#Academia Latina

[luviisabella]

Afro-Latina!Reader who loves to get a silk press when it’s winter and Bakugou gets grouchy because he “misses your natural hair”.

Afro-Latina!Reader who speaks to Bakugou in Spanish and smiles when he understands her (he loves it).

Afro-Latina!Reader who when greeting people kisses their cheek and the first time Bakugou saw this he couldn’t help but stare blankly in confusion wondering “Did my girlfriend just kiss another guy in front of me ?” After you explained it was a greeting he kept the mental note.

Afro-Latina!Reader who puts Bakugou onto coquito and it was LIFE changing for him. He never had an alcoholic drink this sweet. When he asked what was in it you told him it was a ‘secret’. Now every Christmas he’s excited when you mention you’re going to make it.

Afro-Latina!Reader x Bakugou Katsuki; who does his best to indulge in his pretty girlfriend’s culture while she happily tells him all about it.

[21280]

third year! katsuki, hero course student! y/n, new years eve fic like 10 years late. latina! y/n.

i know it's extremely late, but i would like to talk about a new years tradition i think katsuki bakugo would dread and enjoy at the same with his latin american s/o, and it's the años viejos.

starting as an ecuadorian tradition, años viejos (or monigotes) are a symbol of the end of the year, and they're crafted with old clothes, paper, cardboard, and filled with explosives. the design can be anything you set your heart on, whether it's the teenage mutant ninja turtles or the president you want to kick out. you see where i'm going with this?

when you ask katsuki bakugo to join you on your end of year traditions during your last year at ua, he begrudgingly agrees. and as you build your monigotes you can't help but crack a smile at the image of your boyfriend sticking out his tongue, concentrated on the cardboard figure in front of him. each stroke of paint has to be perfect, with you earning an earful when he saw yours was a tad wonky. it's the thought that counts, right?

both of you decide to reveal your final designs once you're ready to burn them. when you reunite with him at ground beta, your hands are behind your back holding your viejo, and so are his. some of your classmates as well as teachers joined in, mostly to supervise, although some had brought some viejos of their own after receiving a quick tutorial from you.

as you go to drop your viejo on the designated zone, you hear a laugh. "'s that supposed to be me?" bakugo smirks, pride evident in his tone. his smirk quickly fell off as he realized, "wait—yer leavin' me behind in the new year?"

"oh my god, katsuki—no!" you frantically reply, "i just wanted to show my appreciation for everything you've done for me. i'm ready for this new chapter of our lives that we'll finally be facing together."

that's right, bakugo thinks to himself. it's your first new years together as a couple, having only made things official a few months prior.

"kats, is that endeavor in your arms?"

his gaze darts down to the figure caged in his arms, with him quickly throwing the figure next to yours, "old man smell still traumatizes me till this day, needa get rid of it."

you laugh as you take a small container of gasoline, pouring it over the figures. you have to hand it to the support course, as getting gasoline on school grounds hard enough for a hero course student.

"you wanna do the honors, pretty boy?"

"thought you'd never ask, sweets."

his hand is directly over the pile, sparks lighting from his hand as they fly towards the figures, successfully lighting them on fire. bakugo turns to you, a small smile on his face.

"happy new year, y/n."

"happy new year, katsuki."

[maleoventlover]

♱A Token of Blood and Gold♱

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

English Professor!Vampire x Human fem!reader

It was another day of class. Rain hit the aged auditorium glass with soft thuds as you sit within your lecture. You were an English Masters student, studying Rhetoric in Religious Literature from the 18th century. You specified in work from the Middle East and the Mediterranean, with occasional interest in main land Europe.

Your professor, a man seemingly in his late 30’s, early 40’s, spoke about the history of Manama and its importance in conversation such as religion, philosophy, and self expression. Professor Farsi was his name, and god was he beautiful. His hair was black and slicked back, a streak of silver etched into the many strands. His eyes were strong, beautifully brown like the perfect cup of coffee in the chilled morning air, glistening with wisdom from his years. His strong jaw covered in a sharp bearded goatee, gray strands running through the black hairs. His skin was a beautiful shade of honey.

