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@queensupe
𓆩♕𓆪 I REALLY DID WANT TO MAKE A DIFFERENCE ... #QUEENSUPE, an independent queen maeve from amazon prime's the boys & diabolical.
REBOOTED MAY 2026. prose-heavy, multi-verse, multi-ship, panfandom, & oc-friendly. written by bucku, 30+. engages with writers 21+ only. will not follow non-boys related blogs first. graphics by squidrph.
ALSO FOUND AT: @aliasinvestigate / @awbro / @reignthem
CARRD | MEMES | AFFILIATED WITH:
@queensupe: don't ask me to choose. please. - annie
Annie sighs. The puppy eyes she gives Maeve rooted in desperation rather than weak attempt to convince her. Nails tapping on the surface of the counter in Maeve's suite, she pulls her lips into a thin line, thinking. Blinks, then opens her mouth without saying anything for a beat or two. "Remember when you said love is our weakness?" The one thing not even any supe is immune to. Technically, she said people. "I- I think that's bullshit. Well, at least to an extent...?" That same vague uncertainty lacing her voice reflects in her expression, before she gestures at the open space next to them both.
"I mean, whenever you saved people, you didn't do it because it's your job. Because god knows Vought isn't about saving people at all." Annie pauses, shoulders slumping and a subtle shake to her head follows. She's convinced Maeve did it out of love for humanity. A love that made her stronger than ever.
"What I'm saying is, there's another bus running straight to a broken bridge. I guess you have to choose, Maeve." Only that the bus wears the name of a deranged supe with no brakes this time. "So, are you gonna help us stop that bus", she leans forward a bit, absolute certainty wiping away any last vestige of its opposite to harden her eyes: "Or will you just keep fucking lying to yourself?"
THAT BUS, HEADING STRAIGHT FOR CRUMBLING, DISSOLVING STRUCTURE is such a crystal, clear memory in her mind, that summoning it up spikes a quickstep into her pulse, prickles the sort of clammy, adrenal sweat slaking her palms & cold underarms, the canny, visceral knowledge of what will befall the children situated in each seat that it takes a collecting moment to calm herself. jaw steel-trapped into an immovable line, crown oppressive pushing her temples, breath steadily seeps to swell her lungs. a barely-there shake of her head.
" no. "
the bus ... there had been no consideration, no self-preservation huddling her so small in her seat like there is now. only children screaming, bystanders' shrieks lancing the tender drum of her ears. only one right thing.
maeve's palm smoothes her gauntlet as if she could smother out that phantom pain fissured through her forearm. an unhealed wound, but a reminder that things had once been that simple.
" what you're talking about is going to get you & your friends killed. "
a dive bar that smells like smoke and regret. | @queensupe
This isn't Hughie's scene. It's probably obvious, but there's no other bar in what he supposed could technically be called a town. If he wants a place to drink and feel sorry for himself, he has to come here. At least it's cheap. Living in New York has spoiled him for place to eat and drink, but there's nothing quite like dead beat, midwestern dive bar prices.
It's almost like he's in a sitcom, sans the laughtrack or the jokes. Everyone's faces are familiar to him now, he's seen them enough times and heard their troubles rehashed in more or less the same ways. When someone new walks in, no matter how much they look the part, everyone turns their head and stares. Hughie is now among the masses that turns to gawp at the poor intruder. He doesn't stare because she's knew. He stares because it's her.
There aren't many bar stools. If she wanted to avoid him, there aren't many options. Hughie waits a beat before speaking to her, quiet beneath the sound of Bruce Springsteen on the radio. "... I thought you were dead."
VOUGHT'S RATINGS MACHINE CHURNS OUT SUPERS AS PRODUCTS & as such, margaret shaw has a precision of awareness of how many centimeters she should leverage one side of a smile to be coy yet clever ( but not too much so ) & how swiftly the billboard-pasted portrait of a hero can be pared down to a nobody. erase the swooping, crimson waves topped with the glittering crest of a tiara ; tone down a jewel-toned lip ; cover up the breadth of her sharp-lined breastbone & put away the tits.
so when the door tilts open to spill a slat of dark night air into the dingy innards of a bar cramped with beer-bellied bald men, she's little more than a townie regular.
maggie slides up onto a stool in plain denim, flannel slung across her shoulders, locks twisted into a low bun. even without the curtain of red hair flowing freely & bared biceps, the patch covering one eye might be enough to dissuade any onlooker from recognizing her as anyone other than a normal person. she looks small, like this, down off the trellis of vought's parapet & without a shred of compound v flowing her corded veins.
