#doom prowler

[kulshedra97]

Couldn't figure this one out, splayed out a bunch of brushes to get some texture going. Are we feeling this experiment?

[cheatsykoopa98]

"CAINE! WHAT KIND OF ADVENTURE IS THIS?!?!"

idk why I decided to draw Pomni fighting Doom demons, but I hope you all like it

[bringbackwendellvaughn]

[distroyer0g]

Drawing Spider-man until beyond the spider-verse. Day 442-5.

[lucilassie]

Just a guy with a job to do. 🟣🟢

[mahkinarya]

First pass for a Prowler haunting a cyberpunk Binondo, Manila. Story details below the cut.

Lore time baby: - She and her sibling (this universe's Spiderperson) are half-siblings, the illegitimate children of some rich jackass who abandoned their mothers - She discovered her sibling's existence via a tip and found them after their mother died. She became their legal guardian from then on and provided money for their welfare. She was often away, but loving. - She fell in with the wrong people when she was younger and became a hitman for hire - Her sibling moves to Manila on a senior high scholarship to a fancy school and gets bitten by a radioactive spider during a tour of a lab, you know the drill. - She wanted to shield them from her experiences in the dark underbelly of the city, and when they discover her identity + she realizes she very nearly murdered her sibling in a fight her worst fear comes true. She loves her sibling more than life itself, but when his faith in her utterly shatters she's at a complete loss at what to do and runs away - She gets yeeted into Nueva York and goes on the run until she gets captured

[doom-nerdo-666]

The Cursed Prowler always interested me because it seemed like Doom's first take on a poison/health drain attack (Not the same as Cybermancubi shooting acid pools that you just have to run away from).

But i recall D2RPG having some enemies with a fire attack that would drain your health over time/turns, specially a purple Imp (The "greater" Imp?).

This is one of those things that interestings me out of a "is this feature canon in the series?" and it can be very specific.

And i guess the Hellshot in D2016 MP also sort of counts because of the alt fire.

[raidensharkgun]

a litte something for the Ultra sonic au

[boogieboba]

The thing i love the most about the Spot is that he weaponized being a silly little guy. Got hit in the head with a bagel as a throwaway joke and now miles is stuck in a universe where he’s the Prowler. Teehee this dude had a loaf of bread falling out of his stomach. My father is doomed.

[yandere-wishes]

The Perfect Girl

Summary: Somewhere along the line the villain won and the hero lost. Now your life is nothing more than a cautionary tale.

 Part #2 of Imposter Syndrome but can be read as a stand-alone. Part #3 The Spider's web

Warnings: Dollification, yandere themes but like more than usual, abuse, violence, horrible Spanish, NO NSFW but the reader and Miles are 18+. Friends to enemies to one sided lovers. This plays out as a cautionary tale. 

Author's note: Can you tell I'm bad at writing Intimacy??😂🤣

You squirm uncomfortably on Miles's lap. Arms awkwardly thrown around his neck as you try to hide your face in his chest. Miles sits proudly, face void of emotions and voice overflowing with authority. He's barking orders to his underlings. For what you're not sure, you've long since stopped listening in on his conversations, your inability to do anything coupled with the innocent lives you know would be destroyed was enough to keep you awake at night. And consciousness was the last thing you wanted these days. 

It's been six weeks.

Six weeks since the Prowler defeated New York's last beacon of hope. Six weeks since he'd been welcomed into the Sinister Six as their newest member. They're shining star. 

Six weeks since he stole you away from everything you knew,

everything you loved.

You hear the padding of feet and the loud thump of the door. You're alone with him again. So the nightmare begins anew. You're reluctant to lift your head, to face your capturer. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. It's funny how once, back when you'd still wore your beloved silk mask, you had used to count the minutes until your midnight rendezvous. 

Miles's fingers reach towards you, tilting your chin up. His smile is razor sharp, deformed as if he can't quite remember how to smile. "Muñequita" he mutters like a disjointed prayer as his fingers glide up your side. Drowning you in a sense of impending doom.

You stare into his eyes. Two voids that have seen every nightmare imaginable. Any saint, any sweet innocent boy whose been trapped inside the darkness for this long comes out as a monster. Stumbling through the night with knives instead of teeth and an appetite for destruction. Miles Morales may have been a human once, a long time ago. Before you met him, before the savior of New York met him. But now he's a monster, one who has long since buried any morals and dignity he may have once had.

Sometimes when the night rages on and you're caged between his arms and sentience. you wonder if maybe, just maybe you should go digging for any of the virtues that he's buried six feet deep. But when he laughs and tauntingly presses on a new bruise with his thumb, you conclude quickly that it's better to leave his good qualities dead. it's easier to hate him that way.

"How does it feel to sit in your arch nemesis's lap?" 

He jabs as he pinches your cheek. You let out a soft cry of annoyance as you shift your gaze away from your tormentor. 

