#I’m keeping The Mode Of Transport his family was using vague on purpose I’m sorry JGSJFKSH

[ghoul--doodle]

I'm interested to know more of the context behind the drawings with Bailey and his plushie! What happened to him and his family?

Bailey and his family were involved in an accident on- a mode of public transportation, shall we say

Bailey had been given the plushie a short time before the incident, and he’d been carrying it with him during the crash

He was badly injured and rushed to hospital, which resulted in the loss of his eye, among other things

Bailey was one of the sole survivors of the incident, he’d unfortunately lost his parents through the whole ordeal

And he was adopted into a new family not long after

His memories surrounding the accident, and even before, are incredibly foggy for him and he doesn’t particularly remember much at all

But he remembers the plushie!

He remembers that it was a gift from his parents and he absolutely treasures it

During his stay in the hospital while he was recovering some of the staff removed one of the buttons on the plushie’s face so Bailey wouldn’t be so scared upon learning he’d lost one of his

It was a huge comfort for him through the whole thing, and he still goes back to using it for comfort as an adult, it’s one thing he’ll never toss away if he can help it

He just knows it’s important to him

[tangleweave]

Rescue Me (RP)

@akasupergirl

“Help! Help! Someone help me!”

On the streets of Manhattan, it tended to be 6-to-5 and pick ‘em whether such a plea for assistance would actually be fulfilled. If there was a feature of the city to be counted upon, it was the indifference of the average New Yorker. But the odds were decidedly not in favor of the person issuing the cries, not least of which because he looked like some strange hybrid of man and frog… but also because five ornately armored bipedal figures were giving chase via various modes of transportation.

The diminutive target of the group’s ire was fleeing on foot in a general northerly direction. If he got perhaps another 70 blocks, he’d eventually make it to Stark Tower. He was, at the least, giving a good account of himself… his running speed easily matched that of an Olympic athlete, even dressed as he was in bulky, tattered clothing. It might have been more were his hands not bound behind him, and a flashing electronic collar not secured about his neck.

One would have been forgiven for thinking him a fugitive from justice, particularly in light of the five pursuers, whose armors looked strangely reminiscent of a variety of Iron Man configurations. The leading pursuer, in particular, was clad in armor of dark red and gold, festooned with silver spikes, and he was delivering terse instructions to his comrades. “Ramshot, Wysper, get ahead of him. Firearm, Screech, to the sides. I’ve got him from behind.”

“Sure you do.”

Anti-Venom landed atop the assailant’s shoulders before he had time to react, driving him fully into the concrete of the sidewalk. Passersby let out a plethora of colorful expressions and exclamations, none of which he had any time for. His left hand grew to gargantuan size and wrapped about the vigilante he’d just dropped, then slammed him against the nearest convenient brick wall – a narrow separator between a deli and a haberdashery.

“Sentry.” The ivory-skinned hulk snarled. “You and your Jury flunkies really ought to get a hobby besides pretending you have any authority to do what you do.”

“Screech! Get back—!”

“Ah-ah.” Anti-Venom’s other hand came up and delivered a hard slap to the side of Sentry’s head, completely disregarding the spikes there that tried to tear into the flesh of his palm, which simply liquefied and reformed. He pulled the dazed Jurist away from the wall and spun him around to face him. Anti-Venom’s grip kept Sentry’s arms pinned to his sides, and the red-orange glow of his eyes and mouth was reflected in the metal of his helmet. “You just wait right here. Some nice men in clean white coats will come get you directly.”

He thrust his arm out and smashed Sentry into the wall again, back-first, this time leaving him wrapped up in a tight cocoon of white bio-mass that was far stronger than any webbing his red-and-blue counterpart had ever demonstrated.

Anti-Venom launched himself into the air, vaulting in the direction of the distressed hostage the Jury had taken. He was already depressed by the possibilities. When last he’d encountered them, it had been as Venom, and their leader – Gavel – had been quite clear as to the reason for their formation: his escape from the Life Foundation’s Vault had led to the death of their family members. Tragedy and a thirst for vengeance had been their unifying theme, their singular call… but they’d failed to capture and hold him long enough to deliver the sentence they so dearly wanted to visit upon him.

That he was no longer Venom now probably wouldn’t matter much to them if they were still united in that purpose. Eddie Brock’s alter-ego wasn’t well-known (thankfully for his career) but the Jury knew of it. When he’d fled to San Francisco, he’d given them reason to think he was dead, and he’d done his level best to keep things quiet – until the Mister Negative incident, and his transformation into something very different. It was something of a minor miracle they hadn’t tried to come after him upon his return to New York and his attempt to resume some semblance of a normal life… though it wasn’t unreasonable to think Kara might be throwing him a little cover.

