#WEBrewolf

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What if Band of Brothers but Web is a werewolf, so when he gets his leg shot he has to pretend like he just tripped over nothing or have the rest of the company find out what he is

(Maybe the bullet gets stuck in his calf and he has to wait for a moment of calm to cut it out himself because he healed around it and it hurts)

So of course he goes to Bastogne with everyone else and it's terrible as we know, and he tries to help as best as he can while still keeping his secret, until one day he takes a bullet for one of the other men (any of them, really) and he's shot through the heart

And it takes at least a day of agonizing pain but eventually he heals and he survives, and Joe is like 'what the fuck man if I had to pick the Toccoa man we give the fewest fucks about you'd be the only candidate and you literally got shot through the fucking heart for [insert name here, I'd pick Guarnere based on vibes]???'

And everyone's like 'is it a wolf thing?' And Web goes 'nah I just had a better chance of making it through' and Joe just Does Not Believe it and decides he's going to Fucking Figure It Out so he starts asking questions in his usual kinda rude way, and in the process he and Web grow closer almost on accident until they kiss and survive the war and nobody is ever lost at sea

...and if you wanna imagine them adopting a dozen kids to make the little Liebgotts Joe wanted be my guest bc I'm right there with you :P

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Further thoughts on Werewolf!Webster (aka WEBrewolf for tagging purposes)

In this universe, werewolves aren't some kind of humanoid hybrids: they're just wolves, really, or at least that's how Web describes it. What he neglects to mention is that in his wolf form he's about the size of a draft horse, so imagine everybody's surprise when, on he tail end of Bastogne, the German army scrounges up a surge of reinforcements that has everyone wanting to shit their boots even more than usual, and it feels like they're probably doomed... and then this absolutely fuck off huge creature with fur made to blend exactly with the kind of landscape they're in barges in on silent feet and starts tearing into the enemy line, picking off soldiers one by one

The deafening roar of combat, tres exploding and the certitude of death, and then one of the tank goes silent—absolute death of all sounds in less than a second as the hush of ambushed soldiers falls under the trees. Then a scream, and another, and another, and in the dead silence Joe hears 'It's in the trees!' Followed by screams of pure terror as the machine guns come back to life, but this time in the opposite direction

There are more screams, cut short, and the men of Easy wait with baited breath, coiled as springs because Web left this morning—said knowing when he's a danger is the best way for a wolf to keep others safe from him and walked away, and now there's this growl

And a shadow that grows

And grows

And grows

And pads on quiet feet as they stare, frozen with fear and enough collective knowledge of dogs to warn one another to stay put, stay put, it's worse if you run but oh, fuck, he's huge...

The creature steps forward. The Company takes a step back, all as one, except for Liebgott, who was already scared of dogs before all of this and is now horribly, ironically designated by the fucking universe as the first on the line—and so Liebgott does what he's been doing since the day he stepped on mainland Europe, even if he doesn't fully know that's what he does: he gathers all the edges of his anger, all the things that are so fucking unfair about this whole affair, and when the creature steps too close to him he lets his fist swing with all the strength he can still find after hungering for so long

Web yelps and stumbles back in surprise, tripping over his own feet and rolling down in the snow, turning back to his human form fast enough that he moons the entire company as he goes ass over teakettle in one of the bloodied foxholes. Joe watches, only dimly aware of the way wolf snot and fresh blood warm part of his fist, as first Web's completely disarranged hair and then his face, then the entire top half of him emerges. He's still naked, absolutely caked in blood from his nose to his navel—there are deep gouges in his shoulders and his belly, going thinner as the rest of them watch, and when he lifts a hand to his neck to scratch at his nape, the palm of it is red, too.

And Joe, who doesn't have any anger left at the ready right now but is sure as shit not willing to admit that for a second there he thought he'd be killed by fucking College Boy of all people, says:

"Jesus fuck, Web, is that what they teach you in fucking Harvard?"

He takes a snowball to the face, and gets a lecture from Roe when he gets his nose inspected for frostbite.

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Okay so I'm starting to get vibes for the werewolf!Webster thing but I don't really have a plot and I'm starting to feel like this might turn out to be one of those things I have to struggle through like I'm shoving splinters under my nails in order to figure out where the fuck it's going and uh

Thanks, muses, but I'm trying to finish my mortal instruments fic first -_-

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So, objectively I think WEBrewolf would be more interesting if left in the context of mostly our world where magic is uncommon and people are understandably Terrified of him (would be an interesting experiment in writing something horror adjacent, too)

But my first love has always been fantasy so now obviously I'm trying to imagine what DND classes the company would be x)

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But what if WEBrewolf was the occasion to try and write autistic!Web as well tho

("But Matt," I hear you say, "that's still just vibes and not plot!" You are right but I'm Not Listening)

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Waves crash upon the shore, gray with the threat of rain. The wind blowing over the sand is brisk, but not chilly, and in the distance there is the sound of voices joining together in emotion, in prayer, in laughter. Up the beach, a trail leads through the dunes, towards the chorus of general chuckling, and down the path floats of voice. It says:

"Okay fine, let's—Luz you better be filming this shit."

The trail meanders up, hedged with wild bushes and the faded vestiges of a once-white fence, until it meets a wooden gate locked only with twine and a string of seashells. Further up, clearer, the voice says:

"Alright, one, two... Three!"

There is a sound of glass breaking, immediately followed by dozens of voices cheering, and even more hands clapping and celebration. Over the sound, the voice whoops, exultant:

"Fucking finally!" Then, after a pause and the gentle buzz of another, chiding voice: "Oh yeah? How you gonna make me stop, exactly?"

The gate swings open under the salty push of the breeze, and through it the trail turns into a garden. In the garden, a young man with broad shoulders and curly black hair sweeps an older man, brown haired and angular, off his feet. From the older man, the voice from before whoops again, lighter and more carefree; and this time it turns off into laughter, into breathless adoration, into a kiss.

Two kippot fly off in the wind, and the entire party merrily gives chase.

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Anyway, this is how we're doing on WEBrewolf

And this is how we're doing with modern Webgott:

Both are a source of suffering tbh x)

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Dear brain,

It's okay if you don't want to work on WEBrewolf, I don't know where it's going either, but if we could produce something for the Saint Seiya fic tonight that would be great, please and thank you