" & i thought you'd beef up a bit. " her good eye sweeps him up, then disdainfully down. " but jesus christ, you're even more of a twink than i remembered. " the bartender sets a fizzing glass in front of her, crystal clear, lime wedge on the rim. soda water. maeve -- formerly -- lifts it to her lips. " & if you keep gawking at me like that, you're going to get us caught. "
The Boys (2019) - Season 1 - Deleted scene
bucku! you already know this, but your portrayal is hands down my favourite. you haven't just recreated the canon character in writing - you've also elevated her so far beyond what we see in the show, and it's obvious that you understand maeve deeply. her mannerisms, voice, motivations, flaws, etc… everything is just so well thought through and so lovingly crafted, and I've always had the best time reading everything you put onto the dash. your maeve is the reason I watched the boys in the first place!
「 ASK MEME : HOW’S MY PORTRAYAL? 」
sometimes i reblog these memes and then i'm like... i don't want to post the answer bc i want to keep it for myself forever. i've been sitting on this all day smiling <3. and i think you know this is a big uno reverse for me. i am SO happy with all the things we've built across our blogs ( including the angst crimes ... that have been mostly committed AGAINST ME ... ). thank you so much for this, steph! it made my day.
「 ASK MEME : HOW’S MY PORTRAYAL? 」 * send anonymously or not. feedback is appreciated!
❝ so, how's this supposed to work, exactly? ❞
@queensupe, maeve & jordan.
she puts on a beneficent smile that rises to her eyes. brittle, gritted from one corner of her mouth. " just act like you're so lucky to be here. smile. & wave. "
there is a disjointed quality to the recognition of a person she knows, and yet knows nothing of her. parasocial, cate had tried to teach her, illuminating the lines between the interpersonal and the audience, but addy had failed to see the point in it. at whim, she could know the deepest parts of a person and still remain a stranger; she didn’t really know anyone, so what was the point in qualifying it?
the only difference between queen maeve and any other body she could take was that vought wanted her to be known, plastering her face on any conceivable surface. and that she made no attempt to hide her annoyance at adrienne's every question.
“there's quotas nowadays for everything, doing good included,” @queensupe says, evidently unfazed by this particular absurdity.
adrienne frowned, skeptical of this flippant explanation.
“how do you quantify good?”
GOOD, QUANTIFIED, STRATIFIED, set in the context of regional, national, global rankings. maeve is so far removed from the burgeoning innocence of the question that it riles a genuine, roughshod laugh that settles into a barely-pocketed smirk.
" isn't that the million dollar question? "
( maybe it should be qualified. but the idea of digging any further than the topsoil on her own recent collars has her impenetrable skin prickling an itch she can't tolerate abiding right now ).
