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Body type practice with some Punch!verse rogues

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This next chapter of Cat & Mouse is DONE! Look out for it next Friday at 10am CST!

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Scarecrow hugging a giant crow

'Nuff said

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Okay so

Kidkiller

Thanks for coming to my ted-talk.

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Counting notes, for me, is mostly just a nice gauge of what pieces are doing well, what resonates with people, but mostly I like to pretend that the pieces are competing with each other– will one surpass another? Will anything dethrone #1? Personally, I’d like to make something new that totally shakes the rosters– to constantly improve and do better.

Top original posts:

1). 2,506 notes - Feb 9 2020

2). 1,973 notes - Oct 29 2019

3). 1,559 notes - Jul 27 2019

4). 1,509 notes - Aug 8 2019

5). 1,501 notes - Jun 20 2019

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🎃

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Cat & Mouse Deleted Scenes

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Is that the time now? After 26 chapters, can we say that the Riddler and the detective are in a relationship?

And thanks to the pictures in the media, is this relationship official?

(Thank you so much for enchanting me so much with your story. You've outdone yourself again!)

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Ahhh my dear friend!! I'm so sorry to burst your bubble but NO, they are not yet in an official relationship haha. Feelings have been admitted BUT...there's still some reservations on Detective's end. She's still a nervous wreck over this, and now that it's out there...things are only going to get more complicated.

Thank you for being such a big supporter of this story! I appreciate you so much! 💜💜💜

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Cat & Mouse - Chapter 26 Snippet

Chapter 26 of Cat & Mouse is officially uploaded! You can read it here or enjoy this snippet below!

Sleep was a comfort. A gentle warmth wrapping you in its embrace of peace and calmness, of letting you drift into a world where nothing was wrong, and everything felt so right. You dreamt of nothing but an oily blackness, shadows creeping at the edge of your mind, threatening to claw their way in and make themselves known. But you didn’t stir, didn’t fight it, didn’t think about anything but the dreamless, comforting sleep that you were under.

At least, until you opened your eyes.

A sharp, immediate pain throbbed right across your forehead, and you grimaced. The effort it took to peel your eyes open was like pulling teeth. A heavy feeling settled over you, like you were being suffocated with a weighted blanket. Every limb and muscle and bone ached, as though you’d been hit by a truck – but, well, there was a little bit of truth to that, considering you had been in an accident just a day ago. But this was a different kind of “hit by a truck” feeling, the kind where every movements takes a thousand times more effort and feels like someone is pounding a jackhammer against your skull.

Holy. Shit. When was the last time you were this hungover?

Groaning, you lifted yourself up slightly. Drool coated all over your pillow and you frowned, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand. Every inch of your skin radiated with a horrible ache, and you exhaled a heavy breath as you rolled over onto your back. Sweat clung to your body, the stench of alcohol invading your nose. You blinked, trying to clear the grogginess from your vision.

What the hell happened? It’s the only thought you can manage, because any other thought hurts way too damn much. Your memories of last night were distorted and fuzzy, as if you were gazing down into a whirlpool of colors and sounds. Your mouth tasted of sour vomit, your tongue heavy and sore, throat achy. Well, every single part of your body was aching, a heaviness filling your limbs as though your veins were filled with sand. You rubbed at your eyes, before finally managing to sit up with a groan, even though it took so much effort you almost collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. Your gaze shifted to the nightstand on the left – but you blinked, seeing a tall glass of orange juice and two ibuprofen sitting there. Who left it for you? Angela hadn’t come back, had she? No, that wasn’t it. Angela left last night. So who brought you home? How did you get into bed? A dozen questions crept through your mind, but the more you thought about them, the worse the pounding in your head became. Well, whatever the case, you needed to get rid of this splitting headache. Quickly, you downed the juice, relishing in the taste and coolness against your raw throat. Your stomach twisted in sour knots, but you forced yourself to drink every last drop, slowly letting your stomach settle, taking the pills along with the final gulp. When you finished, you set the glass aside and rubbed the heels of your palms against your eyes.

Shit, you were a fucking mess.

Sucking in a breath, you stumbled out of bed, grasping onto the bedside to help you to your feet. There was a sharp, stabbing pain biting into the side of your forehead, as if someone was pinching a nerve with their bare hands. Slowly, you walked through your room, finding the door open just a crack. A dozen questions echoed through your brain; how did you make it home? How did you even get into bed? Groaning, you pulled the door open further and stepped out into the hall, but there was a quiet stillness clinging to the air. As you ventured out, you pressed a hand to your forehead, fighting against the ache spreading through every bone and vein and muscle. Using the wall for leverage with your other hand, you wandered down the hall, coming into the living room – but you paused when you saw the sight before you: Edward Nigma, in front of your bookshelf, which was now empty, all of your books stacked up around him as if he’d built a fort around himself. You blinked, trying to clear your hazy vision, as you struggled to process just what you were seeing.

