I’ve been thinking about this issue ever since reading a post that talked about schema, how the brain creates templates for things, and how this applies to racism. Here’s the example the OP used (paraphrasing from memory): Every time you see a black man on tv, they’re wearing baggy trousers and an oversize white t-shirt. They mouth off to a cop, reach under the t-shirt, pull out a gun, blam! blam! So when you’re dealing with a real-life black man wearing baggy trousers and an oversize white t-shirt, when he reaches under that shirt, do you wait to see what will be in his hand? Do you even really see what is there–his wallet, a bag of Skittles, spare change? Or do you see a gun because that’s the shortcut your brain has been taught by thousands of hours of media?
Then there’s Alec Hardison. John Rogers says in one of the episode commentaries that the original conceptions for Hardison and Eliot were that their hacker should be a large man, not the standard skinny wimp (e.g., Cha0s), and their hitter should be smaller and precise, not physically intimidating at first glance. They could have cast a black Eliot and a white Hardison. Once they had their actors, the actors shaped their roles.
So you have Hardison, the black guy. Who is the least violent of anybody on the team. The only one who can’t handle a gun. The least effective in a hand-to-hand fight. The one whom both Eliot and Nate call “the smartest man I know”. Who has a romantic relationship with a pretty blonde white girl that is completely non-fetishized. Who forms a close friendship with an ex-military country boy. There are a few flashbacks where you see teenaged Hardison in the oversized t-shirt and hiphop bling–and braces on his teeth. He’s not knocking over a grocery store with a gun; he’s knocking over the Bank of Iceland by hacking.
Hardison is a triumph for representation. He subverts just about every expectation for a black male of his age on television. And he does it with style and humor and comedy, which sneaks into your brain and makes you feel good. Aldis Hodge and John Rogers deserve a lot of credit for Alec Hardison, and I look forward to Hodge having a long and brilliant career because I think he deserves it.
every day the same telemarketing company calls us. I’ve asked to be taken off their calling list, I’ve tried to be civil, I’ve even tried to not answer the phone, yet they’ll keep calling. So now I’ve resorted to making the phones calls as annoying as possible for them.
Today I asked the person to hold while I got a pen and paper. As of now, they’ve been waiting 45 minutes.
Update:
I just asked him if he was still there, then when he said yes i told him i had found a pen but no paper, but that i’m still looking. It’s been an hour.
I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN ON TUMBLR AND YOUTUBE WHILE THIS GUY WAITS. IT’S BEEN ALMOST AN HOUR AND A HALF
Update:
After an hour and 35 minutes I told him that i had found paper, but my pen was dead. He hung up. Ah well, i’ll just do it again tomorrow!
You are the future
As a former telemarketer, I can tell you that the only reason that guy hung on the line for so long was because he didn’t really want to make any more calls anyway and was probably reading a book or chatting with friends while you pretended to find paper and pen. He was enjoying your mischief as much, if not more, than you were. You literally gave this guy an acceptable reason to take an hour and a half break. You are his hero. He likely only finally hung up because it was officially his break time anyway. He probably told all his co-workers about your call and they’ll be laughing about it for weeks.
Holy shit, is this a happy ending to a post where everybody actually wins?
ACTUALLY YES because according to parental unit number one, telemarketers get paid by how long they’re on the phone with someone. so you were literally helping this friend get paid by doing absolutely shit
-Got a free salted caramel frappacino from the suspectedly gay barista, Parker
-Sold a bra to the mom of a sixteen year old girl who was cringing the entire time
-Had a very engaging conversation with a three year old boy about colors. We both like blue.
-Served an old woman who I thought had an impressive mustache, but it was just nose hair
-Watched her and two other women with her get trapped between two sets of automatic doors because they did not understand how to open them. How they got through the first set, I still do not know.
-Sold fifteen gallons of kitty litter to a soccer mom who refused to break eye contact
-Got a second free starbucks drink. This one was a pumpkin pie one that wasn’t even on the menu. I like this barista man.
-Gave dozens of children stickers. Several of them squealed when they got them. This is the best part of my job.