" it's almost ... " maeve cocks her head ; the bend of her lips is finely bladed, the crinkling at the corners of her eyes calculated. " ... cute. that you'd ask that, i mean. " she's reminded, briefly, with a gong pang of an emotion shaded close to guilt, of starlight. that glimmering thought quashes down, cramped into the corner of her mind jammed to the brim with denial. " there are algorithms for everything. it's relative. city needs a ' tough on crime ' style asshole? that's the type of save that sneaks into the news crawler. high profile? lots of idiots with guns? half the time, they came in vought-labeled crates. "
The cigarette ember flares between his fingers, a small apocalypse, a tiny sun exploding. The little vial of green poison does that, saturates the worldview, tints every thought a shade of fuck it. That must be why he's tolerating the tedtalk. It never fails to catch him off guard, how small @queensupe looks when she's not plastered high and mighty on a billboard. Disavowing the Vought-brand regalia, chin tipped up toward him with that stubborn, fucking pride, she's still a menace beneath all that brooding. But all the flannel shirts and moping in the world couldn't scrub the supe out of her. The breed shows, even when she's pretending to be human, a warm flesh-body occupying the seat next to him. Still, he dangles the whiskey bottle toward her, across the no-man's-land of stained linoleum and shit decisions, the antithesis of an olive branch. Misery, company, and all that. 𝗠𝗮𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝘀𝗮𝘆𝘀, ❛ Fancy moral decisions aren’t my job. ❜
❛ Ain’t my department either, luv. ❜ As if the right words could bisect guilt from action and send both halves spinning off into separate corners of the dark. There's no pretence here, and he damn well won't let her hide behind one either. ❛ But you know what? I make 'em anyway. ❜ The curve that hooks across Butcher's mouth is a sharp reflex, a rictus, muscle memory of mundanity fossilising with each day his humanity erodes. ❛ Someone’s gotta do the nasty bit [ ... ] Then I live with it, have a drink, and do it all again tomorrow. You gonna let me have all the fun? ❜
ABSOLUTION & ITS DRINK-NUMBED OBLIVION is so much better a relief than the crushing, atlean oppression of responsibility. the mouth of a bottle proves an easy escape, just a swig for a keyhole to floating, weightless freedom, even if for a moment.
( the irony, that as she sits next to a man she is moving about a chessboard as her rook, all sweeping, violent movements to smash through any barricade in his path, that she verbally, continually removes herself from agency, is one that goes down bitter with a lurid, near-sweet bolt of that high proof drink. )
too, in this soft-seamed shirt, phantasmic aura of a crown still tiered at the crooks of her ears, she is doing more than she has as her costumed counterpart. she sighs into the last of the whiskey, sagged into the sofa next to him & spears him with a swift, sidelong glance. " is that seriously your line? " caustic, her laugh shakes free, corroded by the decades of vought's handiwork eroding away ... away. until whatever's left of her is sitting here in a ramshackle room with a ramshackle man executing a deal with the devil's hand.
" moral high ground? " moral grandiosity & its naive, hopeful ballast for heroism has no place here, among these two wrecked souls. she takes another drag from the neck of it, hot enough to burn away the clammy sensation that feels like guilt swimming in her belly. " funny. i had us both pegged for personal vendetta. "
she flexes both brows, swings a sloshing arm back out to him, flicks a finger to the incendiary paper drooping off his snarling lip. " are you going to share that, too? "
QUEEN MAEVE IN 'THE INNOCENTS' (S01E06)
the change.
dialogue prompts from the change: animorphs #13 by k.a. applegate.
i am human. partly.
don't hide stuff from me because you think it'll hurt my feelings, okay?
i can't handle you feeling sorry for me.
you know, how you think of me is sort of important.
are you lost?
have you ever heard the saying, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?
it sounds complicated, but you get used to it.
have i ever mentioned that you are extremely cool?
just keep running this same direction. don't stop.
i remember when you were fun.
i was never fun.
it makes me sick when you take risks i can't take.
i would give anything to go in your place.
you can open your eyes now.
i'm not going to be left out. not this time.
humans invent all sorts of things that are not true.
i guess everyone has problems, right?
you heard me? i was trying to be quiet.
it's good to have someone to talk to.
someone or something is using me, and i don't like it very much.
no one is going to use me.
you don't look like a _____ to me.
why stick me with this job?
what am i, some kind of hero?
i have to go for a while.
i don't even know if anyone looked for me.
what the heck is happening?
oh, man, am i glad to hear your voice.
i'm hungry, and i'm tired, and i'm mad.
you can relax. we're all here to help you now.
i'm not exactly the same as i used to be. i've changed.
come on, you big baby. say it.
you should never be singing anything. i've heard you sing.
i have the feeling we're on our own.
are you going to whine the whole way?
i've had about all the close calls i can stand for one day.
a predator is never angry, just hungry.
any day i stay alive is a good day for me.
this isn't their place. it's ours.
i hope you haven't lost all that anger.
would it be wrong for me to say i love you?
you're lucky i'm in a hurry.
i don't want pity. not even yours.
if somebody's nice to me, i'll totally fall apart.
i'm the same as ever. i really don't want to talk about it.
i'm just feeling sorry for myself.
i just need a good night's sleep. i'll be fine in the morning.
have i kept my promise?
are you happy?
