¡ ᴚ∀I˥

[svped]

BOYS FOCUSED MULTI MUSE. DOSED BY GOLD, SHE/HER, 27.

FOCUSED ON THE TRAGEDY OF HEROES, THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD ON THEIR SHOULDERS AND THE FALL FROM GRACE. TRIGGERING AND MATURE CONTENT AHEAD, DO NOT FOLLOW ME IF YOU'RE A MINOR OR UNDER 21.

IMPORTANT! : THIS BLOG FOLLOWS LORE CLOSELY SHARED BY @anti-supe. THERE WILL BE LITTLE TO NO WIGGLE ROOM. SILVER IS AND WILL BE MY FIRST PRIORITY ON THIS BLOG AND EVERYTHING FROM CANON HAS BEEN BUTCHERED (PUN INTENDED) TO MAKE ROOM FOR OUR VERSION. IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS, ASK US!

LINKS : SITE. MY OTHER HALF. FIND GOLD AT : main blog, abraham march.

[svped]

i just think.... roy with the ability to make someone's heart explode in their chest with concussive force and just a touch.....

[svped]

me actively trying not to make certain characters OP

b/oys canon: v1 is 10x more potent than a modern variant and makes its users inherently more powerful than modern supes.

roy being "OP" it is

[svped]

baby also suggested that roy would keep and build makeshift model bombers as a reflection of his grief and i just think..... yeah

[svped]

UPDATED DETAILS ABOUT : ROY CONNERS

originally was a gunner during the war, roy was the youngest in his crew in a B17 at just 17 (he lied about his age during enlistment). naturally, as the smallest man, it meant that he was often in the turret in the front of the plane, under the cockpit and defending their mission from enemy forces. there were multiple times his plane, named the banshee, returned to home base riddled with damage. so much so one time, roy had to crawl through the belly of the plane to operate the release of the bombs, as their on-board norden bombsight (ayy, ayy!!) was damaged and couldn't adjust properly to let the crew drop their ammunition, and their bombardier had been killed. roy worked under heavy fire to navigate the flight crew and help drop their bombs as quickly as possible, and return safely back home when he returned to his turret when all bombs released. from then on, he was referred to as bombsight.

after that mission, the banshee was repaired and ran over twenty more successfully completed missions with roy now operating as the bombardier. this is also indicated on his suit with his bombardier badge. he wears it with honor for a very long time after the war.

the black bombs on his suit represent the number of missions where an ordered target was destroyed. the white bombs represent the missions he completed with his crew with a self identified target that had been destroyed. roy did not feel it was necessary to transfer those marks over to his suit, but someone at vought after he was injected with v likely insisted and his actions are forever recorded.

roy was injected with compound v post war (due to the fact that he is still "in service" as he's selling war bonds after being ordered home following the death of his brother in berlin), around spring of 1946, when he begun to show interest in the program and had been introduced to frederick vought. roy is one of the original heroes handpicked by the creator himself, and worked alongside other famed heroes, such as captain vought. roy, while he is carrying v in his system, does not get the same original version of the drug that captain vought had received, but rather one frederick felt as if he'd perfected through the duration of the war. it is still a version of v1, however.

after injection, he kept his moniker of bombsight and that became his hero name. at present, due to the aspects of his injection (and now validation of such lmao), roy conners is alive and well at the age of 108 and will continue to live. he is immune to the supe virus like captain vought is, though his recovery process with exposure is much slower.

[svped]

BOMBSIGHT MENTION IN THIS EPISODE GOT ME !!!!