-Sold an old man $200 of furniture and got him to sign up for a Target credit card. Before he finished the last step, he turned and walked away with his cart without a word.
-He still hadn’t paid. I called him back and he apologized, saying “sorry, sometimes my diabetes makes me do that.” He didn’t finish getting the card.
-A woman came up with $220 of items. After a wad of coupons and a stack of free gift cards from other promotions, her total went down to $55. I want her to teach me.
-Saw a girl skipping down the aisle in what can only be described as a pink princess fairy wedding dress. She was filled with happiness and if I hadn’t been on the clock I would have taken her. At the very least, I want that outfit for my own.
-Got approached by a large man named Jason. He told me not to steal. I will take this advice to heart.
-Met a woman referred to only as The Cat Lady. She asked if I wanted her to buy me a keychain from Ross. I told her I had no keys. She nodded solemnly and walked away, whispering their exact location inside Ross, just in case.
-Got called into the HR Head’s office at the end of my shift. I was expecting to be yelled at for some reason. She and another lead showered me in compliments for ten minutes straight, saying a lot of managers had been saying great things about me all day. Not what I expected, but I’ll take it.
Day Two:
-Intimidating farmer man in overalls and pigtails came through my checkout. He bought a bucket. He spoke no words. He made no eye contact. He left me with questions.
-Three college boys came through, each buying spandex and makeup wipes. They spoke no words. They made too much eye contact. They left me with more questions. I question when this job will provide answers.
-A three year old came through, pushed by his personal chauffeur. He bought one small Spider-Man onesie. He carried out the entire transaction on his own. He was the most polite customer I have had so far.
-Three people walked away without their change. Only two returned.
-A man bought thirty light bulbs with a coupon. He told me he did not need thirty light bulbs. He just likes coupons.
-He then walked to customer service, claiming to have returned several things he did not mean to. He then walked a lap around the store and left. He did not leave the store with his light bulbs. They were nowhere to be found.
-A customer came through looking nervous. She leaned over the counter. She whispered to me. Someone had pooped in the baby supplies aisle. All evidence pointed to it not being a baby.
Day Three:
-Two children came through the line. They were chanting to their mom through heavy streams of tears. “WE WANT STICKERS MOMMY.” There were no stickers at any of the registers. They continued crying. I failed my people.
-An old woman bought five bottles of wine and a large bottle of vodka. Her license told me she had lived through World War II. Her smile told me she was still living.
-I sorted through the candy in the checkout lanes. I was meant to set aside candy that had expired in the last month. A box of Kit Kats was found that had expired in February of 2015. One was missing. I hope the poor sap is okay.
-Clearance school supplies have arrived. A man bought 71 spiral notebooks for $6. A woman bought 110 folders for $4. I hope they meet each other. I would like to see the child of two math problem characters.
-A bearded man named Rusty came through. I sold him a bottle of Crystal Light powder and a gallon of water. The powder was empty. The water jug had an inch of pink water left in it. How long has he been inside the store already. His beard intimidated me too much to ask.
-An elderly man in a fedora pushed two full carts into my lane. They were both filled to the brim. He bought 52 12-packs of Mountain Dew. 12 were diet. He repeatedly told me he was 80 years old. As I handed him his receipt, he leaned in and whispered, “I’m going to get DRUNK.” He pointed at his carts, smiled at me, and scurried away with his definitively alcoholic purchase. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he cares.
Day Four:
-The store is having a 10% off your entire purchase sale. I have a coupon to scan if anyone asks for it. I scan it if people don’t ask for it if they’re nice to me. I don’t scan it if they’re rude. Power is a new sensation. Power is a good sensation.
-
Because of the sale, we have been flooded with guests itching for a bargain. When I need to go on my break, the manager has to stand in front of the line and tell people to go somewhere else. As the line died down, I prepared to leave. A new wave of people approached. She whispered to me “run as soon as you can.” I did not see her after my break.
-An old man comes through the line and loudly announces that “this is a cash thing. No cards!” His clarity is appreciated, but also questioned.