@soldrboy from here.
" I NEED SOMETHING FROM YOU like i need an STD. " she is a barricade by herself, arms stacked across her chest. never has she been so aware of being so ... weak.
( she doesn't miss it, the ability to thrust a table up with a flip of her wrists, the need to stay her hand with even the simplest act of holding a glass. but times like this, when she's a trembling deer caught in the crosshairs of someone else's shot, she feels like she might need it. )
the one-eyed glower she spears him with is sharp enough to lance through his armored flesh & so is the piercing rejoinder she lobs after it.
" there were rumors about that syphilis outbreak after herogasm & i'm really not interested. " batting the downturned flick of her hand as if shooing, she adds. " so you can go right on & fuck off, now. "
@amerigasms: [17.] finally succumbing to the thick tension & colliding feverishly.
✱˚｡⋆ ↪ THE 𝐒TAGES OF 𝐈NTIMACY.
THEY SHOULDN'T ( isn't that always how these start? ). they do, like two magnets flipping from polarized to attracted so quickly she barely registers it happening. her palm situates flat between them, trapped up against his chest & so close it nearly crushes against her own ; she doesn't have to hike up to meet him with the spikes of her boot heels drawing her up so they're almost level. rough, sandpaper stubble that can't color any convincing scrape across her chin, his hot, angry mouth against her own. mean, the both of them, smearing together. tangled up in the ruff beneath his throat, fabric twined in her grasp & she doesn't know which side of the magnet she is: pushing or pulling. broad, sturdy, the grip roaming the dipping curve of her waist.
a coterie of actions that mean she doesn't have to think, doesn't want to think, because this is the way it actually started: hot-headed, in the midst of the type of bandying dispute so fueled by the ways they don't match. his voice, his stance, so gruff & unyielding & wrong, had stoked a dislodged irritation buried deep enough behind the wall she'd spent so much time thrusting up around herself that the force of it almost jars her into a stunning clarity. this kind of ire, though, overcomes, pulses her own roaring blood through her ears & sends red spiraling behind her fuming lids.
this, a clasping grip around her wrist ( to stay her? to reel her in? ) , & the dam of escalating tension doesn't just break, but bursts wide open.
but in lieu of any precious relief to assuage the throbbing thrum of fury still drumming at her temples, instead, they're engaging in a different sort of argument. she keeps that hand now clutching the scarf looped around his neck & turns it so that she shoves. she steps with it, bumping up against him, keeping them close ( she needs to, until this blood-red glaze casting her vision dark passes ), presses her thigh between his, a challenge that he meets.
they're kissing, that chalk-on-board scratching of enamel clashing together. the flesh of his bottom lip sinks beneath a vicious, tugging pull.
there's nothing soft, nothing to savor.
she doesn't pause to map out the planes of his chest, sinew & muscle firm under grasp, doesn't catalogue the coarse covering over a square-line jaw. no time passes to allow sentiment to settle in groping, harsh breath crushing against the shell of her ear. " you know, " she finally dislodges, after the battlement of hazy hate-lust somehow finds a breaking point ( maybe it's his hand up her skirt ; maybe it's the way she rucks her knee under his balls ). either way, she's bitter, hushed, & chuckling, patting that fucking eagle situated beneath his collarbone. " you really are an asshole. "
DOMINIQUE MCELLIGOTT as queen maeve in the boys (2019–)
"you know you wanna welcome me into the dead supe society," pleading at @queensupe with big brown eyes from underneath sunglasses. he holds his old teenage kix branded mint case: reliable storage for his rolled blunts & the perfect companion for anyone california sober.
but the signature visor is gone now. restless feet shift in front of an ordinary farmhouse over the grandiose rooms at vought tower. the hood over his head doubles to shroud the discoloration around his neck. he hadn't been back to marie to attempt fading all his bruises, with blood blooming to the surface.
instead, he'd taken a jog at half his top speed to one of his last living friends. ashley let it slip when she got too drunk one night: the deleted video, butcher's crew getting maeve up, out, & away. the air was cleaner than it'd ever been in new york. the tower's highest floors were polluted with smog & a smothering fear for reggie. but with all the subtlety of a blunt weapon, queen maeve was a breath of fresh air. "c'mon, it'll be like old times."
