Plasma333 - Untitled

hope girls grow up knowing that there are infinite ways of being a woman. hope girls grow up loving themselves for who they are.

Hey remember when US and Russia was all like “We’re the best!!! We’ve won the space race!!!!” But India sent a kick-ass space probe to Mars and the whole mission was fuel efficient, costed less and a roaring success in the first try and then they were like “…..wait no that can’t be true” and still have the audacity to call us “underdeveloped” or only view us as a ‘third world country’? :)

For anyone who needs more info, the probe was called Mangalyaan (which literally means space probe vehicle) or Mars Orbiter Mission (MOM) and you can also get more information here and here

TodoDeku oneshot: The Soba Master

Pure fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

(I might expand on this in the future, but I make no promises!)

In their second year, Izuku and Shouto started dating. For Shouto’s birthday, Izuku booked them a lesson with a master soba-maker, after hearing his boyfriend wishing he knew how to make his favorite food himself. Shouto was absolutely elated by the gift, even though their classmates wouldn’t have known it if it wasn’t for the absolutely filthy kiss he gave Izuku as a thank-you.

The day of their date, Shouto woke Izuku up at 6am, too excited to sleep in any longer despite their lesson being at 11 and less than an hour away by train. Thankfully, Izuku had expected this, and was ready to go when Shouto knocked on his door (and Shouto instantly fell in love with him a little more for that). The trip there was mostly a blur; Shouto finally understood why his boyfriend would shake from excitement, although Shouto’s version of that was just him shaking his foot. He was so nervous he thought he might float away, but Izuku’s fingers intertwined with his kept him grounded and present. He hadn’t even mentioned his nervous excitement, but the fact that Izuku could tell and knew exactly how to help made Shouto feel like he could float away for entirely different reasons. Their train arrived at their stop and Shouto practically dragged Izuku out, worried that they’d somehow get stuck in the car and miss their reservation if they didn’t run there. But, judging by Izuku’s cheerful laughter, he didn’t mind a bit; it wasn’t like it was hard or anything, not with their extensive training or Izuku’s quirk.

Thanks to his insistence on running, they reached the soba classroom with plenty of time to spare. The exterior looked like a modest, traditional home, with a design rather similar to his home, but even from the outside, Shouto could tell how much warmer the atmosphere was. It made him feel like he shouldn’t go inside, like his presence alone would destroy the pocket of peace inside; he didn’t get long to stew in his own insecurities, not when Izuku grabbed him by the arm and pulled him inside, his shining smile vaporizing any hints of self-doubt in Shouto’s mind.

When they met the soba master, Shouto's first thought was that he was a very grandfatherly old man, and he welcomed the boys warmly, saying how he was absolutely delighted to see that "the younger generation is still interested in traditional cooking techniques." His appreciation for the couple signing up for his lessons only encouraged Shouto to work even harder, all because he wanted to make the man proud. Shouto and Izuku paid full attention to the small lecture the master had for them, all about the different ingredients, how to make the soba, the different ratios used for it; Shouto felt like Izuku with how much he was writing in his notebook. But he loved every minute of the lecture, loved learning every little detail of what made his favorite dish so good.

After the lecture, they were led into a different room with cooking stations where they would be making their own attempts at soba. Shouto executed each step with as much care and attention as he possibly could, not wanting to disappoint the soba master. The first time the master stopped him to point out something wrong, though, Shouto felt his face flush in shame. But before he could apologize for messing up, the master began correcting him with gentle words, even assisting Shouto so he could feel the proper motions for kneading and shaping the dough.

Shouto had never had someone teach him so softly before; he was used to Endeavor's harsh correction, being told to figure out what he did wrong on his own, and each failed attempt was met with more punishment. But the soba master never once treated him like that. It was always soft correction, detailed explanations of how to do better, and encouragement for each improvement, even when it wasn't perfect. His physical correction was even gentle, and Shouto never felt bad letting him take over. Several times Shouto felt himself tearing up and looking over to Izuku for comfort; and each time, Izuku would get concerned and silently ask if he was okay, nodding with a smile when Shouto said he was more than okay, this was happy crying.