-A young man follows him. He jokes, “this is a card thing. No cash!” His smile shows he was a kind man. His joke shows he was a dad.
-A confused teenager follows after. He whispers, “……….cash”. He thinks he has to announce his payment type. I do not correct him.
-Children continue to handle their own transactions. This makes my day good. One girl had her own wallet and told me “thank you for your help, sir”. This makes my day great.
-
Five hours into my shift, I discover small figurines of Bambi and Pluto behind my register screen. Knowing that I am experiencing the happiest place on earth for a bargain price is nice.
-A customer purchased hard salami. The store sells a product called hard salami. How anyone can work or shop here with a straight face remains beyond me.
-A small girl waits in the cart as her mother pays for her transaction. She decides she had enough. She shouts, “Let me out of here!” She attempts to leave the cart. She realizes the walls are too tall. She sits down and accepts her fate with a shocking level of grace.
-A grown man sees a coloring book on a shelf. He calls after his wife, who has already walked away. “There’s a coloring book here. This is just pitiful.” No one has any response for this.
-I met a man who looked like Harry Potter if, instead of getting out of the cupboard at age eleven, he stayed in there for fifteen more years with nothing but Red Bull and My Chemical Romance albums.
-A woman gets 69 cents back in change. I know that I will likely get reprimanded if I make a 69 joke to a customer. I do not speak to the customer any further. I am trying to decide if it is worth losing my job or not.
-A little girl in basketball shorts kicks the candy rack multiple times. I expect her to turn around and show that she is throwing a fit. Instead, she seems calm and please. She is having the time of her life. I look forward to seeing where life takes her.
-A child in my lane gets a toy. A child in the next lane yells at him for having a toy when he does not. Toy-having child prepares to throw the toy at toy-lacking child. Parents pick up their respective children. Thus ends the Baby Feud of 2016.
Day Five:
-I open my register. An octogenarian woman approaches. She purchases bras and lingerie. I cry on the inside. It is too early for these images.
-A small girl helped me put her parents bags into their cart. Every time I hand her a bag, she digs through it, announcing which things are hers and which are her parents, and putting her parents’ items in the cart without the bag. They did not earn the bag and she treats them accordingly.
-A group of old people came on a field trip to Target and spent ten minutes discussing the new Jungle Book movie before buying a copy. Their reviews were overwhelmingly positive and gleeful.
-The DVD ran $18.94. The group banded together, pulling out every coin they could find to ensure they gave me exact change. They must have had ten dollars in coins between them. The strength of their teamwork inspired me. The depth of their pockets confounded me.
-A fly flew directly into my nostril before bouncing around and making a swift exit. I was more impressed by its aim than bothered by its decisions.
-A woman seemingly stepped out of the 19th century prairie to purchase a frappucino. I think her dress was handmade. Her head scarf still had a price tag.
-An old couple came through my lane to purchase gardening tools. Anytime one of them turned their back to the other, they would be tickled without warning or mercy. I believe I have just had a glimpse into my future.
-A very angry old man pulled two full carts through. He purchased a Twix bar, a bottle of Diet Pepsi, 36 pairs of underwear, and 262 adult diapers. I believe I have just had another glimpse into my future.
by George Dvorsky on Gizmodo, shared by Adam Clark Estes to io9
The finalists are in for the Natural History Museum’s 2016 Wildlife Photographer of Year competition. From inquisitive fox cubs and invisible fish through to termite tossing birds and courting cuttlefish, this year’s crop is guaranteed to astound.
Tumblr makes some good points and some terrible points, but one thing’s for sure: they’re all points… reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog it reblog … Continued
Whenever I take my son to his favourite park, the one closest to our house, he often ends up playing with bilingual kids, whose supervising parents just as often have English as a second language. This means their kids - who are, like my son, younger than school age - automatically switch back and forth between English and a different language during play, just as their parents switch back and forth while talking to them. I’ve attempted to learn a number of languages over the years, and while I’m not proficient in any of them - I was a lazy student who struggled with grammar, though my pronunciation and vocabulary were always decent - the one thing I have remembered is how to say a smattering of basic words, including yes and no.