Miles revels in your fall from grace. Adores pinching and probing you in front of his minions or the rest of his gang members. Loves taunting you after every failed escape attempt. You try to bite his finger, to make him feel a fraction of your pain. But before your teeth can graze his skin, he releases your cheek. He laughs, low and fragmentary. A haunting noise that reminds you that he barely counts as human anymore, just a heartless ghost masquerading as a real boy. "Trying to rebel again mi amor?". 

You fight the urge to pick at the flesh of your face or bite your fingers until you reach the bone. 

Miles's eyes narrow, annoyed at your lack of a response. He's growing bored, he always does when his pet refuses to play along. His gauntlet reaches for your neck. Squeezing as the claws bite into your flesh. 

you should let him kill you, give him the final satisfaction of watching your blood blemish the skin-tight dress he's made you wear. Watch as the life leaves your eyes. "let's try this again mami. When I ask, how it feels your response should be.."

"I love you Miles" you mutter, all deadpan and defaced. "Not like that say it the way I taught you" he hisses, a threat, you note wearily.

"Te amo Miles"

"Bino"

Sometimes you think that he's foolish enough to believe your reprised lie. It almost helps him deceive himself into believing he still has a soul left. 

He thinks he loves you. 

You think he doesn't know what love quite is. 

You use to be a hero, use to be revered and respected by all. You use to be someone, someone important. Laminating about all of this now will do you no good. 

You're nothing more than a doll now. Painted and dressed the way Miles likes, posed forever perfectly on his lap. Flaunted and paraded as all prize trophies should be. You guess it makes sense. To the victor goes the spoils. You wonder if you would have done the same to him if you had emerged triumphant that night. Deep down, where logic doesn't reach, you know you would. At least you would have let him keep his dignity. You're not like him, you're not a villain...

But you're not a hero anymore either. What are you supposed to be anyway? When questions like this bubble into your withering mind. You force yourself to choke down the idea that you're still good, you have to be. You're not like him, like them. You're afraid that someday you'll look in the mirror and every ounce of your virtues will have evaporated. You promise yourself that that'll be the day you do something drastic. To yourself or Miles, you're not sure yet. 

Miles's fingers trace the indents on your neck. Angry red puncture holes left by his steel claws. He buries his face in the crock of your neck. Licking the measly blood drops from the wounds before tenderly kissing his territory. "Stop it" you grumble trying to push at his chest. But he just growls in warning, ignoring your feeble attempts. "I got you a present, Mami" he whispers over your jugular. You flinch, as he detaches from your neck with a final kiss. He maneuvers you off his lap as he gets up and walks over to a closet on the other side of the room. Plucking out a necklace from one of the drawers. 

Necklace is a generous term. Its neck tight and studded. With a silver chain hanging dead-center that speaks of horrors untold. You know what it implies, you know what he's trying to say, trying to prove. You never thought you'd miss the Prowler's iron glad punches to your stomach but you think this might just be worst. At least back then you'd been able to fight back. Reimburse every punch with a kick or stab of your own. Now you are helpless, frail. Broken glass perpetually embedded in soft cotton. Something wild, something tamed. Golden specks of a crown long since shattered tint your hair. All ghosts of who you once were.  

"What do you say, muñequita," He says. In a tone that's sick, in a tone that's sweet. Like rotten nectar trickling down a destroyed paradise. Like boiling blood dripping from a broken heart. There's a click, as he fastens his present around your neck. An endless second before reality comes crashing in. 

"Gracias Miles" You reply as you feel your last shard of freedom disintegrate. 

You use to be something, someone. Carved from porcelain ideals and ivory hope. Divine ichor ran through your veins as you swung across New York's skyline. You had been chosen, but you hadn't been enough.

Now it feels like someone tore you apart. Ripped away your flesh, your bones, your thoughts, your soul. Stitched you up wrong with a rusted needle and a thread of ash. And all you could do was sit there and watch as your golden blood seeped through ruptured veins.

Miles grabs your shoulders. Pulling you close enough so the spikes of your necklace cut into his flesh. His lips bite yours teasingly before they finally merge into a dreadful kiss. He isn't the Prowler you remember, albeit you know that's wrong. He's not the Prowler you had fabricated when you'd thought that the two of you were both innocent souls driven to madness by this city. You use to think that Miles was beautiful, a moon-kissed face with stardust dripping from his eyes. Now you know the truth. He's nothing more than a nightmare, the embodiment of starless darkness and the terrors that lurk upon blackened city streets. He's not your friend. He never was. You were just so foolish and overwhelmed back then. 

"You're mine, héroe." His voice is nothing short of a dagger laced with venom. Spreading apathetic poison from your heart to your lungs and leaking into your bloodstream. You see blood behind your eyes when your eyelids shut. Feel the apprehension pounding in the hollows of your bones. 