After the very long process of making the dough, shaping it, and cutting the noodles (Shouto had accidentally made his too wide, but the master had simply laughed and said to tell everyone "you like bigger noodles!"), the master finally showed them how to cook the soba noodles. It only took 60 seconds to cook the soba, but Shouto watched with barely contained excitement the entire time, tightly clinging to Izuku's hand to keep himself calm. And then, after the soba was plated, the boys were seated, and the soba sauce was made, they were finally allowed to taste the product of their labor. Shouto had to take deep breaths before tasting his soba, but when he finally did, it was like he felt complete. It didn't matter that the noodles were uneven, that he would prefer his soba to be thinner, or even that the noodles were cooked more in some places, Shouto swore he had never tasted better soba in his life. There was something about eating something he had worked so hard on that had him tearing up, and with the soba master in a different room preparing more soba, Shouto felt no shame in burying his face in Izuku's shoulder to silently let his tears fall.

"This was the best birthday gift ever," Shouto mumbled, his voice muffled and barely intelligible through his croaky throat, "Thank you, Izuku."

“You’re welcome, Sho. But why are you crying?”

“I…I don’t know. I think, I think I like making something on my own. It makes me feel…like I did something worthwhile.”

“Oh, Shouto,” Izuku sighed and tilted his head up, placing a soft kiss to Shouto’s forehead that had him tearing up more. “I’m so happy you liked it. And you’re really good at it too - Sensei did say that you could be a soba master yourself with some practice!”

“Practice…” Shouto muttered, discreetly drying his eyes on Izuku’s shoulder before lifting his head. He could feel something flooding through him, something that made him want to work hard - something like the way he used to feel about being a hero, when he was 5 and watching All Might with his mother. It was…he wanted to try making soba again, he was determined to make a perfect bowl of soba, one that would make Izuku and the soba master proud. He had never felt so determined in his life, but, well…when Todoroki Shouto wanted to do something, he went all out. Like, he completely remodeled his room in a single afternoon - it'd be foolish to think he wouldn't give something as important as soba his all.

——————————————————————

“Shouto-kun, you’ve perfected the cone-shape of the dough. And you almost managed to roll the dough out perfectly flat - remember, use the top part of your knuckles and really practice that V-shape when rolling.”

A wave of pride surged in Shouto’s chest at the soba master’s praise. Ever since that fateful day, Shouto had scheduled lessons twice a month with the soba master. He would practice several times between lessons, so much that Bakugou had threatened to “wrap these limp noodles around your throat and strangle you with them” if Shouto attempted to feed him another serving of soba. Shouto had scolded him for even thinking of disrespecting the craft of soba like that, but it seemed like Bakugou understood his disrespectful actions if the scream he let out was anything to go by.

But Shouto respected his friend’s boundaries, and it would be better to get feedback from a larger sample group anyway, so he scheduled days of the week where he would give samples to different classmates. Sato and Yaoyorozu gave the best feedback thanks to their culinary expertise, so he paired them with classmates that were just excited for free food (Kirishima, Sero, Kaminari, and Uraraka). Asui could only tolerate so much soba due to her frog biology, and Tokoyami due to Dark Shadow bursting out to argue that apples should be put in soba - such a heathen. Aoyama was heavily restricted after he tried putting cheese on his. The rest were given soba at least once a week, but Shouto enjoyed cooking for Izuku the most. His boyfriend was given soba every day, and he was never put off by it, always trying it and offering Shouto praise, constructive criticism, and a kiss (which made it worth it every single time). Izuku was the only one to have ever seen or tried his very first attempt at soba, all those weeks ago with the soba master, so Shouto trusted his word as much as he trusted the opinions of the soba master.

“Thank you, Sensei,” Shouto said, meaning it honestly and not just as a formality, “This one was better than my last attempt. My classmates said it almost looked like pre-packaged soba.”