Right now, my son is three and a half. He’s big for his age and enthusiastic when playing, and the thing we’re trying hardest to teach him is respect for the word ‘no’. (That thing about teaching consent to kids at a young age? Absolutely matters. The parallels between childhood and adult behaviour become clear *really quickly* when you’re constantly saying stuff like “just because he said yes to sharing before doesn’t mean he wants to share now”, “she’s allowed to say no to playing with you”, “stop if the other person isn’t having fun”. BUT I DIGRESS.) And what I’ve noticed is that, when he’s playing with bilingual kids, they’ll often say ‘no’ - a very popular word among toddlers, for a variety of reasons - in a language other than English.
So what I’m trying to do, with my very limited knowledge of other languages, is to listen for when that happens and translate it for my kid, so that he understands it, too. “If he says la, that means no, and you have to stop. If she says iie, that means no, and you have to stop. If he says bu, that means no, and you have to stop.”
This last came up at the park today, with a mother who was alternating between Mandarin and English with her three-year-old. I only ever took about three very basic Mandarin lessons more than five years ago, and I wasn’t sure I’d remembered the word correctly, so I asked her if I had it right, and explained why I wanted to know. She confirmed that I did, and we continued a pleasant conversation about our respective offspring, who were happily smearing each other with bark chips and dirt.
The point being, it’s not something I’d have thought of independently before the first time it came up in practice, and if the kid in question had been speaking a language I didn’t know, I might not have noticed. But it strikes me as a potentially useful etiquette, in the context of bilingual toddlers, to consider politely asking their parents or guardians what others words they might use for yes and no, to make sure they’re being understood by both children and adults alike.
911 Operator: 911, what is your emergency? Me: There’s a guy in a car here with a lady who’s really sick in the backseat, she drank something bad, he’s trying to find a hospital so I told him I’d call 911. 911 Operator: We’re sending an ambulance to your location. Me: Also everyone around me is acting really weird, I think there might be a gas leak of some kind. 911 Operator: A gas leak? Me: I’m outside but nobody seems to know why they’re doing what they’re doing and it’s all really irrational, something’s messed up. 911 Operator: Ah, I see. Just checking here, sir, I see you’re calling from a dream phone. You’re having a dream. Me: What. 911 Operator: I recommend you wake up, it will solve all these problems for everyone. Me: But I – Me: *wakes up in bed* Me: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT.
Thank you, Dream 911 Operator, for determining the issue so efficiently.
I sure am glad I had my Dream Phone with me.
The dreamers who listened- who woke up and woke up quickly- were really the easiest to deal with. Other than some weird memories or lingering fear those dreamers woke with no damage and usually whole. A good operator could often force this quick wake up to happen even when the dreamer didn’t want it or didn’t understand. They had a special force of will that they could put into their voice. (It was one of the things looked for interviews..)
But sometimes things went wrong and the dreamer wouldn’t wake. Perhaps the operator wasn’t up to snuff or was having an off day. Perhaps the dreamer was simply stronger. Perhaps the dream was simply stronger. When this happened they had to send someone in ti break the dream from the inside before it could grow too powerful. If they were lucky the dreamer would stay on the phone long enough to get a mental location to trace. If they were lucky they could break the fledgling reality before any harm was done and send the dreamer (or bad cases dreamers) back safely.
The very worst though, was when the person did wake but slowly- messily. The dream bleeding just enough into the waking world for them to bring something back. Sometimes an operator could tell this happened and try to trace that half asleep state to a physical location to have it dealt with. When they weren’t so lucky- when the operator thought the dreamer had woken up just fine.. well that’s when things got… messy.
Sometimes, if an operator realized quickly enough that a dreamer wouldn’t wake or a dream was too strong, there were emergency measures. One of the simplest was an overwhelming urge to pee, and that usually did the trick. Muscle cramps also worked, but operators were instructed to save those for an emergency measure.
More complicated, but often more effective, was casting around for other dreamers in close proximity and affecting them. Crying children or random thrashing resulting in a kick or a flung arm was enough to move the dreamer to a different dream even if they didn’t wake.