You've long since hemmed every hole where your pride and glory use to bleed through. But it's so hard to keep divinity down when it's all you've ever known. This life isn't yours. This thing that Miles has forced you to be isn't you. There's still hope, you think. Heroes never lose hope. It's a lesson everyone learns, sooner or later. 

Later that night Miles kisses you again, this time whispering how to him you are perfection personified. The dark circles under your eyes and bloody knuckles validate that. He traces circles on your arms whilst telling you about how the Sinister Six plan to expand their operations to the next city over. All this makes you wonder if he'd ever been a sweet little boy, tucked under his mother's arm, whilst his father kisses his cheek. Of if he's always been a merciless monster who wears his kills like honor badges. 

You pray under your breath as he reminds you that you're no longer a hero. You wonder if you pray because you are human or if praying makes you human. There are still some fragments of hope bubbling inside you regardless of what he says. 

Miles likes to remind you that you no longer have the power to save anyone. That the villains won and the heroes lost and that's the way this story ends. 

You refuse to believe him. 

[comatosebunny09]

prey | astarion a.

summary: he makes you feel like small, feeble prey. something to be slowly devoured and savored. warnings: steamy, language now playing: desert rose [ slowed ] - lolo zouaï notes: i blame astarion’s bedroom eyes for this. tagging: @nanaoise08squad

The tavern is lively tonight. Filled to the brim with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs.

You hang back from the festivities, tucked away from the other patrons at a secluded table. Not lonely. Just prefer solitude.

You raise your mug to your companions every so often as they venture past, their mirth infectious.

There’s a smile on your face. Your body buzzes from the ale settling in your belly. You nurse your tankard, the contents of it gently sloshing about.

A laugh occasionally touches your lips. Watching everyone enjoy themselves is a welcomed sight, given the doom constantly looming over your shoulders.

Subconsciously, you find yourself sifting through the crowd in search of someone. A familiar thatch of white. Vermilion eyes. Sharp features. And like a beacon, you’re drawn to him, watching him chat up some pretty brunette on the other side of the bar.

You sit up on the barstool, unconsciously tugging at your collar. Feel your stomach plummet to your feet. Your lips part with shallow breaths, and your throat grows dry.

Who the hell is that? And why are they standing so close to him?

You’ve no time to coddle the envy blooming in your chest, for his gaze finds yours through the throng of people with laser precision. As if he sensed you looking his way, his eyes crinkle with the slightest hint of amusement.

Your heart stutters at the sight. You suddenly forget how to breathe. Trapped in a soundless stare-down, only the two of you seem to exist as the noise of the tavern fades into the background. It’s all a muddled mess to you, your senses heightened and all trained on Astarion.

His eyes dip into a mysterious shade of red whilst he studies you from beneath dark lashes. Makes you feel like small, feeble prey. Something to be slowly devoured and savored. Your bones licked clean and left on display on a mantle like a trophy.

And you still can’t quite get the hang of breathing.

He pays no heed to the person in front of him. As if they were a mere distraction—an appetizer to sate him until the main course.

He continues to leisurely undo you with his eyes, stripping you down to the marrow until you’re raw and exposed. You feel heavy. Pulsing. Dizzy. Not sure if it’s the ale filling your head with static or the depth of his stare.

Whatever the cause, you tear yourself from your seat. Wend through the crowd, gulping down air as you propel yourself into one of the dark and secluded back rooms.

The noise of the tavern peters into silence.

You press your back against a cool, textured wall, fighting to get your head back on straight. You clutch your chest. Screw your eyes shut.

Breathe. Breathe.

You realize all too late that you’re not alone.

The room’s pressure shifts. And like a prowler, he emerges from the shadows. Slow and meticulous in his steps, ingesting you with those devastating eyes aglow in the darkness, and his brows quirk with intrigue.

You can’t get your limbs to work—to move. So Astarion easily traps you between the hard press of his body and the wall, and he frames either side of your head on bent arms. The hunger in his gaze never leaves, only growing whilst his face slinks in. You swallow thickly, your legs ready to give way.

You’re a sheep cornered in a wolf’s den. Gazing up at him, your lids feeling so very heavy, your head swimming. He smells divine. Feels even better. You unconsciously tangle your fingers in the collar of his coat, drawing him closer.

His lips pan in, his lids shuttering, lashes thick. You stand on the tips of your toes, waiting with bated breath. Ever patient. Obedient. But the kiss never comes.

Instead, he teases you with the promise of one. Grazes your lips with his, sparkles of delight flittering across your face. He releases little pleased, hoarse groans you have to strain your ears to hear. And he revels in this, torturing you so. Coaxing petulant whines from your throat, and you kick your feet like an impatient child.

“Astarion,” you rasp.

“My love?” The rumble of his voice is heady. Makes you throb. His lips brush against yours again, kissing along the outskirts of your mouth, causing the delicate skin to tingle pleasantly.

