#webroe

[parachuteinfantries]

happy halloween!! here are all my spooky season offerings

🐈‍⬛ do you believe in magic? witchy fluffy 50s webgott

👻 The Haunting of Haguenau. webroe and hauntings in many senses of the word: ghost carts, desire, and the past

🎃 Baby, It’s Halloween. luztoye hosts toye story’s first halloween party. set in the babe’s anatomy universe

[parachuteinfantries]

webroe resurgence this is HUGE for me omg im so excited

there are literally (a) DOZEN of us. next fic is about religious guilt in france. and then we’re going vampires in austria. they are so back….

[parachuteinfantries]

“I’ve got a story for you,” David says, eyes glimmering. “Puts le rougarou to shame.”

“Careful. It’s Lent. He’ll get you,” Eugene says. He gestures to a wooden chair in the corner. “Spin me your tale.”

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[parachuteinfantries]

last line tag

tagged by @ww2yaoi thanks for the tag meg 💖

David grins, satisfied with his telling of the story.

Eugene considers it as he counts the last of the bandages. “Has Speirs heard it?”

David laughs. “Do you think I’m going to ask him if he’s heard the ghost cart?”

Eugene shrugs. Sixty-three bandages; more than he needs now, still not enough for Bastogne. “Just don’t see why it’s haunting the whole company for something Speirs did.”

“Sins of the father. I suppose we’re all complicit,” David says, eyes faraway. “Nobody’s hands are clean.”

Eugene glances down at his hands, covered in dirt but free from blood for the first time in ages. “It’s not the best story. Don’t make much sense.”

“Some things don’t make sense, Eugene. They defy explanation.”

tagging anybody :)

[parachuteinfantries]

webroe for things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear? 🙏

a little webroe prequel moment. ty for asking and soooo sorry it took so long.

They were moving out again. At least it’ll give him something to write about, David thinks, lighting a cigarette and tipping his head against the bricks of the pub’s exterior. But all he’s been able to write about is split seconds of terror and then the crushing monotony. It doesn’t make for a great story.

He’s distracted from his reverie by someone stumbling out of the other Aldbourne pub, the seedier one, where Nixon and Welsh like to drink. When he squints he can just make out Eugene Roe’s graceful features.

“Doc Roe,” he calls, trying for casual.

Eugene peers around and then sees him. David can practically see the hesitation on his face. It’s not in his nature to socialize; he eschews nights at the pub, doesn’t use nicknames, stands firmly on the outside. David sees a lot of himself in Eugene, except that Eugene seems content, sure of his isolation, while David is always hanging around the margins, seeking something he never finds.

Eugene crosses the road and joins him, leaning against the bricks. “Webster,” he says, southern accent a hint stronger than usual. His eyes are unfocused.

“Did you hear? We’re moving out again.”

Eugene sighs. “Good timing.”

“What?” David asks, cocking his head. That’s really not like Eugene, but neither is being drunk, and judging by the sway where he stands, he went past drunk a while ago.

“Just left my fiancee.”

David ignores the twinge in his stomach, the way his pulse jumps. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Eugene snorts. “Go sweep her off her feet, Webster. She’d deserve it. Nice, handsome, rich. Practically a prince.”

Handsome. David feels the flush on his cheeks, ducks his head down to try and hide the pleased smile on his face. “Surprised she’d let a sweet talker like you go.”

“It’s for the best,” Eugene says, soberly. “Still felt terrible. Ain’t used to hurting people.”

David wants to reach out to him, to pat his shoulder maybe, or squeeze his arm, but something stops him. He settles for nudging his foot. “I’m sure there’s someone meant for you. A great love.”

A breeze drifts past them and Eugene shivers. Again, David has to ignore the impulse to reach out. He curses himself for not wearing his jacket but what does he think he’s going to do? Drape it over Eugene’s shoulders? He’s being ridiculous.

Being this close to Eugene is nice though; let’s David notice the line between his brow from where he furrows it, how his hair looks like a splash of ink, that his eyes are blue, like David’s own, but more like the sea at night, stretching endlessly on.

And then Eugene throws up.

“Jesus!”

David is not the medic here and he really doesn’t know what to do, beyond pat Eugene’s shoulder and sidestep the vomit. He’s saved by the arrival of Lipton and Smokey, who steer Eugene in the direction of his billet. David feebly calls a feel better after him and then begins his own walk back, the other way, to the house on the hill.

He is beginning to think his fascination with Eugene is crossing some sort of line. It had felt natural once; his favorite Hemingway was A Farewell to Arms, of course he’d be enchanted by the company medic. But perhaps the fact that he’d been using words like enchanted should’ve tipped him off sooner. The delight he feels at the end of Eugene’s engagement confirms it.

He sighs. Somewhere in him he finds it romantic, in a dreadful sort of way. It would make a great story, he thinks. But great stories are often incompatible with real life.

He’s finally getting that.

[parachuteinfantries]

⚠️official webroe sequel announcement⚠️

[somnolentgirl]

I made Webroe cosplay content!

[parachuteinfantries]

Maybe he’s gone moon mad, he thinks, watching Webster’s profile in the moonlight. Maybe that’s why there’s something dream-like, something inexplicably warm about him. And maybe that’s why Eugene sort of wants to reach out and trace his jaw—just to check that he’s real, that Eugene isn’t having some sort of cold-induced breakdown.

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works