Unprotagonist

and with your help it can rack up 700k notes on tumblr in 2024

Tempted to actually put this on spotify so I can secretly stream it at work...

Here’s the general art style Chinese mountains are drawn in:

And here’s how some of them actually look:

Fiona is married so it's time to reunite with her parents. But instead of marrying a prince, she's married to an ogre. Not just that, but she's also an ogre. (Yes everyone knew she would sometimes be an ogre but that was when she was a child, she didn't know she would be an ogre for the rest of her life, and besides once she met the right prince she would stop being an ogre. She was supposed to stop being an ogre.)

But okay they're both ogres. We can still ask about when they'll have children because even if they're ogres they can still have kids, right? That's what married princes and princesses do so naturally that's what everyone does. Even if ogres might not be great parents (I've heard that ogres eat their young, is that something you people do?) it's still something that should be discussed.

And okay you can stay in Fiona's childhood bedroom filled with all the reminders that hey, everyone thought she was just a princess and princesses marry princes. Her toys left out from the last time she played with them. The prince slays the ogre. The princess offers a token of gratitude for slaying the ogre. Fiona wrote Mrs. Fiona Charming a million times in her diary because what else was she supposed to grow up to be?

And Harold you have to fix this, your country can't be ruled by ogres. You were unfit to rule when you were a frog but I changed you, I made you better, I made you a prince. You know how this works. Think of your daughter's safety.

*reluctant sigh*

*scrolls back up*

commissioner gordon: Harley and Ivy have hijacked an AM radio station and taken the employees hostage

batman: what are their demands?

commissioner gordon: they haven’t issued any. they, uh.

batman:

[commisioner gordon turns on the radio]

harley: —you gotta walk away, sweetie. His family sounds completely toxic, if not outright emotionally abusive, and he’s too enmeshed to see it.

caller: no, you’re right. you’re right. I gotta do it.

harley: you got this, honey. now, stay on the line a minute, I’m writing down some the names of some books for you and you can get those from Ivy after we’re done. okay! our next caller —

[commisioner gordon turns off the radio]

batman: what station is this?

commisioner gordon: WGTM.

batman: the one that rebroadcasts rush limbaugh?

commissioner gordon:

batman:

"My cat keeps attacking my feet."

"How often do you play with him?"

"Not as much as I should, but he has a basket of toys right there where he can reach it."

Cause the guy's whole deal is him lashing out at society for rejecting him because he has a skin condition (ignoring the cannibalism in certain adaptations), which means radio would be perfect for him. People can't see him, they can only hear him, and I imagine he has a sort of warm scratchy voice that sounds like he chainsmokes and it feels warm like an old wool blanket

Maybe he tells stories, maybe he does interviews, maybe he takes calls, whatever. But he becomes a fixture of late night Gotham, beloved by late shift workers and night owls, and Waylon Jones becomes a household name amongst a decent chunk of Gotham. That way, when he's eventually outed, people stop reacting like "AAH A CROCODILE MAN" and start being like "hey, it's our Waylon!"

The show is sponsored by Wayne Enterprises.

If you ask Bruce in his billionaire-playboy-philanthropist-idiot persona, he’ll tell you talk radio is the fastest-growing communications segment in the country and you’ll be left wondering how the fuck this man runs a successful business.

If you are one of the select few who knows him in his “also I am Batman” capacity, he’ll tell you overall crime has gone down since the villain-run station has hit the air, and also if Harley Quinn can talk someone out of the early stages of an abusive relationship before he—or worse, the Gotham City Morgue—has to get involved, so much the better.

Just imagining Hatter or someone starts trying to use their portion to mindwash themselves an army and all the other rouges barge in on their segment and pummel them mid-talk. Cause-

"You are not ruining this for us Jeffrey!"

While Penguin or someone has taken over the segment and is providing live singing. And all listening just hear between the lovely singing; yelling, screams from their previous presenter and intermittent punching sounds before the song ends and all the noises seem to have stopped not that the station has muted but because they are all holding their breath.

The most tired sigh is let out before "Hand him over."

Shuffling and pained groans are heard.

Before a muffled "Good singing."

'click'

source 1

They’re arguing in a bar, obviously—well, Sonar and Prism are, to be specific. 

“I don’t believe you,” Prism insists. “Anyone who says they don’t have an internal monologue is lying. That’s like, attention-seeking behavior.” 

“Why are you so pressed about this?” Malevola asks from her position leaned up against the bar.

“Because it’s not possible, and anyone who says it is possible is a lying-ass bitch!” 

“You should be less worried about if I can think in monologue," Sonar snaps, shutting his eyes preemptively, “and more worried about how you can’t even think outside your own point of view!” 

“You did not just say that to me! Open your eyes right now, bat-bitch!” 

“So you can use your powers to put little black spots in them again? Yeah, no, learned that lesson!” 

“Yeah,” Visi chimes in, always happy to stir the pot. “Sonar only likes little white spots.”