The man chuckled warmly, almost like the grandfather Shouto never had (but wished he did). “It sounds like your friends have good judgment. You’re almost at a noodle with a perfect, uniform thickness, which means they’ll be cooked more evenly. They're still a bit wide, but you know what we say about that.”

“I’ve got a big appetite and need larger noodles to complement it.”

“That’s a smart boy!” Sensei laughed, lightly pinching Shouto’s arm in a way that couldn’t be anything but fond, “You’re very talented Shouto-kun. I wish my grandchildren were as interested in soba as you are - if you were my grandson, I’d have kept my restaurant and given it to you!”

Shouto blinked, his mind reeling from the man’s words. “A restaurant…? Sensei, I don’t think I could ever be good enough to compare to your skills, much less enough to have a restaurant.”

“Do you not trust your Sensei’s words? I tell you, with a little more practice, you’d have the best soba in all of Japan, and I’d have the honor of telling everyone I was your Sensei!”

“Y-You’re too kind,” Shouto felt heat radiating from his face, not sure how to respond to this level of praise, “I’m happy to just learn from you, Sensei. I love soba, and I want to make the best soba for the ones I love.”

“Well, that’s a lofty goal - cooking for loved ones is a serious matter. Food is how men like us show our love, so the special ones in our lives only deserve the best. But I know you can do it - with a bit more practice! Now, how long should we cook these noodles for?”

The lesson ended as usual - Shouto staying until it was nearly dark, and the soba master insisting on giving him extra portions to give to his teachers as payment for staying out so late - but Sensei’s words had stuck in his mind, following him like a shadow and coming up without any warning. It was much harder to pay attention to class when daydreams of running a restaurant danced around his head - he’d have a quaint restaurant, a small space that didn’t stand out, one that was only known to people “in the know”. He wanted a peaceful place that made people comfortable, where they could de-compress and be free from everything weighing on them. And once they were relaxed, Shouto would quietly serve them their soba. It would taste so good, it would make them forget all their worries, letting them feel completely at peace as they enjoyed their meal. No one would ever leave hungry thanks to Shouto’s rather wide-cut soba, and he’d have portions big enough to even make Fatgum feel full. But he would also have considerably smaller portions too - he wanted everyone to feel comfortable, and that included catering to different-sized appetites.

Maybe his siblings would come by to eat, and he’d make soba just the way they liked it; he’d include two extra servings too, one for them to bring back to their mother, and the other to deliver to Touya in rehab. He would try to refuse their money, but he knew how his siblings were: Natsuo would hold Shouto back while Fuyumi forced the money into the cash register, and if he tried to give it back, she’d coerce their mother into calling him and coercing him into taking extra payment. And then, right before the end of the day, a customer would come through the door. Shouto wouldn’t even be annoyed to be cooking for someone when it was almost time to close, because he would know exactly who was gracing his doorstep: Izuku, finally finished with his patrol, coming to see Shouto before they went home together. He’d be hungry - with a quirk that burned as much energy as his did, it would be more shocking if Izuku wasn’t hungry - and Shouto would be more than happy to make a special soba for the love of his life.

The thought of cooking for Izuku alone was enough to nearly make Shouto burst into flames, but the rest of his daydreams made him feel warm and fuzzy too. He liked the idea of creating a space for people to enjoy themselves, he liked the idea of making something that made them happy, and that was something he rarely ever felt when he was thinking about his future as a hero. And that was concerning to Shouto. Being a hero was his dream, had been his dream for as long as he could remember, but he never felt that rush of excitement and fulfillment when he was training for heroics. In fact, the more he thought about it…Shouto wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be a hero, or if it was an expectation he had convinced himself that he wanted.

