#queenmaeve

> Supernatural

> The Boys

> Interview With A Vampire/ The Vampire Lestat

> Cowboys

Shera? Hot woman with a sword. Queen Maeve? Hot woman with a sword who SHOULD HAVE BEEN ALLOWED MORE SWORD USAGE YOU FUCKS LET HER USE HER GODDAMN SWORD YOU PUSSYS. Mulan? Hot woman with a sword.

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Word count: 2389 words

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

WARNINGS: Some depiction of violence, misogyny, and the usual TW for it being The Boys (Amazon)

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Eden Reid was at the start of her daily fucking crack ass of the dawn morning jog across Laurance Harbor Beach, sandy-brown hair up in a high pony, dressed in her usual bland sweats and black running shoes, when she came across him, unconscious along the shoreline, the waves repeatedly caressing him, gently, before retreating.

As she stared at him, the young woman noticed his tattered costume and the bruising littered on his face and skin, and that he did not appear to be breathing. For a moment, Eden contemplated what to do, because she knew that she couldn’t take him to any emergency room or call 911.

Because she knew exactly who he was.

Of course, she knew exactly who he fucking was, pretty much most of the world knew who exactly he fucking was.

He was Soldier Boy, the old leader of Payback, fought in all those important wars in the last century, America’s first and greatest Supe, a man who was supposed to be dead and yet somehow was now alive, lying on the beach in front of her.

And apparently now a Super-Terrorist, according to the news outlets, who for the past week have only been reporting on the attack on the Seven Tower, and how Queen Maeve had successfully saved the country with her sacrificial takedown of Soviet-brainwashed Soldier Boy; his defeat was supposed to be symbolic of a new age for freedom and safety for the masses.

Unlike most of the people Eden knew though, she wasn’t blinded by the lies fed to the masses on a silver spoon by the media and corporations like Vought International.

Eden knew, Eden knew all too well that Supes were nothing but selfish bastards at best, and that none of them give a single fuck about saving others. Eden knew that the mainstream media hyperinflated the heroism of ‘heroes’, and failed to report the deaths of normal civilians, who were nothing more than simply collateral damage. And Eden knew that if she was told that unconscious man lying before her was nothing but a villain, then that was not the full story.

And she knew this all this because if her abilities were not so weak, she would have been just another Supe on Vought or some other fuck’s payroll, spouting the exact same bullshit.

But no, her ability of super strength was, ironically, too weak to even be considered as a D-list Supe, despite her family’s dreams for her, and now in her mid-twenties, she wastes her days away as a receptionist at a private clinic in East Brunswick. So much for the glamorous life of the ‘super-abled’.

However, her abilities were not weak enough apparently to carry the heavy ass man before her. Although he did not appear much taller than she was, he was at least twice her size, and as she lifted him up into her arms, Eden gave a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn’t see a single living soul as she carried the unconscious vigilante to her car, and that the oversized grey zip that she draped over him concealed his appearance well enough.

What the fuck was is my problem? Eden thought as she dropped Soldier Boy into the trunk of Mazda, a black SUV she bought years ago when she moved out of her childhood home.

Eden didn’t need this shit. It’s been years since she dropped out of Godolkin and left behind the world of fucked up Supes and drugs, and she was at peace living in solitude at her cabin by Norvin Green Forest. She didn’t need to get herself involved in dangerous shit. So why had she gotten herself involved by kidnapping the unconscious man who was lying in the trunk of her vehicle?

Eden couldn’t explain it. To call it a curiosity would be an understatement; it was more like a compulsion. She had acted thoughtlessly, as though she were possessed by something, and now, on her half hour drive back to her home in the woods, Eden began to regret what she had done.

Days passed and life continued as normal for Eden. She kept her unconscious house guest in a spare bedroom of her small cabin, and went to her 9 to 5 throughout the work week as usual.

In a way, Eden hoped that if Soldier Boy woke up in her home, he would simply leave, and that she would not have to meet him or explain anything. But every evening, following her commute, Eden was greeted by her dark home, and when checking on her guest, she found him unconscious, but still alive and in her spare bed.