“Edward…?” you asked, your voice shaky and broken.

He perked up, glancing over his shoulder, and a sly smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Ah, detective. You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” you muttered, clutching your stomach as it twisted in knots. A sour taste lingered in your mouth, and you wandered a little further, bracing yourself against the couch.

“I can imagine. You had quite the night,” he said. His blue eyes roved over you carefully, but he straightened his shoulders back and fully turned to you. He was still wearing his green suit pants, though his jacket was off, leaving him in nothing but a button down and vest, the sleeves rolled up. His tie hung loose around his neck in a lazy fashion. Had he stayed here all night? It certainly looked like it.

For a moment, you stood there, watching him, wondering just what the hell he was even doing in your apartment and how he got inside. But the pain continuing to throb across your forehead and pound between your eyes, and the nauseous knots in your stomach, were too much to handle. You walked around to the other side of the couch and flopped down, squeezing your eyes shut. A horrible ache pulsed at your temples, and your corneas stung as if someone had thrown salt into them. Every inch of your body hurt – though you weren’t sure if it was from the accident or last night. Probably both. You struggled to think back to the last night, but your thoughts were distorted and dream-like, a blur, as if looking into a messy, abstract oil painting. What even happened? It had been years since you were this hungover, and your body was surely punishing you for it now. So much for thinking you could handle your liquor.

Finally, you peeked one eye open, but the sunlight streaming in from the blinds immediately made you shut them again, though you managed to steal a glance at all of the books currently occupying your living room floor.

“What are you doing?” you managed to ask.

“I’ve taken it upon myself to reorganize your bookshelf,” his said, his tone arrogant and self-satisfied. “I had to occupy myself somehow, and this shelf of yours called to me. I can’t believe you kept your books in such a disorganized state.”

Another wave of nausea rolled over you, and you covered your eyes with your hand, rubbing at your brows in an attempt to ease your pain. “I happen to like the way my bookshelf was organized,” you mumbled.

A low chuckle rumbled from deep within his throat. “Do not worry, detective. I shall put your books back in an organized fashion and you shall thank me for it.”

You groaned again; you didn’t have the energy to argue with him, and you couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop touching your stuff, but right now, you didn’t care much, either. Not while you were too busy trying to sort through your memories of last night, to discover where they began or ended, or what even happened. Everything in your mind was distorted and disoriented. Your insides twisted in knots, your skull being split in two. A foot away, the gentle rhythm of Edward’s shuffling as books brushed against one another filled the quiet space, but even that was enough to make your head throb harder.

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Cat & Mouse - Chapter 26 Snippet

Chapter 26 of Cat & Mouse is officially uploaded! You can read it here or enjoy this snippet below!

Sleep was a comfort. A gentle warmth wrapping you in its embrace of peace and calmness, of letting you drift into a world where nothing was wrong, and everything felt so right. You dreamt of nothing but an oily blackness, shadows creeping at the edge of your mind, threatening to claw their way in and make themselves known. But you didn’t stir, didn’t fight it, didn’t think about anything but the dreamless, comforting sleep that you were under.

At least, until you opened your eyes.

A sharp, immediate pain throbbed right across your forehead, and you grimaced. The effort it took to peel your eyes open was like pulling teeth. A heavy feeling settled over you, like you were being suffocated with a weighted blanket. Every limb and muscle and bone ached, as though you’d been hit by a truck – but, well, there was a little bit of truth to that, considering you had been in an accident just a day ago. But this was a different kind of “hit by a truck” feeling, the kind where every movements takes a thousand times more effort and feels like someone is pounding a jackhammer against your skull.

Holy. Shit. When was the last time you were this hungover?

Groaning, you lifted yourself up slightly. Drool coated all over your pillow and you frowned, wiping off your mouth with the back of your hand. Every inch of your skin radiated with a horrible ache, and you exhaled a heavy breath as you rolled over onto your back. Sweat clung to your body, the stench of alcohol invading your nose. You blinked, trying to clear the grogginess from your vision.

