#fun fact. bottom left you can see from how the font changes that apparently the official eng volume release inverted ''gt still lives''

[theophagie-remade]

The SADDEST failwoman of all time

[sandpapersnowman]

@mobius-loop​ (!!! how are u!!!) i honestly feel like i wouldn’t be able to do the league of villains justice but aizawa and all might on a teacher appreciation day sounded good as h e l l. this ended up unreal long so it has to be mostly under a readmore

it starts with aizawa’s teacher appreciation day gift, but all might’s is the second half of the fic!

ao3 link

They’d started having teacher appreciation days a few years back; it’s good for morale as finals creep closer, and it serves as a fun distraction and a chance for students to get to know their teachers a little better. After all, they’ll be working alongside them as heroes in a few years’ time.

They have some reviews scheduled for teacher appreciation day, but Iida and Yaoyorozu had come forward the week before and asked if they could put aside a few minutes toward the end of their class to give him a gift. He’d been surprised; he figured with everything that’s been going on and all the turmoil of beginning high school, and in such an intensive hero course, they weren’t planning on doing anything.

He’d agreed, of course, which brings them all to now, huddled around his desk with just under ten minutes left in class.

“We all voted on what it,” Iida explains. “We wanted to combine praise for your abilities as a teacher and a hero, as well as sprinkle in a little humor so it wouldn’t come off too formally.”

“Kiss-ass,” Kirishima fake-coughs, but the rest of the class laughs with him, Iida included.

“You’ve taught us a lot,” Midoriya continues. “As a teacher and as a pro hero we all look up to.”

Something tightens in his chest at that; look up to, huh?

Iida removes the class gift from behind his back and holds it out to their teacher.

It’s wrapped in a plain yellow paper, the true shape of whatever it is obscured by the packaging, but the weight in his hand is familiar, and he has to hold back a small smile.

Aizawa’s amassed a collection of mugs over the years from his students. They’re a good staple, and he’d be lying if he didn’t enjoy being able to put off doing his dishes another day for every cat-themed novelty mug he has, plus every one he has proclaiming he’s the #1 Teacher or with a joke about needing coffee in the morning.

“Thank you,” he says, thumbing at the tape keeping the whole thing sealed. “May I open it?”

The whole class makes a chorus of affirmative noises, all apparently excited for him to receive it. It sounds like they had it custom made, so it’ll probably be something more personal than previous years, but he’s not sure if any of them actually know enough about him to make it something personal.

There’s a small card taped to the top, so he opens that first.

Sensei,

We all want to thank you for your dedication to our class and to us individually as students and as future heroes. We look forward to continuing to learn from the best for the rest of the year.

Happy Teacher Appreciation Day!

He wonders which of them wrote it, considering how extraordinarily formal it sounds and how neat the writing is.

“Iida composed it and I wrote it out,” Yaoyorozu points out.

“We decided she has the best handwriting out of all of us,” Jirou nods, and Aizawa mentally agrees. None of them write terribly sloppily, but Yaoyorozu has such a neat, composed script that it’s always something of a relief when he realizes her homework is next to grade.

He puts the card gently on his desk, propped up so the multicolored ‘From Class 1-A’ on the cover points out toward the room.

He continues to unwrap the gift carefully, flashing back to one year where it had been taped and folded in odd places and he’d dropped it, but successfully wrangles this one out of the mass of tissue paper and ribbons.

“We tried to wrap it pretty nicely but still cute,” Uraraka points out, apparently the one behind the awkward (but cute) bow scrunching all the paper around the middle.

“I see,” he humors her, carefully untying the bow so it doesn’t rip or crinkle.

The top of the mug reveals itself first, and it surprises a laugh out of him. There’s three gel packs stuffed inside, each in a different flavor, and there’s scattered laughter as he pulls them out and examines them.

As often as he replaces his meals with these, he thinks he’ll probably save these for a special occasion. Keep them in his office until the written portion of finals need to be graded, and live on them as motivation reminding him his students are worth it to sit through the same test 20 times.

“Thank you,” he says, out to all of them, and sets the packs on his desk.