Particularly strong or talented operators could sometimes alert a nearby animal. A dog licking a dreamer’s face almost never failed to shift or break a dream.
In case of a messy wakening the Feline Alternate Technical Consciousness Adjustment Team does the best they can to keep very close track of any escapees to the waking world.
Oh my god you guys, I thought I had reblogged this and it turns out I just put it in drafts, THIS IS AWESOME, thank you for augmenting my reality :D
I wonder if, in superhero universes, the villains ever get contacted by those “Make a Wish Foundation” and similar people.
I mean, the heroes do, of course they do, kids who want to meet Spiderman or Superman or get to be carried by the Flash as he runs through Central City for just thirty seconds.
But surely there are also the kids, who - because they are kids and sometimes kids are just weird - decide that what they really, really want is to meet a supervillain. Because he’s scary or she’s awesome or that freeze ray is just really, really cool, you know?
Oh, man, that would absolutely be a thing. The heroes would be so weirded out by it. The villains with codes of ethics would totally band together to force the villains without one (should they be the one requested) to do their part for the cause.
But imagine the person who has to track down the villains and organise everything?
Like, the first time it happens, no one actually thinks it’s possible, but one of the newbies volunteers to at least try. They get lucky, the kid wants to meet one of the villains who is well known to have a personal code of ethics (eg one of the rogues), and it takes them weeks to track the villain down to this one bar they’ve been seen at a few times, plus a week of staking out said bar, but they finally find them.
So they approach the villain, very politely introduce themselves and explain the situation, finishing with an assurance that, should the villain agree, no law enforcement or heroes will be informed of the meeting.
The villain, assuming it’s a joke, laughs in their face.
At this point, the poor volunteer, who has giving up weeks of their time and no small amount of effort to track down this villain, all so a sweet little girl can meet the person who somehow inspired them, well, at this point the employee sees red.
They explode, yelling at this villain about the little girl who, for some unknown reason, absolutely loved them, had a hand-made stuffed toy of them and was inspired by their struggle to keeping fighting her own and wasn’t the villain supposed to have ethics? The entire bar is witness to this big bad villain getting scolded by some bookish nobody a foot shorter than them.
When the volunteer is done, the villain calmly knocks back their drink, grips the volunteers shoulder and drags them outside. The bar’s patrons assume that person will never be seen again, the volunteer included. But once they’re outside, the villain apologises for their assumption, asks for the kid’s details so they can drop by in the near future, not saying when for obvious reasons. They also give the very relieved volunteer a phone number to call if someone asks for them again.
A week later, the little girl’s room is covered in villain merchandise, several expensive and clearly stolen gifts and she is happily clutching a stack of signed polaroids of her and the villain.
The next time a kid asks to meet a villain, guess who gets that assignment?
Turns out, the first villain was quite touched by the experience of meeting their little fan, and word has gotten around. The second villain happily agrees when they realise it’s the same volunteer who asked the other guy. Unfortunately, one of the heroes sees the villain entering the kid’s hospital and obviously assumes the worst. They rush in, ready to drag the villain out, but the volunteer stands in their way. The hero spends five minutes getting scolded for trying to stop the villain from actually doing a good thing and almost ruining the kid’s wish. The volunteer gets a reputation among villains as someone who can not only be trusted with personal contact numbers but who will do everything they can to keep law enforcement away during their visits.
The volunteer has a phonebook written in cypher of all the villain’s phone numbers, with asterixes next to the ones to call if any other villains give them trouble.
Around the office, they gain the unofficial job title of The Villain Wrangler.
The heroes are genuinely flabbergasted by The Villain Wrangler. At first, some of the heroes try to reason with them.
Heroes: “Can’t you, just, give us their contact details? They’ll never even have to know it was you.”
The Villain Wrangler: “Yeah sure, <rollseyes> because all these evil geniuses could never possibly figure out that it’s me who happens to be the common thread in the sudden mass arrests. Look man, even if it wouldn’t get me killed, it would disappoint the kids. You wouldn’t want to disappoint the kids would you?”