[inacatastrophicmind]

[svped]

in case you're wondering what shiloh is like.... ft. @anti-supe

[svped]

why do i even get out of bed? as question falls, allen curls his body to his, wrapping an arm around his naked torso and laying his head on his chest. his heartbeat is steady, beautifully sound and in perfect rhythm compared to what it had been an hour ago. he can't tell tell if it's supposed to be rhetorical or philosophical in the tone that he asks it but, either way, there is a deepening instinct to keep him wrapped safely in the nest of warm bedsheets and his arms.

why do i even get out of bed? selfishly, he wonders the same thing. why does leon ever have to leave the bed? leave him alone for those few minutes that allen dares to stay and mourn him? why can't he just stay here and fuck him until he's sated? why do talking heads at vought insist on ruining a good morning by insisting even more that he be present at some thing or another? allen's sure that he mentioned it at some point, whatever he's dreading, but the thought is lost to him while he's this close and he's still listening to @anti-supe's heart gently thrum in his ear.

then a kiss placed gently over his chest, another at his collarbone and leading to his jaw. “ i think, maybe ... ” another at his chin, “ so that you can come back to me after a very long, hard day of hero work ... ” those words whispered softly over his lips and teasing a kiss, “ and use me to take your mind off of it. an' think about me all day until you just can't stand it. ”

[alicent-florent]

Sarah Pidgeon as Carolyn Bessette Kennedy Love Story S01E09 "Search and Recovery" (2026)

[svped]

nothing better than a man getting upset at you and your team because he walked out before his full order was complete. (: anyways, i'll be around today and getting to plotting things finally.

[anti-supe-a-deactivated20260417]

about what? that earns allen the meanest look he can muster, which isn't much at all. just a furrow to his brow which only shuffles the mask upon his face, eyes narrowing within the slits. really going to test his patience today. he's already had to withstand toddling around the grocery store without being able to touch a single part of allens body. the inappropriate parts. the parts his palms are itching for.

he adjusts the front of his suit shirt, tucks it back under the belt. hand spreading across his chest plate. if only to occupy his hands for a moment. then allen dares to.... add more words.

captain vought huffs, corners his fingers into his palm with index extended outward towards him. “ah.. what did i just fucking say?” a rhetoric that doesn't allow the other man to answer but answers himself, “I said not a single fucking word. that was nine fucking words.” hand begins to wave him off, “just... did you fucking pick a bottle yet so we can bounce?” before he has to do that shit again.

[svped]

oh he's trying. trying so very hard. allen can see it behind his eyes, nestled between amusement and veiled annoyance that he would try to push this. he's ready to go just like allen is, ready to get out of the public's eye and back to their own private abode where they could drag each other out of their clothes, giggling like school kids, drinking their wine from the bottle. when allen looks over at him again, it's all he can see. what they could be doing. all he wants him to do is grab his face and kiss him, but they can't here. not here.

the captain over there huffs, pointing index at him like he's about to scold a child. what did i just fucking say? and laughter erupts from him, full bodied and loud. he doesn't even care that others in the store stop and stare at him like he's insane, or simply smile due to his present company. his turn to wipe laughter tears from his eyes. did you fucking pick a bottle yet so we can bounce?

not anything really worth their time, though he does pluck one of the three bottles he finally grabbed while he, captain vought, had been otherwise occupied. it was decent, a six year vintage and red, a warm cabernet. a better choice from his cheap pinot. the others in the basket range slightly, but this one ... this one is their choice of the night.

“ i did, while you were busy. ” it falls more affectionate than the last, not as much a tease. it was a beautiful contrast that he was a witness to: the wonderment children looking up at their hero, and the moment said hero no longer towered over the small child and came to his level instead. making them equals. there was something to be said about the gentleness of that moment and allen isn't going to let him or anyone just shrug it off. “ you're good with them. kids. it was nice to watch, is all. ” he says, nudging him again with an elbow as they move forward to the cashier.