“Why do you insist on being such a little shit?”

A chuckle. His nose nuzzles along yours, his hands cupping your neck below your jawline, thumbs smoothing over your chin and angling your head further back. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Astarion,” you growl. “Just…gods dammit, just kiss me already.”

You’re desperate. Breathy. Teetering along the edge, and you have to cling to him to keep from careening over it. Your senses are overhauled, filled only with Astarion. Too hot. Too many clothes. Can’t think straight. Can’t—

“Oh, darling,” Astarion croons, continuing his cruel game of keep-away when you move to close the gap between your mouths. “Where’s the fun in giving you exactly what you want whenever you demand it?” He noses along the torrid flesh of your cheek, and you can hear the cruel smile taking hold of his voice. “I rather like the sound of you begging.”

You scoff. Try to kiss him again, but Astarion won’t have any of that.

“Now.” He zooms in, ghosting his lips over yours, fully intending to make you suffer. You lunge forward as if to bite him, earning another low, guttural laugh that you feel in the depths of your belly. “From the top, my love.”

[kulshedra97]

the prowler boob lady has returned to curse grace your feed

[moralesmilesanhour]

Yknow, I actually would like to see what Miles would be like as the next (villain) Prowler on some evil shit, but not with Miles G. That's too easy ! ☝🏾 I want to see what would lead 1610 Miles down the exact same path as Aaron. I want generational-curse-doomed-by-the-narrative type shit. What if Jeff's greatest fears took on the shape of his son. And there was nothing he could do about it.

[dreadheadmadi]

- I’M GONNA CLAW THOSE PRETTY LITTLE EYES OUT: Prologue

Pairing: The Prowler (Aaron Davis) x Black Cat Variant! OC

TW: murder, blood, graphic descriptions, cursing, gore, death, strong language

A/N: Please note that all my OCs are Black; of course, this doesn't mean that if you aren't Black, you can't read it. Just please be respectful. If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know by reblogging or just dm me! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list! I hope you have a wonderful day or night; bye, angel!

BLACKWOOD MANOR loomed on the outskirts of New York like a gothic monolith, its sprawling grounds shrouded in mist and mystery; its imposing design was a testament to the wealth and power of its enigmatic owner, the elusive billionaire Alexander Blackwood. The grandeur of the mansion enveloped the night like a cloak of decadence, its opulence a stark contrast to the darkness that seeped through its polished corridors.

Usually, the manor would lay dormant and dark, with no sounds or persons going in or out. However, tonight was a special night, a masquerade-themed birthday, of whom it belonged to but none other than Alexander Blackwood's spouse. She was different from her loner husband - a city girl and an active member of New York's rich folk. Such a figure would earn as many friends and connections as possible - and she invited them all. Within the manor's walls, the wealthy elite danced and revealed, their laughter echoing against the marble floors as they indulged in the spoils of their privilege.

Among them, Alexander's favorite niece, Sofia Blackwood, navigated the sea of masked faces, her steps hesitant as she struggled to mask her discomfort beneath a façade of poise and grace. That night, she mustered the courage to ask her uncle to fund her college education, considering that her parents disapproved of her choice of study and promised to cut ties if she pursued it.

The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfumes and the sickly sweetness of excess, but beneath it, a palpable tension lurked—a sense of impending doom that clung to the shadows like a vengeful specter. As the night wore on and inhibitions faded, Sofia was drawn to a secluded balcony overlooking the sprawling gardens below. She needed a moment to think, to gather herself before locating her uncle. Taking deep breaths, Sofia closed her eyes before looking at the scenery. A small smile appeared as she reminisced about when her uncle would play tag with her in the garden - tiny Sofia would run around the hedges, past the fountain, and up the staircase leading back to the manor as Alexander chased her. As her eyes followed the path, her smile quickly dropped as a cold chill shot through her blood.

There, amidst the ivy-covered trellises and moonlit fountains, she stumbled upon a sight that would forever haunt her nightmares. A figure lay sprawled across the cold stone tiles—a man, his once-immaculate tuxedo now stained with the crimson evidence of his demise. His eyes, wide with terror, stared unseeing into the night while multiple grotesque gashes marred his throat, the blood still warm and viscous against his pallid skin.

Sofia recoiled in horror, bile rising in her throat as she struggled to comprehend the brutality of the scene before her. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils, and she fought to suppress the urge to hurl as the reality of the situation washed over her in sickening waves. Instead of vomit coming out of her mouth, a guttural, heart-wrenching shriek replaced it. Multiple footsteps rush towards her before halting abruptly, filling the evening atmosphere with their wails. Around her, the party descended into chaos, the revelry shattered by the specter of death that now loomed over them all. Sofia was grabbed by her mother and father and ushered into an enclosed room where she finally regurgitated her evening meal onto the pristine marble floors.