Heroes: “… no~ but…”
The Villain Wrangler: “Exactly.”
Eventually, one of the anti-hero types gets frustrated, and decides to take a stand. They kidnap the Villain Wrangler and demand that they give up the contents of the little black book of Villains, or suffer the consequences. It’s For the Greater Good, the anti-hero insists as they tie the Villain Wrangler to a pillar.
The Villain Wrangler: “You complete idiot, put me back before someone figures out that I’m missing.”
Anti-hero: “…excuse me?”
The Villain Wrangler: “Ugh, do I have to spell this out for you? Do you actually want your secret base to be wiped off the map? With us in it? Sugarsticks, how long has it been? If they get suspicious, they check in, and then if I miss a check-in, they tend to come barging into wherever I am just to prove that they can, even if they figure out that they’re not being threatened by proxy. Suffice to say, Auntie Muriel really regretted throwing my phone into the pool when she strenuously objected to me answering it during family time. If they think for even one moment that I’ve given them up, they won’t hesitate to obliterate both of us from their potential misery. You do know some of the people in my book have like missiles and djinni and elemental forces at their disposal, right?”
Anti-hero: “Wait, what? I thought they trusted you?!”
The Villain Wrangler: “Trust is such a strong word!”
Villain: “Indeed.”
Anti-hero: “Wait, wha-” <slumps over, dart sticking out of neck>
The Villain Wrangler: “Thanks. I thought they were going to hurt me.”
Villain: “You did well. You kept them distracted, and gave us time to follow your signal.” <cuts Villain Wrangler free>
The Villain Wrangler: <rubbing circulation back into limbs> “Yeah well, you know me, I do whatever I have to. So I’ll see you Wednesday at four at St Martha’s? I’ve got an 8yo burns unit patient recovering from her latest batch of skin grafts who could really use a pep talk.”
Villain: “… of course. Yes… I… yes.”
The Villain Wrangler: “I just think you could really reach her, you know?”
Villain: <unconsciously runs fingers over mask> “I… yes, but, what should I say?”
The Villain Wrangler: “Whatever advice you think you could have used the most just after.”
Villain: <hoists Anti-hero over shoulder almost absently> “….yes.”
The Villain Wrangler wasn’t lying to the Anti-hero. They know that the more ruthless villains would not hesitate if they thought for one second that the Anti-hero would betray them.
But this is not the first time the Villain Wrangler has gone to extreme lengths to protect their identities.
Trust is a strong word. The Villain Wrangler earned it, and is terrified by what it could mean.
My first official deadpool headcanon is this. This this this.
Okay but this whole concept actually makes a lot of sense, because villains are a lot more likely to be disfigured/disabled/use adaptive devices (bc ableist tropes), so of course, say, a child amputee is going to be more interested in the villain with a robot arm who almost destroyed New York than the heroes that took him down.
Also, imagine one of the kids gets better, and a few years down the line becomes a villain themself, except their crimes are things like smuggling chemo drugs across the border for families that can’t afford treatment, or stealing from corrupt businessmen to make donations to underfunded hospitals (idk this turned into a Leverage AU or something) and every time the heroes encounter her, they’re like “oh no. she’s getting away. curses. welp, nothing we can do.” Though it isn’t that she can’t take them on; bc of course once the villain from way back when found out what she was up to, he started helping/training her.
“I thought they just hired someone to dress up and pretend to be you,” she says, amazed, when he reveals himself. “I didn’t think they actually got the real you!”
Every year the Villain Wrangler gets a very expensive gift basket from the pair.
and for the kids who don’t get better the villains are there too, they show up to every funeral, they bear too small coffins on their shoulders and the heroes stand aside
they are fierce with grieving families assuring them that their child will not be forgotten, and they don’t balk at negative emotions, they don’t tell people to be strong or “celebrate their child’s life,” because these parents have every right to their grief and anger
and the lost children are never forgotten. flowers appear on graves during birthdays and anniversaries, heroes find pictures of those kids and they carefully take them down and ensure they’re delivered to the villain’s cell, and a few villains can be seen with friendship bracelets wrapped around their wrists the cops have learned not to try and take them off
And then one day, one of the evil geniuses who happens to specialise in inducing bizarre genetic mutations meets a young fan who was born with a rare genetic disorder that is slowly killing them, and realises that they can help.