The lecture would typically interest you, especially considering professor Farsi was teaching it. He had been your professor since your undergrad years. You figured as you moved to your masters his classes would decrease. Oh how your were wrong. People from around the world came to hear his lectures. Something about this made you feel a slight tinge of jealousy. You knew he was a well reknoened academic. Anytime he looked your way it felt like you two were the only people in the world. He made you feel something no other person had. The way his eyes gazed over you, you could’ve sworn he felt it too.

“That’s all for today class. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Everyone stood up, chattering about their first lesson with the captivating professor. You gathered your things and head towards the exits of the building, only to remember it was still raining. A sigh escapes your lips as you realize you forgot your umbrella. As your body becomes soaked with heavy pellets of water you hear the sound of an umbrella opening. The feeling of rain drops disappear, replaced with the feeling of a hand on your lower back.

“Miss Y/N, did you forget your umbrella again?”

“Professor. You know me too well.”

You hum. The smell of leather, musk, and amber. His scent was as intoxicating as his voice. Confident yet soothing, he always had a way with words.

“Of course my dear. You’re soaked, let me drive you home.”

You could deny his sultry voice, his hand pressing in on your back, guiding you to his car. His other hand, gripping the umbrella shielding you from the rain.

Instances like this confused you. He was always so kind and giving towards you yet never confessed any feelings nor engaging in physical gestures. Yet, since your junior year if undergraduate there was always something.

Approaching the staff parking lot, your jaw jobs at the sight of an expensive black car, one a professor salary could definitely not afford.

“Cadillac SOLLEI, black exterior and interior, a gift from a friend.”

He mutters and opens the passenger seat for you.

Looking up at his face he looked a bit tired, something about the way his eyes lingered on you a second longer than they should. You smile awkwardly. It almost felt like he was sizing you up. Maybe it was just your imagination.

The next moment he is in the car beside you. You jump noticing his presence, you hadn’t even heard him get into the car. He laughs at your lack of attention, his laugh making you knees weak. Good thing you were in the car.

Soon the car jumped to life and he began leaving campus.

“What is your address Miss Y/N?”

You’re about to respond but stop. Your brain starting to feel good, relaxed. The rain gets louder, a little too loud. With every drop it pulls you deeper into this feeling of bliss.

“khanam Y/N sadaye man ra mi shnevid? nah? khob”

You don’t even know what he’s saying. You just smile as him, a giggle escaping your lips.

Your sight begins to fade. Black slowly creeps in from all sides, an all-consuming void. The last thing you see is Professor Farsi flashing a grin at you, but something is off. He had long fangs poking out from his mouth. Then you fade to black.

Your eyes shot open in a panic. Sweat slicked your brow as you sat up in almost complete darkness. A flash of light from the window shocked you, and loud thunder soon followed. A storm was raging outside.

“Outside…”

You murmur as you suddenly realize you have no idea where you are. Anxiety begins to creep through you as you look around. None of this looked familiar. As your eyes adjust to the darkness, you feel your stomach drop. No. This was familiar, but not in the way it should be.

The room was decorated in a combination of 18th gothic Eurocentric interior and 18th-century ottoman interior. It was a spitting image of your dream room, a beautiful culmination of your studies and desires. You take in your surroundings more clearly. The bed you say on tested within a European bed frame carved from dark wood, intricate designs carved into its flesh. Beautiful, thin silk curtains rested on the sides of your bed, shielding you from air drafts and bugs. The room was adorned with religious and philosophical tapestries displaying stories from many religious texts you familiarized yourself with.

You slowly step onto the hardwood floor of the room, your legs and feet cold from the night air. Looking down at yourself, you gasp. You are not wearing the clothes you had on in class. In fact, you wore a night gown, your head adorned in a silk wrap to protect your hair from your restless slumber.