But who was the fleeing captive, and what did they want with him?

Two Jurists – Ramshot and Screech – were already between him and the captive. Judging by the smell trailing behind the green-skinned stranger, Anti-Venom figured he was probably a Morlock. It was a little too easy to forget about New York’s sewer-swelling mutant population, driven underground because their appearances were too grotesque for society to tolerate. Anti-Venom knew better than most what that sort of living was like… in two words, unduly harsh. This man certainly didn’t need people like these making it any harder.

Ramshot’s jet-boots were carrying him ever closer to their original target, while Screech had already turned to engage Anti-Venom. An earsplitting sonic scream erupted from speakers mounted on the Jurist’s helmet and armor, focused into narrow channels for maximum effect against a Klyntar symbiote.

Anti-Venom snarled through the wash of noise, raised an enlarged fist, and swept it into Screech with virtually no regard for his attack. The blasts would have shattered Venom, but against Anti-Venom, they were little more than a nuisance. His strike tossed Screech into a nearby lamppost, which snapped off entirely from the force of the impact.

Civilians were actively fleeing the area now, and with good cause. Amidst the warble of shrieking and the rumbling of fleeing feet, he could make out the Jury members re-orienting their efforts around him rather than their first target. In that moment, he knew he had only seconds to act. By attempting to help, he’d drawn their eye, and if he didn’t help their target get away within the next few moments, they’d both be under attack.

He threw himself down the street and hurtled into Ramshot, whose jet-powered boots were just about to carry him to the fleeing frog-man, despite the poor captive’s best (and impressive) efforts to run. Anti-Venom grabbed hold of Ramshot with both hands, his black fangs smiling wide for the Jurist.

“Hi.”

He swung his weight around to disrupt Ramshot’s center of gravity and threw out a spread of tentacles to catch about a traffic light. The Jurist’s flight was thrown horribly by the shifting dynamics and the grip Anti-Venom’s tendrils had on Ramshot’s ankle was such that when the jets pulled him taut, the sound of his foot disjointing was audible. The Jurist belted out a scream of pain and collapsed to the ground beneath Anti-Venom, who quickly jumped to his feet and leapt after the Morlock; he cast forth another tendril to catch about the frog-man’s waist and pull him up into the air.

The Morlock screamed – and after all, why wouldn’t he? – as Anti-Venom caught him in midair and swung hard and fast through the district. By peeling away three of the five Jurists, he had a wide swath of escape routes to the east… if only the Morlock would stop struggling.

“Calm down,” he snarled. “I’m here to help.”

The Morlock whimpered. “You’re… you’re not with them?”

Anti-Venom glared red at his passenger. “Do I look like I’m with them?” he returned. “Hang tight, I’m getting you out of here. What do they want with you?”

“They’re the Jury!” the Morlock cried, as if that offered explanation.

“I know who they are,” Anti-Venom snapped, careening hard around a corner. “Why are they after you?”

“They’ve been trying to round us up out of the sewers! They came into our territory claiming they had jurisdiction and were charging us with vagrancy! Got these collars on a bunch of us before we even knew what was happening! The others managed to help me get out but they’re still trapped – they need help! I thought if I got to the surface…!”

“That you’d find an X-Man or an Avenger and they’d help you out,” Anti-Venom finished. He rolled his eyes behind his living mask. “So sorry you’re stuck with me, then. Hold on…”

Spiked tentacles erupted from his back as he continued to swing fast and hard to elude their pursuit; the tendrils set about the task of tearing into the hand-sheaths and the collar. The Jury’s technology had clearly lost none of its potency – no more than they themselves had lost business dealings with anti-meta corporations, he mused. Even against the strength of his reversed symbiote the shackles were a considerable challenge to break, and it was in no way helpful when the Morlock bucked and squirmed in his hold while he sent tentacles to snap the collar without also snapping the poor victim’s neck.

A crimson energy blast sizzled past them both, causing the Morlock to shriek and Anti-Venom to momentarily glance back. Firearm had caught up with them – he was astride a hover bike and he was already releasing a flurry of variable ammunition at them. Missed shots were peppering buildings and windows.