“You know, it’s alright to want to do something else,” Izuku said once Shouto voiced his worries out loud, when the two of them were in the privacy of Izuku’s bedroom, “Being a hero isn’t for everyone - not that you wouldn’t be a good hero! I think you’d be an amazing hero, definitely in the top 10 before you’re 25! But…Sho, you look so happy when you’re making soba. And you glow when you share it, especially when they like it. I’ve never seen you that happy during training, or on patrols, or anytime we’re doing hero work!”

Shouto knew that his boyfriend was trying to make him feel better, but all he felt was guilt. Was it really so obvious that he was losing his spark for heroics? What if he was rescuing a civilian, but they could tell he’d rather be anywhere else? It would be such a waste to throw away all of that specialized training for a soba restaurant…

“I can see you overthinking,” Izuku giggled, cupping Shouto’s face in his hands, kissing his nose to distract him from his spiraling thoughts, “You don’t have to completely stop being a hero. You could be a hero on some days, and run your restaurant the other days! One of my childhood favorite restaurants is only open 2 days a week, you could do something similar!”

“Would it even be worth it? What if no one comes?”

“I know they’ll come. I’ll come see you every day, and I’ll bring people with me - then I can brag about how good my boyfriend is at making soba! You don’t have to actually do it, but just think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Shouto whispered. He wrapped his arms around Izuku and pulled him down in a silent request for cuddles, one that Izuku was more than happy to grant him. He would think about it later, but right now, he was content to spend the afternoon with his boyfriend, dreaming about the soba he’d make for them later that evening.

And, one day in the future, when he thought his week couldn’t possibly get any worse, he’d get compared to Endeavor one too many times and snap. Shouto already had his eye on a tiny little storefront tucked away from the main road, but after what the reporter said, he realized that dreaming about his soba restaurant before he fell asleep wouldn’t cut it anymore. Once the papers were all signed, Endeavor’s credit card was liberally used for purchases (it was what Shouto deserved, he told Izuku while typing in the number from memory to order kitchenware), and the restaurant was furnished, Shouto finally opened the doors to his little soba shop.

The place quickly became a hit among his fellow heroes - turns out that Shouto’s wide-cut noodles were “hero sized”, according to Kirishima. Heroes loved the ambiance of the place and recommended it to all their closest friends, making it the top "if you know, you know" spot. Shouto’s Soba became exactly what he always dreamed it would be: a quiet place for people to de-stress and relax, with no worries out the outside world and a perfect serving of soba to top it all off.

But what topped it off for Shouto was the picture hanging on the wall of his first-ever customers: Izuku, his wonderful perfect boyfriend (almost fiancé), and the soba master that taught his everything he knew - who, at the man’s insistence, Shouto was happy to call his ojiisan. It took a while after opening for Shouto to finally realize that he truly loved running the restaurant, even longer for him to overcome the guilt he felt for it. He liked being a hero, but…maybe not all the time. Just when he was needed.

After all, there were plenty of heroes out there, but definitely not enough certified Soba Masters.

Just to be clear, I am not actually American. I do not stay up to date on American politics. It come up on the news and I'm like 'that's wild. Anyway-', partially because they don't go into depth and partially because I have better things to do than worry about things I can't affect. I get involved with local stuff but I've only got so much time and energy.

If Biden stood where I am everyone would stare and wonder how the hell that nut job got so far. Then go and vote for someone who will actually try to make the country better, or at least won't be actively making it worse.

I draw the line at actively screwing over the people you're responsible for, at pissing on migrants and refugees, and trying to start a war.

alright gang, let's do a fun little thought experiment.

which city would biden have to completely annihilate before you decide not to vote for him?

for the sake of this thought experiment, let's ignore actual real-world alliances between countries. it can be london, or paris, or athens, or barcelona, or rome, or berlin, or even an american city like new york or new orleans or los angeles or honolulu. this is all a hypothetical after all.