Guests screamed and fled in panic, their masks slipping in their haste to escape the scene of the carnage unfolding before their eyes. All but one remained rooted to the spot, their gaze fixed on the lifeless form before them. Taking off their mask reveals a Black man with a scowl so deep in hatred that one would have thought he was the one who committed the murder. His dark brown eyes glower down at the body before being covered by the full face mask again. Quickly, he returned to the building, stomping down the velvet-covered stairs and pushing his way to the front of the small crowd around the crime scene.

As the crowd prayed, cried, and cursed the murderer to hell, the man's eyes focused on the wound on his neck. The gashes weren't a nice clean slice as if it were with a standard knife; they were thinner, deeper, and jagged with bits of flesh dangling and sticking out on the sides. No, a knife hadn't done this, but a set of claws-

"It was the Prowler!" a voice declared, "Look at the claw marks! That fucking bastard killed Alex!"

"I heard he's working with Fisk now. That fucking mammoth hated Alexander," another voice added, "He probably put a hit out."

"But on his wife's birthday? At a big event like this when we're all here?" A third chimed in. The second shook his head while pointing to Alexander's dead body.

"You don't know those men like I do; Alex was his number one enemy. When Fisk's family died, he asked Alex to help with some investments on some secret project; the hell if I know what it is. Alex said the fucker went batshit crazy when he lost his wife and was all over the news saying it too. It was supposed to be a wake-up call, but Fisk took that as disrespect and has been an enemy to the Blackwood family ever since. Dropping sponsorships, buying out companies, blocking his political power, I know that son of a bitch got something to do with this!"

The first voice suddenly reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a gun. "Fuck," he spat, "Fuck, fuck! To fucking hell with Fisk! I was THIS close to buying off those fucking votes! All that money gone to shit - where the FUCK is that purple bastard?! I'm putting a bullet through his head and then into Fisk's next!" With the sudden uproar, the first voice stormed back into the manor, which prompted others to do the same, all looking for the Prowler. He was already gone, however - he snuck out of the manor and into the thicket surrounding the manor, climbing onto his motorcycle and speeding off towards Brooklin. As he blares down the road, he tears off his mask again - brown eyes darkened as a single thought runs through his head.

That bitch stole my fucking kill.

Aaron swore to his momma that he’d never hit a girl, but this bitch was asking for it. It wasn’t the first time Black Cat had killed someone on his list; no, it’s been months since their first encounter. But for how long will this keep happening? The year is almost over, and he’s only been responsible for the deaths of four unlucky souls. Four, while she had six. Five of which were stolen right from his grasp. To say he was upset is an understatement. Annoyed? Oh, that’s long gone. Pissed? Maybe two months ago. Enraged? Closer, but not quite.

It’s gotten to the point where his work has become sloppy - disregarding his usual planned and strategic approach for a quicker and easier route just in case she was around. One time he even took a gunshot to his shoulder because of his blatant tunnel vision - Fisk gave him shit for it and benched him for a few weeks to heal before shoving him back into work. Aaron figures he’s going to be hooked on painkillers for a long while.

Speaking of the Kingpin, Aaron wasn’t sure how to explain what happened tonight, hell he doesn’t even know what happened tonight. All he knew was that he had only been at the party for around fifteen to twenty minutes before Sophia’s screams were heard. The party had only been going on for about ten minutes before he arrived, so within that thirty-minute window, Black Cat had arrived at the party, isolated Alexander, and killed him.

Based on his wounds, Aaron deduced that they weren’t deep enough to make a swift and easy kill. As he studied the evidence photos of Alexander after he hacked into the BPD police files, he zoomed in closely on the gashes. While it did look like claw marks, they were uneven and choppy. It wasn’t a clean strike either - it was slanted and angled more vertically than anything. A clear indication of a height difference, Aaron noted.

Alexander was six feet tall exactly; if Black Cat had struggled to get to his neck, she’d be closer to five feet in height, five feet and five inches at max. Aaron paused and wondered if she were wearing heels or platforms that night - it would make sense, considering she’d have to blend into a masquerade-styled party. That would put her shorter than five feet and five inches, the average height for women in Brooklyn. He wrote that down on a notepad and kept examining the photos.

The pieces of flesh that stuck out kept drawing his attention. It looked like the results of his prototype claw gauntlets. They were made of random and uncut metals that weren't accurately measured or maintained. The metal would often be too sharp or dull and get stuck underneath the victim’s skin due to the curvature of the claws. Once he drew back his hand, he would quite literally rip out the area of flesh he had made contact with. While it got the job done, it was a messy and loud kill, prompting him to update his weapon.