Kirishima and Tokoyami both chirp out ‘you’re welcome!’ from somewhere behind the front wall of students.

“It was their idea,” Tsu informs him with a smile. “I don’t think the rest of us wanted to encourage you, though.”

He snorts at that, wondering if Hizashi had told them to give him shit about the protein packs if they saw him with one, but does still appreciate the thought.

They all look excited as he moves on to the mug itself, pulling paper away to reveal something printed on it. As the majority of the paper peels back, he realizes it’s their most recent staff picture; every instructor and professional working at UA, most either smiling or goofing around with their coworkers, wrapped around the front of the mug.

“It says something, too,” Todoroki pipes up. “On the bottom.”

Aizawa scans the blank edge under the picture, but doesn’t see anything.

“On the bottom bottom,” Kaminari clarifies. “Under it.”

Aizawa gives them all a questioning glance, but slowly turns the mug so he can check the underside.

And sure enough.

On the bottom of the mug, only visible at an angle tipped up to drink from, is a simple sentence in bold font.

I’d rather be having a cat nap.

It’s…

His eyes feel warm.

It’s perfect.

“I love it,” he blurts out, in genuine awe and fondness. “It’s true,” he jokes, shooting them all a tired look.

There are a couple very real cheers from some of the students.

“I told you!” Midoriya beams at Todoroki, who just smiles as though he also knew it’d be a great gift and just made Midoriya second-guess himself to… Fuck with him, or something? He knows the two of them are something like friends now, just like everyone that comes within a mile of Midoriya is eventually.

“Thank you all,” he says, still smiling softly at how thoughtful they’ve been. “Don’t tell the other classes, but this is absolutely the best mug I’ve gotten.”

To his surprise, there’s a very satisfied ‘HELL YEAH’ from the back of the cluster. He’s 99% sure it was Bakugou.

All Might doesn’t know what to expect for his first teacher appreciation day. As the #1 pro hero, he already receives appreciation on a daily basis.

“None of us could figure out what we could get you,” Midoriya admits. “So we just decided to all make you cards.”

All Might beams.

“Oh, I hope you didn’t go to too much trouble. Having you all as my students is already a gift every day.”

Someone in the class calls out “That’s cheesy!”, earning a couple laughs in agreement.

Midoriya seems to be their leader in this situation, apparently still the only one out of them all that’s comfortable approaching All Might, and the rest of them follow when he stands from his desk.

They form a practiced line, which is just as endearing as it is efficient.

Midoriya hands his card over first, of course. The front says Happy Teacher Appreciation Day, and rather than writing out a note within it, he’s drawn a picture of them both. They have lightning around them, their shared quirk imagined at full power, and they both look ready to save the day.

“I love it,” he gasps. “Thank you, Midoriya! I do hope that one day we’ll see this picture become a reality, and we’ll be able to fight side by side as pillars of hope.”

(It rings false in his head, considering his powers are waning, but he’s not ready to let Midoriya know that yet.)

All Might scoops Midoriya up in a hug and the boy yelps, then laughs as he hugs back. As expected, he has tears in his eyes when All Might puts him down, and All Might ruffles his hair before addressing the next student.

It goes on like that for each of them; they’ve all prepared a card, and while most do have a note in it thanking him for his dedication or gushing about how honored they are to be training under him, a few have also followed in Midoriya’s footsteps and made doodles as well.

Iida draws them both running together. Jirou draws them in a little band, with All Might wearing black and yelling into what he assumes is a microphone. Shouji just draws six little thumbs-up hands. Tsu’s features her crouched on his bicep as he poses, both in matching frog-themed outfits, and while All Might is gushing about how cute it is, he realizes he’s going to need to buy frames to keep these all in.

Almost every student goes for a hug, as well, when All Might opens his arm after thanking them for their card. Todoroki even considers it, but holds out a fist for All Might to bump instead.

He does, of course. He knows Todoroki isn’t supposed to like him because of his father’s grudge, but that doesn’t change the fact that Todoroki is a bright and talented kid, and All Might is here to help them all grow regardless.

Eventually, every student has handed over a card but one.

Finally, hesitantly, Bakugou approaches.