“Not inside the city!” Anti-Venom roared in irritation. Goddamn it, they had the nerve to complain about vigilante property destruction but the moment they themselves did it…

He shot one more look to his passenger. “All right, listen, what’s your name?”

“A-Arthur,” the timid mutant stammered.

“Arthur, I’m gonna to need to drop you off, and then I need you to get below, fast as you can. I’ll deal with the Jury, if they’re up here they aren’t down there. Get to Stark Tower. Help is there.”

“S-Stark Tower?” The frog-man’s eyes bugged out even further than their natural disposition. “You mean where Supergirl lives?”

“Right. Where Supergirl lives.” He felt himself wincing – this guy was in the middle of a traumatic episode, he wouldn’t even absorb more than the first five words he spoke in any given sentence. He probably only vaguely understood what was about to happen. “Listen, Arthur, this is important. Are you listening?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Good. Listen close. Tell Supergirl, ‘Eddie’s in trouble.’ Say it back to me.”

“Uhh… um, Eddie’s in trouble!” The Morlock frowned. “Who’s Eddie?”

Yep, traumatic episode. He wasn’t putting it together and Anti-Venom wasn’t about to do the math for him. “Never mind that. Just tell her that. Understand? Eddie’s in trouble. Got it?”

“Got it! Eddie’s in trouble!”

“Good. Here we go. Three-two-one!”

The rapid countdown wasn’t quite enough time for the poor Morlock to prepare to be dumped off, and the frog-like mutant shrieked as Anti-Venom released him to tumble in a heap in a wide alleyway. But the white symbiote-clad vigilante had, at least, deposited Arthur next to a sewer entrance – whose manhole cover he immediately tore from its sconce. Arthur was, thankfully, quick on the draw and leapt headfirst into the hole, proof positive that either he knew where he was going or he was truly desperate to escape his captors.

Hopefully both, Anti-Venom thought, as Firearm and Wysper, riding a hover board, arrived on scene to engage him. He swung the manhole cover about on a loose tentacle like a deranged yo-yo and was able to smash into Firearm’s bike engine, forcing him to dismount before the vehicle crashed in a fiery blaze.

A sustained laser beam erupted from one of Firearm’s weapons – Anti-Venom held up the manhole cover to deflect the energy blast but the lid soon became orange-hot and too much for him to handle. He snarled and slammed it down atop the open manhole before any of the Jury could think to descend into it.

If Screech was adequately named, Wysper was even more so – there was some trick of her technology that made it possible to suppress sound within the immediate area. Anti-Venom was abruptly disoriented without his sense of audition, and he was pummeled by a pair of energy blasts that drove him to his knees.

He whipped a scythe-like tentacle towards his attackers, but it appeared Firearm and Wysper both had achieved their stride, and they dodged the attack with apparent ease. Firearm brought his rifle up again, and this time what emerged wasn’t red – it was ice blue, and to Anti-Venom’s skin it felt like frozen fire trying to insinuate into his veins. The arm that caught the beam blackened almost instantly, and the armor of the reversed symbiote fell away, revealing Eddie’s all-too-human arm at half the length beneath it.

Damn it, they’d figured him out fast. Way too fast. Fire and sound didn’t hurt him anymore, but cold and silence…?

He brought his other arm up, expanding the ivory skin outward to create as broad a shield as he could muster. It would last all of two seconds against a weapon like that, but maybe it was two seconds he could use to conjure some other solution…

What happened in the seconds that followed seemed little more than a haze of pain and fury for him. Sentry arrived, with Ramshot and Screech approaching only moments thereafter, and suddenly the alley didn’t seem so wide anymore. Anti-Venom was thrown about from one Jurist to the next, one awful, disabling strike after another, bits and pieces of him falling away with every blow. If they’d been cops, SWAT, even military, they wouldn’t have been able to penetrate the symbiote skin – but the Jury had developed their weaponry very carefully, and a precision freeze ray aimed at Anti-Venom’s leg froze him in a block of ice from ankle to thigh, joining solidly to the ground beneath him.

Ramshot drove a hydraulic punch into the side of Anti-Venom’s head, knocking the white symbiote flesh away from nearly half his face – the pained scowl that followed was with one eye of glowing red and one of blue.

Sentry stepped forward and grabbed Anti-Venom about the neck with one hand. The glowing eyepieces of the Jurist’s helmet seemed to narrow at the vigilante… but if he spoke, it was consumed by Wysper’s noise suppression.

Anti-Venom stared at his attacker in defiance. Go ahead, he thought. Let’s see you make a difference. I already made mine.