‘This is weird. Am I dreaming?’

You think to yourself as you walk around the dark room.

A candle and box, if matched, catch your eye as they rest upon the wardrobe in the corner. Quickly, you strike a match, the flame catching alight instantly. You lit the candle and promptly blew out the match.

Despite the weather outside and your better judgment, you decide to find a way out of where ever you were.

You jogged down the hallway to what you'd concluded to be a manor. The night sky adorned in thunderclouds slammed its assault of rain against the large glass panes that lined the walls of the hallway you traveled.

The need for escape coursed through your veins as you checked every door for an exit. Some were locked, and others led to dust-filled rooms, drawing rooms, and storage; it was all pointless.

As your legs carry you faster, your bare feet pattering against the cold marble, you see one room ahead. A soft, warm glow sealed from the edges. Something about it enticed you, drew you closer. Your jog became a walk, then a stillness. Reaching for the knob, you turn it slowly, carefully pushing the door open.

It was like something out of a book. A secluded personal library with a fireplace crackling as wood burnt to embers. Professor Farsi stood in front of the fireplace, holding a cup of amber liquid.

“Y/N. I've been waiting for you sholeh ebdi man(1).”

“Where am I?” You demanded, staying close to the door. Something was definitely off about the professor. You needed to stay close enough to the nearest exit in case things heated.

The door slammed shit behind you, a hush yet noticble locking noice could be heard.

You blood runs cold. How did he do that? What that even him.

“Y/N, sholeh ebdi man, you need not fear me. I am merely making sure you do not run without hearing me out”.

His back still faced you, the drink on his hand brought up to his lips.

“What do you want from me professor?”

The sound of him sucking his teeth and the shake of his head.

“I do not want anything from you Y/N.”

He begins to turn. You blink, and suddenly, he's gone. You try to process where he went in less than a second. You feel a breath on your neck, causing you to jump and turn. He's standing right behind you, his stature tall and frame completely shadowing your own.

“You are what I want. My deepest desire. My sun to my moon. My light in the darkest of hours.”

His hand reaches upwards and caressed your cheek. You freeze in response. What is he talking about?

“You are sholeh ebdi man, my eternal flame. At first I did not notice.”

He began to pace around you, like he was stalking his prey. And honestly, you felt like a rabbit stuck in a foxes den.

“It wasn't until I saw you today in class that I realized. You are the answer to my problems.”

You could feel your heart racing as he steadily got closer.

“My loneliness, my hunger, my desire. A mortal woman such as yourself woukd normally never peak my interest but…”

His hands grabbed your hips and pulled you against him. Your back flushed to his chest. His rough and uneven breath hovered over your neck.

“Your blood just smells so….divine!”

The sound of his maw opening, bone cracking with s subtle hiss, something sharp stabbing down onto skin, ripping through flesh and muscle. Horror is etched into your face as a sharp pain erupts from the crook of your neck and shoulder. Large fangs dug into your flesh. His rough tongue lapped up your blood from the gushing wound. A scream rips from your throat as the man you admired feasts on your life source.

~fin-

sholeh ebdi man(1): my eternal flame

khanam Y/N sadaye man ra mi shnevid? nah? khob.(2): Miss Y/N Can you hear me? No? Good.

(A/N: Should I do a part 2)

[beluosus]

...what late evening brings

[punkeropercyjackson]

Momo makes Dabi his own Todofam sweater with her quirk to symbolize him coming back to his family thanks to her and tells him she put her own familial love for him into it by adding a strawberry scented scratch and sniff patch sown on she made with the diy skills he taught her

[diaryofaphilosopher]