really consider it. if you're gonna bother to yap in my notes, at least try to engage with this question in good faith. imagine opening up the news, and you see that a bomb was dropped on this city, and then the bombs never stop. imagine you had a friend there. imagine you'd had a trip planned to meet them and see the sights. imagine every museum, every historical monument, every theatre, every university destroyed. imagine that one day, you lived in a world where this city existed, and the next, it has completely ceased to be. it's effectively been pompeii-ed out of our world entirely. there is no longer a big ben, or a parthenon, or a colosseum, or what have you. there is no longer that foreign musician you loved from this city. there are no longer sweet old grannies to share old family recipes from this part of the world. there is no longer the online friend you wanted to visit. there is no longer your vacation plans.

don't hit me with, "but it's netanyahu doing this," because israel would literally run out of ammunition in weeks without the US. don't hit me with, "but trump!" because that quite literally is not the fucking question.

which city has to completely cease to exist before you even consider that this system isn't ever going to work?

if you are still planning to vote for biden, then either a) biden could drop a nuke on any city on earth and it wouldn't be a dealbreaker for you, or b) in your mind, people and places are divided into ones that are acceptable to destroy and ones that are not. or at least, there are ones that are more acceptable to destroy than others.

come up with your answer and either realize you sound like a fascist and work to change it, or embrace that you are a fascist and stop lying to us about caring about people of color.

Thinking about non binary robots

Teeth are bullshit. What do you mean you’re decaying. Get a fucking grip. You’re a bone now act like it. You don’t see my finger bones decaying from jerking it too much now do you

If youre on your pc and chrome go to chrome://settings/searchEngines and scroll down to site search. If you see gemini click those three dots and hit disable.

You can also set duckduckgo as your default search engine whilst you're there (or whatever else you want)

Fiber arts is just Math in sheep's clothing

Character idea that I had at some point: A dance teacher who had to give up his own highly promising career as a performer after an injury, and now makes his living giving lessons to children. He comes off as stern, serious, and frighteningly strict, and even some of the parents have a hard time believing that the kids genuinely like him and enjoy the lessons. Which, to be fair, are frightening to watch with no context of what this is about.

The children go through their practices with downright eerie, automation-like, coordinated synchrony, with stern and focused looks on their faces, while the teacher circles them, observing and correcting, brandishing his cane like a weapon and every once in a while dramatically lamenting about how "you little vermin can't do anything right", and occasionally the music stops and the only sounds coming from the studio are of kids running and screaming while their teacher bellows about teaching them a lesson.

This, however, is all just method. He started the first lesson with the children by proposing a game: How about they play flea circus, where he is the cruel evil ringmaster and they are all his poor suffering little fleas. One of the girls starts crying, protesting that she doesn't want to be a flea. Well, how about mice? Mice are cute. The children accept these terms, and ever since they've spent dance lessons playing Evil Circus.

For reasons beyond adult comprehension, children of a certain age really love playing pretend in a setting where everything is Dark And Horrible And The Worst, and Evil Mouse Circus is exactly that. And whenever he picks up that the kids are starting to get too genuinely nervous or agitated, that's when he goes "that's it I'm going to beat all of you" which is their cue to take a break to run around screaming, while he chases them. He won't catch them and isn't even trying to, the kids just need to let the nervous energy out.

It looks horrible to an outside observer, but the kids are having an excellent time playing circus mice.

The woobification of Rhaegar Targaryen from the fandom really does need to be studied - that grown ass fictional man and crown prince apparently can’t be blamed for anything. He is at fault for nothing. His canonical actions that contributed to the loss of thousands of lives can’t be acknowledged.

It’s especially wild when characters younger than Rhaegar are held to impossible standards- Jaime Lannister is constantly to blame despite being years younger than Rhaegar and a glorified hostage.

Sansa Stark is constantly being hated on by the same people who defend Rhaegar uwu Targaryen’s actions despite being far younger than Rhaegar. She is afforded no grace or understanding. I do have to wonder why is it her gender or the lack of silver hair?

Elia of Dorne & Lyanna Stark are constantly dragged through the dirt because don’t you know neither character has real fans it’s all just a conspiracy to hate poor little baby Rhaegar 🥺