! And hey, good for him for looking still. To me he's not opposed to any alcohol but has ones that he likes more or less. But in general he prefers stronger stuff because they get him drunk faster and he's not drinking for the taste, you know?

oh my goodness, possessive Vinnie but with hedgehog Russell? Uh, heck ye. BitI just imagine that while Vinnie's all "baby Rusty" chanting Russell is just there with deadpan expression like "I'm literally a fully-grown hedgehog 😐". And while Vinnie's holding Russell he's all love and fluff: 🥰💕💖💗 but as soon as someone tries to take him away he hisses and is the exact opposite: 💀☠️🔥⛏️, he is NOT giving Russell back, he's his! He'll take him home and give him the best place to live possible, damn it!

oh yes, listen, being determined as hell is one of his defining characteristics for me at least, so if you give him a task he WILL do it. Kinda like with that always keeping secrets headcanon, he will keep it no matter what. Oh, but what was bro doing in that mall until Russell called then 😭. Just walking around aimlessly while completely zoned out I imagine. And yeah, if you consider that theadcanon with the headcanon that he often zones out it's not so surprising that he forgot what he was doing, is it?

yes yes, listen, yes. Like he's not stupid, but at the same time the facts he has are so random, he might not know something that is considered common knowledge, but will tell you in detail about something else related to this, and it will be so obscure. Wait, wait, I have a completely fitting for this too give me a sec, aaaand here:

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see, this is exactly what I mean, he just seems to have random patchwork of knowledge. To his defence, I also have no first clue where that thing is, must be Americans thing, and I hate America so

no, but I imagine when Zoe first told him that it did the opposite because Vinnie thought "oh, cool! I get to pick stuff and I will have cool scars from it? Yes, please." ANaaand then it turned out it's not the "cool" kind of scars, welp but he can't stop it anyway, typical OCD behavior 😌. No no okay I'm not serious with that though... I'm pretty sure it could be considered it, but on its own it's not enough to say anything really.

ok, but I imagine he forgot the spare clothes a few times and then had to borrow clothes. And he loves borrowing clothes from his friends. Maybe a few times he even "forgot" on purpose, just so someone will give him theirs, like in that painting with Minka case. That also made me think... what if one day he didn't change the clothes and he was all over in red paint. And after that someone saw him just walking around like that, let's say Penny, and she's like "...Vinnie, um, why are you covered in... blood like that?" "Huh? Oh no, lmao, it's just paint, red paint." But she still drags him into her house so he can actually look decent because holy shit that does not look good as it is now

yes, exactly! Me and you truly think the same about him sometimes. He would. He'd shave his legs and as soon as he sees any or all of his friends the first thing he does is show off his now hairless leg proudly and they are just like "ok?" not understanding how that's special but he just insists they should touch that leg. Some... are more willing than others. Minka is very willing for example, hell yeah give her this smooth smooth leg to touch. It's not every day after all that she gets to touch someone else's leg like that, let alone Vinnie's because most of the time he doesn't care about body hair especially on legs and just lets it grow

this this this omg, you know already how much I love this one. Yes, yeeeesh, he loves back scratchies. He just absolutely melts because it feel so good and will do basically anything if you give him a good back scratch, the longer the better. Literally, he doesn't mind it going on for hours if possible, rad marks on his back after that be damned. He also likes that because he has more back pain than he cares to admit. So yeah, he just melts and tries to make it go on as long as possible. And being scratched by more than one person? Oh goodness, he might actually kill just to get it

to be honest, who likes being in wet clothes ahaha. Vinnie doesn't, that's for sure. And Pepper is such a certified pool thrower, she absolutely does that. Especially with Vinnie bc she knows that he won't actually be mad (for too long) and also just because it's easy to push his small ass into a pool or anything else. Also, that beach part, I can't help but imagine him just falling fully face flat but then he's so unhappy that he's all wet that he just lies there for a moment wondering why has God forsaken him

ok, hear me out, what if in some twisted-Vinnie-logic, he though that if holding onto it (like the four lea clover) will bring him luck, then what if he ate it?! Surely that will bring him more luck... right? Not penny though, he wouldn't eat that... well, actually... maybe he would

ah this, I love Sunil's parents basically being Vinnie's parents too because he pretty much does not have ones. This is just such a good headcanon for me argh, I love it. I mean, someone has to ensure Vinnie is still sane, someone who will also be parental with him. Yes, he's basically their second son and he loves it, he loves them so much and is so happy to see them. Video calls are one thing, but he's so happy when they visit in person and practically bounces in anticipation

ok, bit isn't it kinda hypocritical? The girls all gossip like nobody's business but when Vinnie does it it's suddenly bad? Nah, I think we should let him, even if it's about Zoe waxing her mustache. But also, Vinnie and Madame Pom? Why do I like this dynamic when I think about it? Like? Yeeeees, let them be. I say, let him gossip, but not with any of his closest friends, someone else though like Madame Pom or Esteban or Pete. Idk, I think he should actually.

Brooo of course this amount is okay, any is honestly, because if you send me less? Good cause I will reply faster. You send me more? Great, because I love reading them :]

#asks #lps 2012 #my maaaan

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