Subconciously, we see an attack on ourselves and our beliefs as a threat and we attempt to block with a counter-stance. But it is not enough to stand on the opposite riverbank, shouting questions, challenging patriarchal white conventions. A counter-stance locks one into a duel of oppressor and oppressed; locked in mortal combat, both are reduced to a common denominator of violence. The counter-stance refutes the dominant culture's views and beliefs, and for this, it is proudly defiant. All reaction is limited by, and dependent on, what it is reacting against. Because the counter-stance stems from a problem with authority - outer as well as inner - it's a step toward liberation from cultural domination. But it is not a way of life. At some point, on our way to a new consciousness, we will have to leave the opposite bank, the split between two mortal combatants somehow healed so that we are on both shores at once and, at once, see through serpent and eagle eyes. Or perhaps we will decide to disengage from the dominant culture, write it off altogether as a lost cause, and cross the border into a wholly new and separate territory. Or we might go another route. The possibilities are numerous once we decide to act and not react.

— Gloria Anzaldua, “La concencia de la mestiza”

Follow Diary of a Philosopher for more quotes!

[cestlavieamore]

🤍

[maleoventlover]

♱A Token of Blood and Gold♱ Pt.2

✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠✠

English Professor!Vampire x Human fem!reader

Your knees began buckle underneath as the blood flows freely from the fresh wound into your shoulder. Pain slowly became something else, something new. Oh this feeling. It was unlike anything you had ever felt. You could feel it burning in your veins. Lust, agony, desire, anger, emotions raged through you as Professor Farsi sinks his teeth deeper and deeper.

Your body begins to convulse as these emotions flow through you, your soul, your essence. It was the most pleasurable pain you hard every experienced. Oh you didn't want him to stop, never.

Your scream fades into a light whimper, grabbing onto Professor Farsi’s arm like its the only thing tethering you to this world.

“Sholeh ebdi man breath.”

He mutters against your skin, his tone gruff and hushed as he slowlly pulls his fangs from your shoulder.

Dragging his tongue against the bite wound cleaning off any blood, then pressing a soft kiss against your tender flesh.

You begin to come back to your senses and shove him away. Your hand clasps over your shoulder, confusion fogging your brain as you try to comprehend what had happened. You're breathing heavy, trying to catch your breath and calm your nerves from that…unique experience.

“You're a vampire.”

You mutter in a breathy whisper. Chest rising and falling rapidly. Your voice is mostly drowned out by the heavy rain, yet he nods as if hearing every word. As you look upon him you begin to notice subtle changes. You hadn't noticed this before but there seems to be a light in his eyes now, his face more flushed and less sunken. Overall he looked awake, alive, almost as if he had gotten a full night of rest.

“I must apologize Y/N. I do not normally loose control like this. But you just smelled…your blood smelled so sweet.”

He began to step closer to you once more causing you to back away frantically. You didn't trust him. How could you trust him? He kidnapped you, drugged you, and then bit you. Every single nerve in your body was on edge at his very presence. Slowly he lowered himself down to one knee, a hand extended.

“Oh Sholeh ebdi man, do not look at me like that. It breaks my heart.”

He was quick. Too quick for your eyes as he caresses your jaw with his cold finger. His eyes alone tell you everything you need to know. He wasn't going to let you go anytime soon.

“Professor Farsi please. I just want to go home.”

His brows furrow as you speak to him. The idea of you leaving him doesnt seem to agree with whatever he had in mind for you. But instead of addressing your ever so obvious kidnapping he flashes you a charming grin. Once you foundvyhis gesture comforting, only now to find secrets and whispers.

“My my Y/N, youre so formal. Please just call me Cyrus. It is the current name I go by.”

His hand slowly removed itself from your face. You key out a breath you didn't know you were holding. A sense of relief washing over you.

Cyrus sits down In a near by chair, he let out a longing sigh. Despite having you, his eternal flame, something seemed to be a burden. At the snap of his finger a crackle, similar to the fire sounds out, red sparks flashing from his fingers as another drink appears in his palm. Steadily fenesing its way into his finger tips. He brings the cup to his mouth and takes a large gulp.

“I can understand your hesitation when it comes to me. I should have asked for your concern instead of forcing my fangs upon you, it was uncuthe. Whether you choose to believe me or not, I am truly sorry for scaring you.”