Eden often thought about whether she should call the cops or to dump the unconscious Supe back at the beach (or literally anywhere else). But she did not do that, because she knew that by this point, it would simply make her a walking target either for Vought or the government, and really, it was a miracle that she had not been caught transporting him to her place from the beach. For all she knew though, some government entity or Vought was spying on her this very minute.

So instead, the young woman resigned herself to the guest bedroom, where she left Soldier Boy to lay on the queen-sized bed, most of its real estate which he occupied. As he lay there motionless, Eden would periodically cleanse his face and exposed skin with a damp wash cloth (not knowing what else to do that would help him), before covering him with a light blanket. For the rest of the night, Eden would sit on the cream armchair by him, mindlessly watching the news on the small TV set in the room, on low volume, while thinking about anything and everything.

It's not that Eden did not have anything else to do, or that she had no one. Eden prefers to consider her lifestyle as a self-imposed exile, because she knew that she could not rely on anyone. Disconnecting herself from the world, being in nature, was healing to her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get herself to trust anyone, not anymore.

And so, Eden spent several weeks like this, working during the day, going on her daily runs (though now in the forest rather than the beach), and barely sleeping at night, passively watching the news and her unconscious guest, who’s bruising slowly faded away. Soldier Boy looked exactly as he did in his old film, Red Thunder, Eden noticed, and had not aged in the slightest, which bewildered her.

But despite being the vision of health, Soldier Boy did not wake, and Eden did not know what to do.

More often than Eden would like to admit, Eden watched Soldier Boy, observing his long lashes and the way his now steady breathing never wavered – not even when Eden would wipe a damp wash cloth across his body – and she noticed how quickly his stubble grew into a fuller beard, but never to the point of the point of overgrowth, despite the lack of grooming.

Eden also noticed how humorous it was that practically the only topic on the news channels was Soldier Boy himself, and how it was reported that he was not a Super-Terrorist anymore, but an odd dichotomy of hero and victim to Soviet radicalization. And so, the narrative shifted, not that she believed it to be the full truth. Yet something Eden knew to be true was not on any news channel or online forum: Soldier Boy was not dead but alive, albeit unconscious in some cabin hidden away in the mountains.

Or rather that was the truth, until Soldier Boy regained consciousness.

It happened so quickly, and Eden was not entirely awake to even process exactly what happened.

One moment, Eden was drifting into sleep, in her usual seat on the armchair, with the lamp lights dim, the moonlight from the window behind filtering into the room, and the TV white noise drowning out the silence. The next moment, Eden found herself gasping for breath, suffocating, as two strong hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the armchair.

Eyes still half-asleep but now tearful, Eden met the vicious stare of her now-awakened guest, and suddenly, she came to her senses. Mustering up all her strength, Eden pushed against his chest, the supe-strength of which took her attacker by slight surprise. His hold on her throat relaxed slightly, and Eden quickly grabbed his wrists to keep his grip loose.

“Let me go –” Eden choked out, trying to breath.

As though confused, Soldier Boy tilted his head, but his expression remained in its remorselessly neutral expression. Fear shot through her veins when Eden realized that her strength did not affect him but rather spiked the smallest amount of curiosity.

“I was just trying to help you.” Eden sputtered out incoherently as she felt the grip began to tighten again. Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes at this, and then right on cue, something else caught his attention.

The tiny TV in the room switched to midnight rerun of The Cameron Coleman Hour on the Vought News Network, and broadcast invaded the room, with the image of Soldier Boy plastered over the screen.

“Good evening everybody, welcome back …” Cameron Coleman’s voice echoed throughout the room.

As it did, Soldier Boy loosened his grip on Eden’s throat, letting her go. Eden’s hand shot up to her neck, strands of her sandy-brown hair falling to her face as she gasped for more air. Her skin felt sore, and she knew that if she were a normal person, she would have been dead by now, at the very least from a broken neck.