[svped]

my brain is currently making dial up noises so i might dip to play a little bit of my cowboy game and try again later when there is less activity happening in my house lmao

[anti-supe-a-deactivated20260417]

the chain separates, it falls to hit lightly against the frame of the door. the relief that floods leon's system is almost palpable. like he could reach right out and take a firm grip of it. only he can't because it's not possible. it brings his entire system down. his eyelids are heavy now. not a sensation he's felt for decades. the novichok didn't count. that was a ... that was a completely different sensation. contrasted to how hard it was to take a deep breath now. he doesn't want to even think about what this reminds him of..

every inhale causing a wheeze, every inhale being able to take less and less oxygen into him. if this was it. lower lip quivering than he would go out having allen be the last thing he sees. not the way, his haunted face looked in the mirror. the door opening causes every bit of strength he has left to dissipate from him.

he reaches out, risking removing his hands from the door frame. fingerless gloved hand manages to take hold of one of allens shoulders. his other arm fails him. his knees buckle and he's collapsing into allen. much like the lock of his door, they both take a tumble to the floor. leon ends up unconscious half on top of the other man's body. head rests on allens chest.

[svped]

oh my god! it falls before he can really think, before he can properly react to the sight of him. sickly, boils over his skin and dark black veins carving their way over his face, bloodshot eyes looking at him in a silent plea, half dead. allen cross has seen a lot of things in his lifetime, watched the effects of war change people, watched them change under exposure to certain war agents or radiation, knew what it looked like to see someone on the verge of death. he remembered what leon looked like before he became what and who he is now, the sickly boy that sometimes looked at him the same way he looks at him now as he reaches out to him, a hand over his shoulder and gripping weakly. whatever this is that's effecting him, it's killing him. fast.

he can't breathe. and just as allen is about to try and help him, pull him inside his apartment and find a way, whatever way, to do what he can ... leon crumples forward, his body no longer willing to keep him upright, and not even sheer strength could keep him from falling forward into him. allen did his best to adjust, arms out and taking fistfuls of what he can of his armored suit he's still in, gathering him in but his own strength isn't enough to keep them both from falling to the floor. not anymore.

“ not like this... hey! ” soft but stern, trying to get him to rise or stir or do anything. please, not like this. he deserves better than this. this can't be the last time, he can't fucking die here and not like this. not when he fought for so much. a groan when he tries to move himself, barely wiggling them both enough to move out of the door so he can slam it shut with a bare foot. okay allen, you have to be smart about this.

carefully, he moves them both so that he can adjust and lift himself to his knees. he has no idea of this is going to work but he also knows that he has to try. with as much force as he can muster, he moves to let leon drape across his back, holding one arm around his neck to keep him stable as he walks -- well, half drags them both to the bedroom.

“ leon? hey, you gotta tell me you can hear me. tell me you're still alive. ” he hates that he has to drop him on the bed, that it kind of pops as he does and allen doesn't waste a second before he puts his ear to his chest. fucking goddamn breastplate! calloused hands navigate the armored piece before he finds the pieces that hold it together, unclasping them and barely managing to lift it free of his chest. then again, in a fraction of another second, ear to his chest. “ breathe, baby. please breathe. ”

[anti-supe-a-deactivated20260417]

he stands at the back of the elevator, well more like leans back against the wall using the elevator railing for support. for every breath he takes he's wheezing. he's been through some shit, well a lot of shit: limbs blown off, pissed on, beaten, drugged numerous times, assaulted, among other things, but this really takes the cake. he's barely remaining upright, driven only but instinct of finding a safe place... to well.... to die.

and when the elevator finally dings it's eighth and final time, leon is stumbling out. shaky arms reach for the wall and he's sliding across the wall all the way until apartment 156. with the last of his strength, he bangs on the door hoping... praying that.... @svped is inside. he'd prefer not to die in the hallway where if he wasn't home... would come home to find his body.

[svped]

quietly, a record spins soft notes of jazz throughout the apartment. a way to fill the space when his usual company is gone from him, to keep himself from going perhaps more than a little stir-crazy in the silence. absently, it reminds him of his mother. she would play music too to keep herself busy, occupied with the trick of company in music. maybe it was a habit he picked him from her. but around him, in spite of the music that dances through the open space and attempts to breathe life to it, the air feels still. allen can't place it yet, but something feels very wrong.

a knot twists in his chest, and his stomach churns when he tires to think: what the fuck is happening? influx of anxiety is not usually a thing that happens to him, but tonight ...

banging on the door pulls him from that thought. jesus fucking christ! if his heart could jump out of his chest, it would. and allen does his to compose himself, picking the needle up from the record as he walks by it to the door. allen doesn't even look to see who the hell it could be at this hour. a simple chain is all that separates him and the rest of this suped-world and it falls, the lock tumbling before he pulls the door open and, right before he's about to scold someone for how fucking late it is ...