It was evident to Aaron that Black Cat’s weapon was similar to his prototype; however, one thing still bothered him - it was a silent kill. The initial contact had been on the side of his neck, still leaving enough airway to scream out for help or in pain. No one heard anything, and according to the witness statements, no one had noticed that Alexander was not present at the party. Aaron frowned at that detail - Alexander Blackwood wasn’t stupid. Someone, be it a guard or even his wife, had to have known he was separating himself from the partygoers. A man who has many enemies wouldn’t dare leave without alerting someone.

Another thing that bothered him was that Alexander wasn’t some snobby old rich guy. Blackwood was a black belt in his youth; he competed in and eventually founded various boxing matches and fight clubs across the United States. He was highly trained in artillery and probably would have been a military commander by now if he wasn’t in control of New York’s corrupt legal system. Simply put, Alexander Blackwood was a force to be reckoned with, just to be cut down by some female in a black leather jumpsuit. It just didn’t make sense.

All of Black Cat’s six kills before Alexander Blackwood had been young men and women of minor importance—quick money, as Aaron called it. The targets Fisk had assigned to the Prowler were gang leaders, drug dealers, and old henchmen whom Fisk no longer needed. This jump from stepping on an ant to straight-up maiming a lion was highly unusual for some uptown thief in a bodysuit. A whole year with little to no gains was starting to get to the mercenary; he needed to get to the bottom of this shit and quickly.

Aaron rubbed his hand across his face and turned towards another monitor, clicking on Google and searching up “Black Cat Brooklin.” He was hoping something new would pop up, but all he found were a few articles and stories he’d already researched.

There was a video that had gone viral a month ago; it was the CCTV footage of a jewelry store that the villainess had broken into. She wore her classic attire, mask, and a white straightened angled bob. Strolling around the store, she opened the displays and bagged all the merchandise, even trying on some and posing in a mirror hanging on the wall. Afterward, she shouldered the duffel bag, blew a kiss at the camera, and left out of the vent system she had used to get into the building. The uproar on memes and parodies of the event were all over Aaron’s feed for days. Women were gushing over her bad bitch aura, creating fan pages, and even going out and buying white wigs, dyes, and bundles just to look like her. And, of course, the men were practically fapping their dicks, saying how she was too delicate to go to prison, how they too would steal some shit in this economy; they were lowkey gassing her up more than the women did.

Aaron didn’t care enough to have an opinion; at that time, she was just some thief. But it’s different now, he thought, she’s more than a thief, she’s a killer. This year was the first year of her dipping her toes into homicide, and from Aaron’s knowledge, she hadn’t even been caught yet. Aaron wondered if those men and women would still support her after it’s exposed that she killed six people in over a year, but he figured they probably still would - the world is fucking crazy nowadays.

Right now at the moment, he was just mindlessly scrolling, clicking on the fan pages and profiles for any information he could gain on her. And then, after refreshing for the tenth time, a new video popped up titled “BLACK CAT HAS A NEW WEAPON (and it reminds me of someone 🤔) | New Look, New Tactics.” Aaron immediately clicked on the video and recognized the person in the commentary as an influencer who was one of the ones who made the robbing video famous by creating a whole trend based on it. The video started with random filler topics, which Aaron graciously skipped through before getting down to the central part of the video.

“Okay, guys, so let’s get to the tea; last night, Black Cat was seen scaling buildings and rooftops downtown with a new look, baby! Let’s look at what Miss Cat got going on for us,” the influencer starts, clicking on a Twitter thread showing a few off-guard pictures and videos of the thief.

“Oh, my God, you guys! Look at that fur, okay, hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself,” she laughed before viewing the first picture and zooming in. “Okay, first thing’s first, that hair, baby! Miss Cat said new hair, new me, and rocking this new do! Gone is her angled bob, replaced with these cute goddess passion twists; I love this! Of course, it’s colored in her signature platinum. Is it platinum? Platinum feels more yellow to me, maybe just plain white? Or maybe more like a frosty white, you know? Yeah, let’s go with that, haha! Edges are laid to perfection, makeup always looking fresh, ugh I’m telling all of you Miss Cat needs to open up shop cause I would pay-“

Aaron skipped ahead a little more; it’s nothing new that Black Cat constantly changed up her hairstyle and makeup looks. It's a smart move, considering how easy it is to track someone nowadays. Her indecisiveness is the sole reason no one has found out who she is; by the time they get comfortable with one look, it’s on to the next.

“Alright, so let’s talk about this new suit. So, I do get why most people say this isn’t a new suit. I mean, it is just the same suit with more fur, probably to keep warm since we are in winter, but I like to call it a new suit solely for these!” The influencer moves to the following picture, a close-up of Black Cat’s arms - which had two slender gauntlets with claw-like attachments. Aaron sat up and leaned towards the screen. Those looked familiar - real fucking familiar.