While you are still on guard about being Locked in a room with Cyrus, you could sense some genuine sincerity. While he may mean what he says, you do not accept his apology. Not for what you've experienced.

“I cannot fathom the terror you're experiencing. I'll admit this was a impromptu desperate attempt to quench my thirst for blood and companionship.”

He grunts at his self reflection. A seemingly all time low for him. Like before, you blink and he's now at the window watching the storm rage outside. Despite his blood soaked chin and stained dress shirt, he looked stoic and ever so enchanting within the dim light of the fireplace.

“My dear Y/N. After this storm, I shall return you to you home if you wish.”

He shifts his weight and turns in your direction.

“But if you will allow me; I could show you things your silly lectures could never. I can teach you to hear the whispers of nature, read the stars to understand long forgotten secretes of the universe, guide you into the occult. Oh my love I could give you the world, but only if you allow me.”

Something about his words triggered something inside you. You have tried to live through the stories you have consumed all your life. Historical events, sci-fi, fantasy—you wanted to feel like you were a part of something bigger.

Now here he stood before you, a man, no, a being who could be the key to it all. His existence itself was proof there was more than what laid beyond the veil of the unknown.

“Do you promise?”

Your words came out hushed and desperate. The only reason you were in the field of academica was to live vicariously through your works. You finally had a chance to explore beyond your means and the limitations of research.

“Oh Y/N I can promise this and so much more. All you need to do is say the word and my boundless knowledge will become yours.”

‘This is bad. He wants nothing but to harm you Y/N. Leave while its still an option.’

The voice of reason in your head shouted. All of the alarms blared in your body but your curiousity was a curse in itself.

Who were you to give up such immense power? Who was anyone really?

“Can I have time to think about it?”

You ask. Figiting with your nails as you look Cyrus in the eyes. Those kind, beautiful, brown eyes.

The tension in your body begins to melt away the more you watch him. He was doing something to you, you could just feel it.

“Of course my love, we have eternity.”

Something about his words reminded you of candy. At first it’s sweet, it’s everything you wanted in the moment. Then you begin to taste the artificial chemicals and dyes, once a sweet treat now making you sick with its toxic stickiness. “I’ll be waiting for your answer Y/N. We may have eternity but I am far from a patient man.”

His sickly sweet voice dropped to a tone of seriousness. Maybe, just maybe he could detect your hesitation. A part of you wanted to stay yes, but every cell in your body is telling you to run far far away. He was a dangerous man, if you could even call him that.

“I..understand.”

Oh the battle between the heart and the mind is vicious and long. Here stands the man you craved, pinning after for years. Now that the opportunity presents itself, you feel uneasy.

Why you? Why did the one person you thought would understand you turn out to be an immortal blood sucking creature of the undead? You imagined every scenario between Professor and student yet none concluded to a supernatural twist.

Your eyes meet once more. You can feel your skin crawl seeing him you stare at you like that. Like he can see deep inside of you and is anticipating your every move. There was a stillness about him that made you uncomfortable. Almost as if he didn’t breathe.

The only thing you could do was excuse yourself, making that long trek back to the room you awoke in. The rain pounding against the manor, windows flashing with each surge of lighting. Your night gown flowing with each step.

He was following you. At least watching you. You could feel it.

When you finally reach the door to your room you spin around expecting him to be right behind you, but you find only cold still air.

(A/N: Part 3 coming soon!)

(should I start a tag list?)