“ oh- oh my god! ”

[svped]

bops a season 5 specific plotting call on the dash.

[anti-supe-a-deactivated20260417]

it's a very clear joke. one that he thought he landed almost spot on perfectly. his hands are behind his back and he's rocking back and forth on his boots. the jacket of his suit swaying in time hitting the back of his legs every time he rocked back. it wasn't so much the response he gets from allen but the.... snort. the offended tone his voice takes. the other man may have more self-control to keep himself from reacting more dramatically. hands unlace and captain vought lets out an almost thundering laugh. he brings one fingerless gloved hand up and rests it on allens's shoulders from behind, giving his shoulder a squeeze. as he continues to laugh, doing his best to wipe after his laughter tears from his eyes just under the mask. leans in to whisper against the back of his neck, “you should've seen your fucking face.”

public spaces be damned as he steps closer to him just out of reach of pressing to his back. but his presence was there, his warmth was emanating from him. allen knew how close he was. he brings his other hand up to the other shoulder. hums, about to open his mouth again when...

"c-c-captain vought?"

it takes all will power to respond in that moment. a little boy about perhaps eight years old with what leon assumes is his older sister. "hi, will you sign his action figure?" glances to allen for a moment, i'll get back to you on that. “wha─── of couse i'll do that. bring it on over, c'mon don't be shy.” he squats all the way down to the kids level and takes the sharpie.. convenient.. but he flips the small likeness of himself over in his hands. made his nose a little too big but... whatever. he signs the inside of the small jacket; will keep better that way.

and by some miracle, maybe he's feeling generous, he gives both of children a big hug. then rising after they headed back to their mom. she smiles at him, "thank you." “ah it was no trouble. cute kids.” "thank you" she says again, "and thank you for your service." salutes her as she moves to round the aisle with her kids in tow.

when he turns back to allen, jogs to catch back up to him at the end of the aisle, “not a single fucking word.”

[svped]

you should've seen your fucking face, spoken against the back of his neck enough that it sends shivers down his spine. if they weren't in a public space, he would turn around and grab him by the breastplate to pull him in for a kiss. but the unfortunate reality with witnesses all around them is that allen has to behave while leon, captain vought in public face, can do as he likes. a little unfair but fuck it would be a lie to say it didn't get his adrenaline going, his body unconsciously moving back to meet him as his eyes flutter closed at leons soft breath falling over the nape of his neck. keep talking.

but he does one better and moves closer to him. not nearly enough to sate his desire, but again ... public having their eyes on him is risk enough. its already a miracle he hasn't been mobbed standing in the liquor aisle with him or at all. a miracle that he can stand this close to him and --- c-c-captain vought?

the voice that calls to him is small, quiet like a child. allen blinks his eyes open to see them, both of them, boy and a girl. quietly they ask him for a signature, the little boy holding his very obviously loved action figure up to his hero. its enough to damn near melt his heart, especially so when leon brings himself lower to the boys level and signs with care along the jacket lining of the famed crusader. its precious, the whole thing. watching them gleam with excitement, giggle when they turn back after their hugs and run to their mother that thanks him. ah it was no trouble. cute kids.

allen did his best to move along the aisle, smiling back at them every once in a while to see him. there was innocence there, a kindness in him that perhaps he made a point to show. something the child in him never received and wished to give. perhaps. but once leon had finally returned to him: not a single fucking word.

“ about what? ” if he could make a halo appear above his head right now, he would. cartoon style. gently, he nudges the other man with an elbow, “ that was fucking adorable, by the way. ”