What the hell happened? It’s the only thought you can manage, because any other thought hurts way too damn much. Your memories of last night were distorted and fuzzy, as if you were gazing down into a whirlpool of colors and sounds. Your mouth tasted of sour vomit, your tongue heavy and sore, throat achy. Well, every single part of your body was aching, a heaviness filling your limbs as though your veins were filled with sand. You rubbed at your eyes, before finally managing to sit up with a groan, even though it took so much effort you almost collapsed back onto the bed in exhaustion. Your gaze shifted to the nightstand on the left – but you blinked, seeing a tall glass of orange juice and two ibuprofen sitting there. Who left it for you? Angela hadn’t come back, had she? No, that wasn’t it. Angela left last night. So who brought you home? How did you get into bed? A dozen questions crept through your mind, but the more you thought about them, the worse the pounding in your head became. Well, whatever the case, you needed to get rid of this splitting headache. Quickly, you downed the juice, relishing in the taste and coolness against your raw throat. Your stomach twisted in sour knots, but you forced yourself to drink every last drop, slowly letting your stomach settle, taking the pills along with the final gulp. When you finished, you set the glass aside and rubbed the heels of your palms against your eyes.

Shit, you were a fucking mess.

Sucking in a breath, you stumbled out of bed, grasping onto the bedside to help you to your feet. There was a sharp, stabbing pain biting into the side of your forehead, as if someone was pinching a nerve with their bare hands. Slowly, you walked through your room, finding the door open just a crack. A dozen questions echoed through your brain; how did you make it home? How did you even get into bed? Groaning, you pulled the door open further and stepped out into the hall, but there was a quiet stillness clinging to the air. As you ventured out, you pressed a hand to your forehead, fighting against the ache spreading through every bone and vein and muscle. Using the wall for leverage with your other hand, you wandered down the hall, coming into the living room – but you paused when you saw the sight before you: Edward Nigma, in front of your bookshelf, which was now empty, all of your books stacked up around him as if he’d built a fort around himself. You blinked, trying to clear your hazy vision, as you struggled to process just what you were seeing.

“Edward…?” you asked, your voice shaky and broken.

He perked up, glancing over his shoulder, and a sly smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Ah, detective. You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

“Like death,” you muttered, clutching your stomach as it twisted in knots. A sour taste lingered in your mouth, and you wandered a little further, bracing yourself against the couch.

“I can imagine. You had quite the night,” he said. His blue eyes roved over you carefully, but he straightened his shoulders back and fully turned to you. He was still wearing his green suit pants, though his jacket was off, leaving him in nothing but a button down and vest, the sleeves rolled up. His tie hung loose around his neck in a lazy fashion. Had he stayed here all night? It certainly looked like it.

For a moment, you stood there, watching him, wondering just what the hell he was even doing in your apartment and how he got inside. But the pain continuing to throb across your forehead and pound between your eyes, and the nauseous knots in your stomach, were too much to handle. You walked around to the other side of the couch and flopped down, squeezing your eyes shut. A horrible ache pulsed at your temples, and your corneas stung as if someone had thrown salt into them. Every inch of your body hurt – though you weren’t sure if it was from the accident or last night. Probably both. You struggled to think back to the last night, but your thoughts were distorted and dream-like, a blur, as if looking into a messy, abstract oil painting. What even happened? It had been years since you were this hungover, and your body was surely punishing you for it now. So much for thinking you could handle your liquor.

Finally, you peeked one eye open, but the sunlight streaming in from the blinds immediately made you shut them again, though you managed to steal a glance at all of the books currently occupying your living room floor.

“What are you doing?” you managed to ask.

“I’ve taken it upon myself to reorganize your bookshelf,” his said, his tone arrogant and self-satisfied. “I had to occupy myself somehow, and this shelf of yours called to me. I can’t believe you kept your books in such a disorganized state.”

Another wave of nausea rolled over you, and you covered your eyes with your hand, rubbing at your brows in an attempt to ease your pain. “I happen to like the way my bookshelf was organized,” you mumbled.

A low chuckle rumbled from deep within his throat. “Do not worry, detective. I shall put your books back in an organized fashion and you shall thank me for it.”

You groaned again; you didn’t have the energy to argue with him, and you couldn’t find the words to tell him to stop touching your stuff, but right now, you didn’t care much, either. Not while you were too busy trying to sort through your memories of last night, to discover where they began or ended, or what even happened. Everything in your mind was distorted and disoriented. Your insides twisted in knots, your skull being split in two. A foot away, the gentle rhythm of Edward’s shuffling as books brushed against one another filled the quiet space, but even that was enough to make your head throb harder.

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Listen... All I know is that the kids I babysit were singing that one Gummy Bear song and next thing I knew my brain made a parody

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Batman #157 (DC, December 2024) variant cover by Tony Harris

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WHY IS HE MUZZLED? WHO DID HE BITE?

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Inktober number 5!

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Y'all...this chapter is going to be massive. Like the biggest one yet. 😬😬😬