@neuroticnickzero

@sunndust

@chainsprophet

[beluosus]

Mane in thermopolio

[punkeropercyjackson]

Pros of Todomomo:

poc4poc t4t bi4bi autistic4autistic

Shouto and Momo are both canonically cat people and probably go on cat cafe dates together

Momo is taller than Shouto when they grow up(look at the slight height she has over him in the epilogue)

Shouto is the founder of the Momo Hype And Protection Club

Momo constantly verbalizes with no filter how much she loves Shouto just like he does her to break the one-sided het trope curse

Matching sweaters

Goth bf x Pastel gf

Tea lovers so please don't try to tell me they don't make all kinds of tea together,you'll look like BooBoo The Fool

They never got to be real kids so they can discover how to as a team just like they're thee bnha power couple

Boy who only knew the scorching heat of summer and merciless coldness of winter falls for the girl who embodies the soft gooeyness gentless of spring and cozy earthy sweetness of autumn

Girl who had everyone ignore her emotional and even physical needs to an extent growing up falls for boy who messed up one once on complete accident and did a speech in public proclaiming his love admiration for her followed up by looking out for her nonstop even when it inconviences him

Double dates with Minajirou

Red x blue and pink x black

Ghibli movie marathons,picnics far away from the city so they can appreciate nature and monthly homemade care packages

Shouto writing out his feelings for Momo in secret poems and it not hitting until years down the line they were romantic poetry

Momo using 'Anata' for Shouto as soon as they start dating

They look like a peppermint candy and a moon pie as gijinka ship art

Them being hardcore Mcr fans and Momo actually getting Shouto into them

Nonsexual intimacy to the max

Dabi trying to use Momo to get at Shouto by radicalizing her but he ends up genuinely loving her as a little sister and a pseudo-daughter and she sees him as an older brother and a pseudo-dad so he's like 'Well.......Maybe i don't wanna burn the whole world down to spite my dad anymore.I love Peaches more than i hate anyone.Fine,i'll go into rehabilitation but only if you cunts let her visit me every day'

They also take him out for froyo and he teaches Shouto anarchism/direct action too and Momo calls Shouto and Dabi 'her boys' and they give her scary liger and scary panther privileges(also stickerbombs on her face and everything she asks for before she even has time to blink)

Cons of Todomomo:

?

????

????????????

There aren't any,Todomomo is literally the perfect otp

[diaryofaphilosopher]

¿Por qué me siento tan obligada a escribir? Porque la escritura me salva de esta complacencia que temo. Porque no tengo otra alternativa. Porque tengo que mantener vivo el espíritu de mi rebeldía y de mí misma. Porque el mundo que creo en la escritura me compensa por lo que el mundo real no me da. Al escribir, pongo el mundo en orden, le doy una agarradera para apoderarme de él. Escribo porque la vida no apacigua mis apetitos ni el hambre. Escribo para grabar lo que otros borran cuando hablo, para escribir nuevamente los cuentos malescritos acerca de mí, de ti. Para ser más íntima conmigo misma y contigo. Para descubrirme, preservarme, construirme, para lograr la autonomía. Para dispersar los mitos que soy una poeta loca o una pobre alma sufriente. Para convencerme a mí misna que soy valiosa y que lo que yo tengo que decir no es un saco de mierda. Para demostrar que sí puedo y sí escribiré, no importan sus admoniciones de lo contrario. Y escribiré todo lo inmencionable, no importan ni el grito del censor ni del público. Finalmente, escribo porque temo escribir, pero tengo más miedo de no escribir.

— Gloria Anzaldúa, “Hablar en lenguas: carta a escritoras tercermundistas."

Follow Diary of a Philosopher for more quotes!

[averysmallcetacean]

I really want to be part of a secret DA society where we read/send each other poetry we've written and look at the moon and recommend books and poetry and send each other ciphers and messages in latin

[lemonxxide]

I wanna study do bad but I simply...can't, guys pray for me or send advice

[long-sleeved-sandwich]

mon laferte’s songs should definitely be in Wednesday season 2. especially tormento.

[beluosus]

there is something to ghosts ; death does not finish everything a ghastly shade flees the extinguished pyre

—Propertius, IV.7.1-2

[punkeropercyjackson]

Todomomo moodboards!!These were all made by an old friend by my requests who sadly deactivated and i'm posting them because the Tdmm tag is so fucking dry </3