Most of the class have dispersed back to their seats, chatting amongst themselves and giving Bakugou space. There’s a mutual understanding that All Might is someone they all look up to, and it might be weird to have people hovering around while you try to tell your hero how much they’ve inspired you.

Bakugou looks just as annoyed as ever, but he holds out a card, too.

“I’ve looked up to you since I was four,” he rushes out. “I always wanted to be just like you so I could save the world and help people. I still want to be like you, but now I want to be even better.”

It sounds so rehearsed, like he practiced it in the mirror over and over. He almost sounds cruel, talking about wanting to surpass him instead of being like him, but All Might smiles wider. He knows exactly what Bakugou intends to say.

“I’m proud to have inspired such a strong young man not just to be like his heroes, but to improve where they did not,” he says softly, as though it’s a secret just between them. He takes Bakugou’s card in the same conspiratorial, I won’t tell if you won’t way. “You are determined and will only become stronger and faster as your training here continues, and I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be leading a new generation of heroes toward greatness.”

The slightly horrified look on Bakugou’s face reveals he hadn’t expected All Might to say something heartfelt in return, if anything at all, and he wipes at his eyes quickly to keep a tear from falling.

All Might opens his arms to offer a hug just as he had with the other students. Bakugou hesitates again, and All Might wonders if he should let him know he obviously doesn’t need to feel obligated to hug anyone (and throw in something role model-y about consent and never succumbing to peer pressure), but then Bakugou lurches forward and wraps his arms around his waist as much as he can.

He squeezes so tightly All Might thinks this might actually be an assassination attempt, but then he’s pulling away, this time not wiping his eyes in time to stop a tear slipping down his cheek.

“Thank you,” Bakugou mumbles. “I promise I’ll kick your ass one day.”

All Might chuckles.

This dedication and talent will become the bar set for the next twenty years of heroes, and his heart swells knowing that he’s helping them reach for their full potential and further.

“I look forward to it.”

[dawnajaynes32]

Impassioned Ambiguities

Impassioned Ambiguities  

By Tom Wachunas

   “Doubt requires more courage than conviction does, and more energy; because conviction is a resting place and doubt is infinite – it is a passionate exercise. You may come out of my play uncertain. You may want to be sure. Look down on that feeling. We’ve got to learn to live with a full measure of uncertainty. There is no last word. That’s the silence under the chatter of our time. ”

― John Patrick Shanley, author of Doubt

   John Patrick Shanley’s 2005 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Doubt, is a 90-minute drama with no intermission. On one level, this riveting work could be called an unresolved cerebral and emotional thriller.

    The story unfolds in 1964 at a Catholic school in the Bronx. The school principal, Sister Aloysius, accuses Father Flynn of sexual misconduct with 12 year-old Donald Muller, the school’s sole black student. Seemingly convinced that her allegations are provable, Sister Aloysius embarks on a campaign to expose and oust Father Flynn. In the process she attempts to rally support from the boy’s teacher, Sister James, and the boy’s mother, Mrs. Muller, who has her own very compelling reasons for resisting Sister Aloysius’ efforts.   

   In a recent Canton Repository article (January 4) about the current Players Guild production of the play, director Craig Joseph said, “The idea is to create a production that itself creates doubt. It fails if people walk out thinking, ‘He’s guilty’ or ‘He’s not guilty.’ It’s fun figuring out ways to shift and change the audience’s sympathies.” 

    Joseph has indeed figured out how to shift our sympathies in powerful fashion, thanks to the altogether gripping articulations from his cast of four. These articulations spring from the sharpness and depth of Shanley’s writing and its many forays into wily ambiguity. What’s written, however, could never come fully to light and life but for the prowess required to speak a language without words. Here in the intimate surrounds of the Guild’s arena space we’re able to clearly see that the cast has mastered the potency of nuanced physical expression – furrowed brows, eyes frightened or narrowed, snarling lips, heaving or stiffened shoulders, arched backs. In this tense he-said–she-said game of cat and mouse, queries and allegations are wielded like swords, parried with responses at once eloquent and terse, and all to the point, as it were, of stunning uncertainty. Even the silences that punctuate the fast-moving dialogue are voluminous with myriad unspoken questions. 