' ugh. fine. '
their silent, passive camraderie became a defined connection through resistance: standing up left them both altered. it leaves a greater potential for freedom, through complete removal from the systems that nearly buried them. but reggie's grin still promises the same fleeting bit of comfort as before. he's all but beaming at her in response. "don't be like that. i brought you breakfast from the coast."
like always, he takes her resigned agreement like a small but tangible victory. reggie lets his hood fall as he shrugs into the house & slips his cleats off at the door. "and i missed you too, mags. you never call ... never write ... hard for a guy not to get offended."
" WHO'S A SUPE? " she's slant-shouldered against a freshly painted & trimmed door, soft cuffs rolled up to the elbows. a patch slants over a battered socket finally beginning to heal, but the brow over it curves a scything arc all the same.
( when she first hears that telltale freight train sound, all vibration & air displacement, there's a part of her that comes alive like a rabbit in a trap. being human didn't come easy ; she'd had to re-learn the planes of her body, the way to close her palm around a cup, how to lift it, how to marinate in the un-healing ache of swollen joints & thick-pooled bruising spilling out sunsets beneath the skin. how quiet it is out here without the benefit of enhanced ears & city pollution. too many clammy-sweated nights thrust her up in bed heaving before she felt it: safe. & so, a-train at her door?
-------- has anyone else found her? )
but he seems earnest, friendly even.
" i didn't realize we were on a first name basis, " maggie - just maggie, now -- calls from her roost at the aperture of the house she's building, all rustic, half-peeled paint & the breezy, morning whisper over a citrus tree planted in the yard. there's an unspoken test hidden in the dry rise of her voice, trust still a question rather than an earned right. " so, is it reggie? or a-train? "
but they make it inside. & she sees: blue-black, edema pooling fresh under the skin.
" that's the thing about being dead. no such thing as old friends, " she says over her shoulder on the way to the coffee pot still gurgling hot & earthen. " so, you're ready to leave all your earthly trappings --- & brand deals --- behind? what gives? "
* THE SUBSTANCE. ☆ @queensupe ❛ Did you follow me here? ❜
❝ ───Follow you ? ❞ A scoff paired with a shake of disbelief, ❝ That's absurd. I mean really, what do you take me for? A jealous ex that won't give up? ❞ The amusement flatlines immediately, ❝. . .do you ? ❞ A step closer, his head tilting, ❝ Cause. . .that'd be pretty shitty of you Maeve. Here I am, just coming to say 'Hello', and you're already sour. Life must be pretty damn miserable for to be so. . .❞ A flick of his hand, subtle disgust as he looks her over, ❝ Rigid.❞ A thin and polished smile returns to his lips. ❝ It's a party sweetheart, you really should relax. . .and. . .maybe smile a little. Looks a lot better on you than scowling.❞
she's been smiling so much that it strains the edges of her cheeks. maintaining this public, genial façade takes more effort than hauling up a car by the bumper with her little finger. a hairline fracture spider-veins through the broad stretch of her teeth before she shoves it back into place. plastic, perfect, she puts on a quizzical, placating expression. " jealous? you? " her laugh is a shallow, tinny thing that sounds unconvincing to her own ears. " c'mon, john. we both know you're better than that ... " playfully, batting away the very notion while the rabbity tickle of alarm still shivers up her spine. " emotion. "
a flute of champagne floats by on the arm of a black tie waiter & maeve snatches it by the stem. holding it makes the poise, the act easier to maintain. " -------- these things are just so boring i didn't think you'd bother to show up. "
*actually cares very deeply but acts like an asshole*