Sonar groans, ears flicking with annoyance. “Don’t do the race thing again! I’m literally a hybrid!” 

“Yeah, but the human parts of you are suspiciously saltine.”

“Listen, if anything I think I should get extra minority cred,” Sonar says in that tone he gets when he’s trying to sell something. “Nothing more diverse than half bat.”

“Not how it fucking works, idiot,” Flambae chimes in, stirring his mixed drink with the little umbrella that came in it. 

“I’m just saying,” Sonar defends, eyes still firmly closed, “I can relate to the whole ‘discrimination based on appearances’ thing.” 

“Yeah, but I feel like the white’s just… overpowering,” Visi insists. “You’re literally a cocaine-addicted crypto bro who went to Harvard. Nothing whiter than that.”

“Robert, you’re the whitest bitch in here,” Prism says, raising her voice to get his attention. “Get over here and settle this!” 

“Technically, I’m mixed, but okay,” he says nonchalantly, obligingly making his way over. 

“Don’t fucking lie, Roberto, it’s not cute.” 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s like, stolen valor,” Malevola says. 

“Just because Chase babysat you as a kid doesn’t mean you’re half black, Rob,” Visi says, shaking her head in fake pity. “I know you wish you were, but it doesn’t rub off.”

Robert scoffs, and then says very matter-of-factly, “My mother was Korean.”

The flow of conversation grinds to a halt. Malevola stands up straight. Flambae drops his little umbrella. Sonar opens his eyes and stares at Robert, and Prism’s too shocked to even get him with her powers. 

“Bitch, why didn’t you say anything?” Prism demands. “I’ve been calling you White Bread for nothing! Fuck, now I gotta come up with something else! Kimchi? That sounds kinda fucked up, though, I don’t know if I can call you that in good conscience.” 

“No need to change it up on my account,” Robert says dryly. “White Bread is actually a pretty accurate descriptor of my personality.”

“Uh, not really,” Malevola dubiously counters. “I’ve never seen a slice of Wonderbread bite off someone’s thumb.” 

“To be fair, I’ve never seen a Korean person do that either,” Punch Up says, rubbing his chin consideringly. “Might just be a Robert thing.”

“I’ve witnessed a Slovakian person do that,” Coupé volunteers, “but it was under vastly different circumstances.” 

“Wait wait wait,” Visi says, waving her hands. “So why the fuck do you look like that?” 

“Wait, yeah,” Malevola chimes in. “Where’s your seasoning, dude?” 

Robert huffs. “My dad’s genes were stronger. Three generations of Roberts, and we all looked tragically alike.” 

Prism clicks her tongue. “See, this is why I can’t have kids. Imagine going through childbirth just for your baby to look like the fuck-ass daddy.” 

“You could still have them,” Coupé points out. “You just have to ensure that the father’s genes are weaker than yours.” 

“True,” Prism hums thoughtfully, then snaps her fingers at Waterboy, who’s been quietly watching while he sips his Dirty Shirley. “Hey, you look like you’d have weak genes. What’s your daddy look like?” 

Waterboy turns as red as his drink and sputters out, “Not—not like me, that much—I mean, I’m a—a pretty even—equal mix. Of my paren—mom and dad.” 

“You got more girls or boys in your family?” she asks. “Cause I got a bunch of boys in mine, and I want a girl.”

“This feels like a private conversation,” Robert interrupts dryly, and Prism rolls her eyes at him before giving Waterboy a look. 

“We’ll talk later,” she tells him, and he promptly puts his drink down to cover his beet red face (and his shy smile). 

“Prism’s family planning aside,” Visi says, “how do we know you’re telling the truth?” 

“Yeah, show us a fucking picture!” Flambae crows. “I wanna see the woman who raised this disaster.” 

Robert’s face closes off. 

“Can’t,” he says blandly. “She’s been gone since I was a kid.” 

There’s an awkward silence. 

“Gone as in divorced?” Malevola asks hesitantly. “Or gone as in…?” 

“I don’t know,” Robert says honestly. “All I know is that by the time I started making memories, she wasn’t there. And any pictures I had have been lost by now, so… you’ll just have to trust me, I guess.” 

There’s another silence, longer this time. Sonar and Malevola look at each other. Visi shoves her hands in her pockets and looks at the ceiling. Flambae looks at his umbrella-less drink. 

“You know what, I always did feel like there was a little something extra in you,” Prism says suddenly. 

“Yeah,” Visi adds, relaxing a little. “Now that you said something, I can kinda see it in the eyes.” 

“You may be a bitch,” Flambae says. “But at least you’re not a white bitch. Completely.” 

A small smile pulls at Robert’s lips. “Glad to hear it.” 

“Robert!” Phenomaman’s voice booms behind them, accompanied by sudden screams and the clamoring of people rushing to get out of the area. “Remember how you said that getting a pet may help with my endless battle against the depression?”