    Meg Hopp is a relentlessly commanding presence as Sister Aloysius. She perfectly embodies her character’s wry and rigid world-view, steeped as it is  in the self-righteousness and pernicious judgementalism that fuels her strident refusal to grant the possibility of Father Flynn’s innocence. She renders a complex portrait, colored with debilitating pessimism and real exasperation with what she considers to be the inept pastoral leadership in her community. She sees Sister James as too impressionable, lacking in wisdom and real-world experience - a potential ally who needs to be molded. In that role, Lana Sugarman is wholly endearing in her obsequious way, exuding a sweet vulnerability and bubbly optimism. At first not believing the report of Father Flynn’s sinful actions, as the play progresses she struggles mightily to grasp the darker implications of the circumstances emerging around her.

   Ryan C. Nehlen’s magnetic portrayal of Father Flynn makes it easy to understand Sister James' initial incredulity. He’s gentle and confident, erudite, and indisputably charismatic. And yet from the play’s outset, when he delivers an intriguing sermon that extols the spiritual value of being “stricken by private calamity,” Nehlen’s delivery - alternately poker-faced and impassioned -  has the uncanny effect of presaging trouble ahead and his more acerbic exchanges with Sister Aloysius.

   A startling surprise ensues when Sister Aloysius has a short conference with Mrs. Muller, played by Joy A. Ellis. For all of that scene’s brevity, Ellis packs it with an authentic and heartrending emotional intensity – a shift that significantly enlarges the philosophical dimensions of the story.

   There’s good reason to call this play “a parable.”  On the surface, its words might suggest an 

indictment of corrupted Catholic patriarchy and priestly pedophilia. In the end, though, I think the apparent religious context is somewhat cosmetic in nature, and arguably better regarded as symbolic of a larger societal malaise. 

   Is it still reasonable to want our words to describe or report reality in absolute, unarguable terms?  In this troubled age of moral and philosophical relativism, words can be especially convenient weapons, too easily abused, leading to tragic judgements. If nothing else, Doubt presents us with the capacity of words to veil as much as they reveal, to incite and justify uncertainties rather than declare unassailable truths. Playwright Shanley’s sobering, arresting words are woven together into a gray tapestry of innuendo, of assumptions acted upon as fact, of accusations without proof. Think of his play as a compelling allegory of the doubtful practices rampant on so many of our current social media platforms, the “…chatter of our time.” 

     Doubt – A Parable, by John Patrick Shanley / Directed by Craig Joseph, at Players Guild William G. Frye Theatre,  Cultural Center for the Arts, 1101 Market Ave. N., Canton / THROUGH JANUARY 28, 2018 / shows at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, and 2 p.m. Sunday.

TICKETS: $20 adults, $17 seniors, $13 ages 17 and younger. Order at 330-453-7617 and  www.playersguildtheatre.com 

Impassioned Ambiguities syndicated post

[dawnajaynes32]

Impassioned Ambiguities

Impassioned Ambiguities  

By Tom Wachunas

   “Doubt requires more courage than conviction does, and more energy; because conviction is a resting place and doubt is infinite – it is a passionate exercise. You may come out of my play uncertain. You may want to be sure. Look down on that feeling. We’ve got to learn to live with a full measure of uncertainty. There is no last word. That’s the silence under the chatter of our time. ”

― John Patrick Shanley, author of Doubt

   John Patrick Shanley’s 2005 Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Doubt, is a 90-minute drama with no intermission. On one level, this riveting work could be called an unresolved cerebral and emotional thriller.

    The story unfolds in 1964 at a Catholic school in the Bronx. The school principal, Sister Aloysius, accuses Father Flynn of sexual misconduct with 12 year-old Donald Muller, the school’s sole black student. Seemingly convinced that her allegations are provable, Sister Aloysius embarks on a campaign to expose and oust Father Flynn. In the process she attempts to rally support from the boy’s teacher, Sister James, and the boy’s mother, Mrs. Muller, who has her own very compelling reasons for resisting Sister Aloysius’ efforts.