Another, who created their own exosuit, talks to a young fan and suddenly understands how much the technology that they have built for themselves could revolutionise quality of life for people with muscular dystrophy, or paraplegia, or other disorders that confine people to wheelchairs with little mobility.
A third thinks of a way that their nanobots could be used to detect and remove cancer cells when their fan, who had been in remission, writes to say that the doctors have found a new metastasizing tumour.
Then shortly after, an evil genius specialising in cloning is contacted by an old colleague asking if a suitable heart couldn’t be grown for their young fan with a congenital heart condition who needs a donor.
Suddenly, a pattern of villains offering (and marketing) their insights and resources to improve medical science starts to arise. Many who had previously been operating on society’s fringes are shocked to receive public accolades, research grants and job offers from major companies because of their work.
A grassroots movement arises advocating for imprisoned villains with appropriate qualifications and/or experience to have access to resources to conduct research for the public good. The Second Chance Rehabilitation Project launches.
(It is an open secret that only people who have been vetted by the Villain Wrangler are allowed to join, because the Villain Wrangler has by now a meticulously set up method and intelligence network to run background checks and character references through ensure that none of the children wishing to meet their role models get hurt.)
Being able to say that one is involved with the Project begins to look really good in parole hearings. The Villains involved perform their own quality checks on one another, because if one of their kids got hurt, then all of their kids could potentially lose out, and the ones that are serious about the Project are not having that. (Also, the ability to collaborate with other geniuses is the most interesting thing to happen to most of them since losing to various heroes, and most consider the intellectual stimulation to be worth putting up with the ridiculous egoes and inevitable personality clashes that arise.)
Reformed Villains come out of the woodwork to advocate about better mental healthcare, and support systems. Savvy universities and private labs quietly take their advice, setting up better mental health supports and laboratory safety standards to prevent the Brain Drain caused by losing their less stable scientists to the Costumes.
The Villain Wrangler watches all of this develop with a smile.
Superman’s fingers were laced together, his index fingers pressed to his mouth as he assessed the situation. There was a metaphorical fire in his eyes, as opposed to the literal fire that was sometimes in his eyes.
“I’m going to have to fight you,” he said finally.
Batman rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Between the gloves and the mask, it was not a very effective stress reliever. “No,” he said, “you’re not.”
“You’re leaving me no other choice.”
“Out of all the reasons that you could possibly want to throw me into the sun–”
“What?” Superman was aghast. “I said fight, why are you going straight to starmurder?”
“I’m sorry, did you have something else in mind? Were you just going to knock me over until it accepts you as its alpha.”
Superman made a face. “Ducks don’t have alphas.” He knelt down closer to Batman’s boots. “Do they?”
The duckling peeped. It seemed content enough to be at least close to Batman, after having spent five minutes frantically chasing after him, little feet slapping against the pavement.
“I hate you,” Superman said seriously. “Not you,” he clarified to the duckling, in case it was confused. It tried to hide behind Batman’s foot. “You don’t even like ducks.”
“No one likes ducks.”
“I like ducks.”
“Why are you complaining like I did this on purpose. In all the time that you’ve known me, what have I ever done to lead you to believe that I would want this.”
“Your noted tendency to collect birds?” Superman suggested. Batman said nothing, but Superman could tell that behind his mask, he was giving him A Look. Superman stood, and the duckling circled Batman’s feet to peep up at him. “It wants you to pick it up.”
“You pick it up. You like ducks.”
“It doesn’t want me.”
“Pick it up anyway. You have super speed.”
Superman shook his head. “Super speed is very traumatic for most animals.”
Batman narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Most?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.
“Turtles don’t seem to notice,” Superman explained. “Peepers there would definitely notice, though.”