“That’s right, guys, Black Cat has a new weapon! This kitty has claws, and she is not afraid to use them! Many people say they love it; it’s on brand with the whole cat thing and a way better choice than the staff she used. I love the claws; they bring her a new, dangerous vibe. Like, before, she was just this common thief we all made jokes about, but now it’s like, damn, she's pretty serious about this. Miss Cat said to put some respect on her name; she isn’t any weak runt of the litter; she is THE Black Cat. Quit playing with her; this is serious business! Now, next, we have a quick little video of this new weapon in action, but before that, a quick word from our sponsor-“

Yeah, no, fuck that. Aaron skips again to where the video starts, and his leg bounces. There’s no way, there’s no fucking way, right? Right?

The video in the thread plays, and it shows Black Cat using the claws to climb up a brick wall, leaving significant scratch marks and puncture holes etched into the concrete. Then, once on top of the roof, she raises her hand and flexes it, which seems to trigger some mechanism as the claw part of the gauntlet shoots out and attaches itself to the edge of another roof two buildings across. Black Cat then runs and jumps off the roof she was currently on and uses the rope-like connection lodged between the claw part and the rest of the gauntlet. She swings towards the building, and on the video, the connection shortens, creating a grappling hook. The video shows her safely landing and repeating the action for another building before it ends.

The video cuts back to the influencer as she comments, “So, as we can see, it’s like a grappling hook, kind of? That’s cool; I wish I had a grappling hook. Then I could properly get to work on time when there’s traffic-“

Aaron exits the video before finding the Twitter thread and checking the comments. There are screenshots of the gauntlet from different angles and a few claims that it had sometimes glowed purple. After reading more and more comments about the description of the gauntlet, Aaron leans back in his chair and blinks.

That’s my gauntlet, he thinks; that’s my prototype.

Immediately, he calls Fisk - the one person Aaron trusted enough to leave the prototype with due to his high-security level warehouses and marked a sign of mutual trust between the two business partners. After quickly catching Fisk up to date, Fisk left to check the warehouse himself before confirming that the prototype was indeed missing - stating that they had numerous techs slowly disappear since the end of the previous year but couldn’t pin who it was or how they broke in.

The whole reason he wanted Alexander dead was because he was the only other person who knew where Fisk’s warehouses were, so the Kingpin thought he was the one who did it. Regardless, Fisk seemed intrigued that Aaron had made the connection to Black Cat, but Aaron was too busy breathing fire to even tune in on what the Kingpin was saying, causing him to drop the line altogether.

Aaron could feel the uncomfortable heat of anger creeping up his spine and seeping into his brain, as he returned to the thread and checked the new comments.

It didn't take long before the public started to bring up the Prowler’s weapon and their similarities. After rewatching the video five more times, Aaron noticed the prototype was tampered with. Every major flaw Aaron had trouble with had been fixed to a degree. Aaron closed his eyes and leaned back, his leg bouncing rapidly before suddenly stopping.

“It’s my prototype, he mumbles, “And she fixed it. She took my shit and made it better.” He slowly opens his eyes; green envy returns to his dark brown eyes. “First, she steals my kills, and now she steals my tech,” he chuckles before laughing and slamming his palm down onto his desk. “I am,” he laughs, “I am going to fucking end this bitch.”

Tag list: @mordeiswrld @arielpanda1 @young-dc @fossilizedbeetle @super-nova-2006 @chelsea-xxx2003 @fandom-multiamory @leahnicole1219

[feckinhaggis]

Last.fm Monthly: October

 • Mortician - Chainsaw Dismemberment

 • Massacred - Human Extermination

 • Sarcófago - INRI

 • Black Sabbath - S/T

 • Nicole Dollanganger - Curdled Milk

 • Fluids - Exploitative Practices

 • Bathory - The Return......

 • Dahmer - Dahmerized

 • Slayer - Hell Awaits

 • Autopsy - Mental Funeral

 • Morbid Angel - Altars of Madness

 • Blasphemy - Fallen Angel Of Doom

 • Exhumed - Death Revenge

 • Venom - Black Metal

 • Tenebro - Ultime Grida Dalla Giugla

 • Macabre - Dahmer

 • Church Of Misery - The Second Coming

 • Dragged Into Sunlight - Hatred For Mankind

 • Incinerated - Lobotomise

 • Pig Destroyer - Prowler In The Yard

 • Candlemass - Epicus Doomicus Metallicus

 • Fulci - Exhumed Information

 • Gouger - Cranial DEMOlition

 • Apartment 213 - Cleveland Powerviolence

 • Impetigo - Horror of the Zombies

 • Amigo The Devil - Volume 1

 • Fluids - Ignorance Exalted

 • Headless Death - A Hideous Warning

 • Possessed - Seven Churches

 • Darkthrone - A Blaze In The Northern Sky

[alexdelray1]

Part Two. 42 Miles Morales x Reader.

I love everyone who leaves a heart and a comment (^^)

Btw

Miles will be from 42.

Miles will be Miles from 1610.

Part one:

What happened in the last part?