      In a recent Canton Repository article (January 4) about the current Players Guild production of the play, director Craig Joseph said, “The idea is to create a production that itself creates doubt. It fails if people walk out thinking, ‘He’s guilty’ or ‘He’s not guilty.’ It’s fun figuring out ways to shift and change the audience’s sympathies.” 

    Joseph has indeed figured out how to shift our sympathies in powerful fashion, thanks to the altogether gripping articulations from his cast of four. These articulations spring from the sharpness and depth of Shanley’s writing and its many forays into wily ambiguity. What’s written, however, could never come fully to light and life but for the prowess required to speak a language without words. Here in the intimate surrounds of the Guild’s arena space we’re able to clearly see that the cast has mastered the potency of nuanced physical expression – furrowed brows, eyes frightened or narrowed, snarling lips, heaving or stiffened shoulders, arched backs. In this tense he-said–she-said game of cat and mouse, queries and allegations are wielded like swords, parried with responses at once eloquent and terse, and all to the point, as it were, of stunning uncertainty. Even the silences that punctuate the fast-moving dialogue are voluminous with myriad unspoken questions. 

    Meg Hopp is a relentlessly commanding presence as Sister Aloysius. She perfectly embodies her character’s wry and rigid world-view, steeped as it is  in the self-righteousness and pernicious judgementalism that fuels her strident refusal to grant the possibility of Father Flynn’s innocence. She renders a complex portrait, colored with debilitating pessimism and real exasperation with what she considers to be the inept pastoral leadership in her community. She sees Sister James as too impressionable, lacking in wisdom and real-world experience - a potential ally who needs to be molded. In that role, Lana Sugarman is wholly endearing in her obsequious way, exuding a sweet vulnerability and bubbly optimism. At first not believing the report of Father Flynn’s sinful actions, as the play progresses she struggles mightily to grasp the darker implications of the circumstances emerging around her.

   Ryan C. Nehlen’s magnetic portrayal of Father Flynn makes it easy to understand Sister Jame’s initial incredulity. He’s gentle and confident, erudite, and indisputably charismatic. And yet from the play’s outset, when he delivers an intriguing sermon that extols the spiritual value of being “stricken by private calamity,” Nehlen’s delivery - alternately poker-faced and impassioned -  has the uncanny effect of presaging trouble ahead and his more acerbic exchanges with Sister Aloysius.

   A startling surprise ensues when Sister Aloysius has a short conference with Mrs. Muller, played by Joy A. Ellis. For all of that scene’s brevity, Ellis packs it with an authentic and heartrending emotional intensity – a shift that significantly enlarges the philosophical dimensions of the story.

   There’s good reason to call this play “a parable.”  On the surface, its words might suggest an indictment of corrupted Catholic patriarchy and priestly pedophilia. In the end, though, I think the apparent religious context is somewhat cosmetic in nature, and arguably better regarded as symbolic of a larger societal malaise. 

   Is it still reasonable to want our words to describe or report reality in absolute, unarguable terms?  In this troubled age of moral and philosophical relativism, words can be especially convenient weapons, too easily abused, leading to tragic judgements. If nothing else, Doubt presents us with the capacity of words to veil as much as they reveal, to incite and justify uncertainties rather than declare unassailable truths. Playwright Shanley’s sobering, arresting words are woven together into a gray tapestry of innuendo, of assumptions acted upon as fact, of accusations without proof. Think of his play as a compelling allegory of the doubtful practices rampant on so many of our current social media platforms, the “…chatter of our time.”  

     Doubt – A Parable, by John Patrick Shanley / Directed by Craig Joseph, at Players Guild William G. Frye Theatre,  Cultural Center for the Arts, 1101 Market Ave. N., Canton / THROUGH JANUARY 28, 2018 / shows at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday, and 2 p.m. Sunday.

TICKETS: $20 adults, $17 seniors, $13 ages 17 and younger. Order at 330-453-7617 and  www.playersguildtheatre.com  

   Photos by Scott Heckel, Canton Repository: Meg Hopp as Sister Aloysius, Ryan C. Nehlen as Father Flynn

Impassioned Ambiguities syndicated post