“… and please welcome our guest of the evening, Defense Secretary Chris Barney.” The cheering track played on TV bounced off the walls in the guest room, while the camera panned from Cameron Coleman onto a burgeoned man his early-thirties, already balding, and Soldier Boy’s attention was entirely captivated by what was on TV.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you so much for joining us.” Chris Barney, in his mechanical voice, thanked his interviewer as well, and Eden, with her hands on her tender neck, watched as Soldier Boy was entirely captivated by the TV interview.

“I want to kick off by asking you to directly respond to the idea that Soldier Boy and this new age of Super-Terrorism, which involves Supes living in our country, should be the Pentagon and American public’s top concern.”

“See Cameron, I am not going to beat around the bush. Soldier Boy’s attack in Manhattan is an isolated incident, and the FBSA has taken great strides in tackling this matter, and in the mere weeks past, there is already a significant reduction in the number of violent incidences within the public, both super-abled and not. So to answer your question, no it is not a concern for both the Pentagon and America, especially as Soldier Boy is an isolated incident, and dead at that.”

Chris Barney’s voice bounced off the walls, and as it sounded off, and he answered follow up questions relating to terror attacks, which Soldier Boy ignored, as he began to speak over him, his voice both low but loud, full of contempt.

“So that’s it, huh – I’m dead. I’m fucking dead to the American people. Again.”

Eden did not know what to say, and took a step back, the back of her legs now pressed to the wooden side table by the bed.

“I fought for this country. I fucking gave up my life for this fucked up country, and what do I get in return? Fucking nothing.”

As he spoke, spitting out each syllable, Eden noticed how Soldier Boy clinched his fists tightly, and wondered whether he would just destroy her home, or kill her as well. She remained silent, not daring to even breath too loudly as though that would set him off. But Eden’s heart was beating at a million miles per minute, and she was sure that Soldier Boy could hear it.

Reminded of her presence, Soldier Boy turned around and glanced over Eden, as though he were a predator contemplating whether his prey was worthy of slaughter. His deliberation lasted only a few moments. With only two tall strides, Soldier Boy, in his tattered costume, came face-to-face with the young woman stood before him, brushing away a thick strand that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“What’s your name doll?”

Soldier Boy’s voice was deep, and though he did not swear or say anything malignant, Eden was still frightened, but willed herself to not shake in her fuzzy slippers.

“Eden,” Eden responded quietly, but Soldier Boy’s furrowed eyebrows made her paranoid that he either hadn’t heard her, or that she hadn’t actually said anything.

“Eden Reid, um, Sir.” Eden said once again, only slightly more audibly, while looking to the ground, so as to avoid his burning stare. At this, Soldier Boy chuckled and gently took push a hand to her chin, tilting her face upwards, making her look back at him again.

“Well, aren’t you sweet, Miss Reid.” Soldier Boy spoke, the side of his mouth tilting upwards. Inching his face closer, he continued speaking, his breath blowing over Eden’s face. “Have you got any pills, sweetheart?”

Eden shook her head slowly, now shaking slightly and regretting her personal stance on being drug-free.

“Weed?”

Eden shook her head again, and she felt her heart speed up anymore. At this, Soldier Boy turned away to let out a frustrated sigh, before facing her again.

“A good girl. Surely you can be resourceful and find something, doll. Age of feminism and all.”

Soldier Boy’s tone was condescending, but thankfully, Eden knew that her co-worker, Matt, had an affinity for her and substance abuse, so she might be able to score something from him. Pressing her lips together, Eden nodded, which made Soldier Boy smile. Letting go of her chi, Soldier Boy turned around and sat on the armchair to his right, paying attention to the TV again, which was still playing the Cameron Coleman interview rerun.

“Well then, chop-chop sweetheart. And afterwards, you can tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I’m here with you.”

Author's Note: This is an AU story where rather than getting captured, Soldier Boy/Ben ends up projecting himself into the Hudson River. I am not a Geography or Physics major, so none of this actually makes sense or is realistic.

Queen Maeve's Cairn, Knocknarea, County Sligo, Ireland (2023)

© optikestrav

Maeve: you dropped him from 50ft in the air