Aron left the room saying something to him and after a while he came out… Prowler?

Oh, what's a girl to do.

He got close to Miles and said something while taking off his mask. Wait, is that?

Just like fire burning up the way.

If I could light the world up for just one day.

Watch this madness, colorful charade.

Miles?

No one can be just like me any way!

End of reminder.

It's probably a mistake. It's not even remotely possible. Miles isn't bad, he always helps everyone, yes he has a bad temper sometimes, but to be a villain?

Pull yourself together Reader. You have to separate your private life from the one with a mask. Even though it seems impossible now, it has to be done.

I adjusted the mask on my face and took a deep breath. We have to save-- I didn't finish the monologue because I heard a small explosion.

I looked out the window again and saw Miles use electricity or something to attack Miles. Miles jumped to the ceiling and tried to jump out of the window where I was. When he jumped out, I quickly grabbed his costume and started swinging with him.

-Who are you?!- Miles asked me, trying to get away from me.

-Reader. Miles, do you realize what earth you are on? - I asked him and still held him tightly.

-Not really.- he replied numbly.

-You are on Earth 42, where you are… the villain. This is not your earth. - I said and looked behind me. Miles chased me with his uncle.

-Can you swing well now? - I asked him while running away.

-Yes! I've been Spider-man for almost a year! - he said, still holding on to me.

-Do you have a mask?- I asked, still avoiding the bullets flying at me.

-In a jacket!- he shouted at me.

-The plan is that you run away, fly as close to the police station as possible and if he stops chasing you, sit on the roof of the police station and try not to get shot. - I said and as soon as I was at the highest point in the air I could, I let him go and kept swinging.

Miles fled towards the police station and, as I suspected, Aron followed him. Miles was on my tail constantly shooting. I did a lot of dodging until I saw a big old building. I flew into it and prepared for the attack.

After a second, Miles flew into me and they stood in a defensive pose.

-I wanted to ask you how you knew where I was. It shows that you proprably have a chip in your friend. - he commented and we started walking around.

-Maybe I have it, maybe I don't, but I can tell you one thing now, Miles Morales, you're wasting yourself.- I said seriously, trying not to show weakness.

-You don't know how many times I've heard that. I know whether it is a waste or not. Anyway, it's a pity that you saw who I am now, I'll really have to kill you. - he said and shot at me. I dodged.

-Do you know that if you do this, you will completely fuck up your universe? - I asked him.

-So this is about the universe? So this guy is some other me? Strange, I thought he was my clone.- he commented.

-Miles, I know we don't have a good relationship, but try for the sake of the universe. You may not believe me, but a bad thing happened in your universe last year. Very. And because of this thing, this universe was doomed, but I came and saved it. Understand. - I said, trying to be serious and kind to some extent.

Miles didn't speak for a moment. Finally he sighed.

-What's going on with this clone?- he asked me and crossed his arms.

-He's just in the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess… - I said.

-How so? - he asked me.

-No one really told me what it was about, but I had heard about an anomaly that had something to do with it. It was very strong… But there will be proprably a fight here. - I grabbed my head.

-Scale?- he asked me.

-Depends. I think it will take the upper fifth avenue. Looking at other universes, that's where the most important fights take place, I said.

-Upper fifth Avenue? Reader lives there. I have to get her.- he said and headed to the window.

-You don't have to.- I replied and he turned to me.

-Why don't I have to? This is my girlfriend. What if something happens to her?! - he asked me and got angry.

-You know, you're not very good at guessing. And I'm sorry I didn't drink tea then.- I said.

-What do you mean?- he asked me, probably reaching some conclusions.

-Think, genius.- I said. Well, to be so delulu. I can't believe I smashed him.

-Were you stalking me and my girlfriend?- he asked and I slapped my forehead. I'm starting to believe that some people must have delulu in their genes.

I took off my mask.

-Satisfied?- I asked and raised my hands.

-Reader? You? But… But… How is that possible? - he asked. He was seriously shocked.

-Miles, I have to tell the truth. I am not from Earth 42. My universe was destroyed by a certain person… As an 'apology' I was given this universe to live in. In this universe, spider-man couldn't become spider-man because of a certain incident, so to keep the balance, I stayed here. - I said with guilt.

-Who was supposed to be Spider-man?- Miles asked me.

-You, but I had no idea you would become a Prowler.- I replied.

Miles looked down. His mask electrically came off his face. Tears were falling from his eyes. I ran to him and hugged him.

-If I became Spider-man, would dad be alive?- he asked me.

-Probably yes.- I replied and he started crying into my shoulder.

-Everything will be fine.- I said quietly.

From now on we will work together no ma--

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Three bullets hit my back. Miles looked at me in horror and then behind me. He took me in his arms and started shouting something.

I don't know what is happening… I'm tired… Why is everything so muffled? I don't know. I want to go home…