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120_minutenTeam: Ravenclaw
Challenge: Hurt/Comfort - Traumatisches Erlebnis (fürs Team)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Oliver Wood
Wörter: 551
Warnung: Beiläufige Beschreibung von extrem drastischen Verletzungen. Mein Englisch.
A/N: Das erste Treffen von Oliver und Charlie in diesem Piloten-AU.
"So, you're the Quidditch kid?"
Oliver just rolled his eyes. He had heard that one before. This time, the guy was a bit on the short side, broad shoulders, broad smile, flaming red hair, wearing his BDUs like a costume. Not exactly a model soldier himself but apparently not self-aware enough to see the irony there. Hardly worth Oliver's time.
But by now, after three years at the Academy, he had figured out that just walking away would not save him from the questions or the laughter or the video of his crash being broadcasted in the mess. So he just shrugged and lifted a hand to the still quite visible scar on his face.
"Apparently."
He had been lucky. Facial reconstruction was so much easier than growing new limbs, and third degree burns really weren't too bad when they didn't kill you. Apparently, the only difficult part about his surgery had been extracting all the parts of the speeder that had fused with his flesh, oh, and connecting the two body halves again. Or so the med bots had told him. If only the dreams were as easy to deal with. Or the stupid questions of everyone around him.
"And, yes, it was quite spectacular, and, yes, it hurt."
The other soldier's smile grew impossibly wider, his freckled nose wrinkling. It was a handsome smile, Oliver had to admit. "I wouldn't have guessed." His voice was low, a bit lazy and heavily layered with amusement. "Not the question, though. We've got a kind of underground league going and… I could really use a keeper. If you're up to it that is."
Oliver wasn't sure whether the last part was a challenge or honest concern. Maybe a bit of both. But he didn't really care because his body started buzzing with anticipation just at the offer, with the thought of getting on a speeder again, of flying again. The med bots had diagnosed him with all kinds of things because of his lack of hesitation to get back in the game, but Oliver figured that it should have been expected. Before his first match of Quidditch, he had known what could happen, what would likely happen. During all two and a half years of his professional career he had seen much worse crashes and had watched friends die. If that hadn't stopped him, why would being ripped in half?
Yet, he merely shrugged. "I haven't even reported for duty yet," he said, non-committally. Everthing about this guy looked like trouble and Oliver really didn't need trouble, he needed a job that paid the medical bills and maybe allowed him to fly, once in a while, if he was really lucky. He couldn't afford to ruin this opportunity, not like the last one.
The guy made a face. "The general's office is just down this corridor." He saluted sloppily and turned to go. After a few steps, he turned back towards Oliver. "Find me when you have decided," he said and winked as if he knew what that decision would look like.
He probably did, Oliver figured. Participating in illegal Quidditch games on a space station was arguably even crazier than going pro in the official league. He shook his head. He really, really didn't need that kind of trouble.
Not now.
Challenge: Hurt/Comfort - Traumatisches Erlebnis (fürs Team)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Charlie Weasley/Oliver Wood
Wörter: 551
Warnung: Beiläufige Beschreibung von extrem drastischen Verletzungen. Mein Englisch.
A/N: Das erste Treffen von Oliver und Charlie in diesem Piloten-AU.
"So, you're the Quidditch kid?"
Oliver just rolled his eyes. He had heard that one before. This time, the guy was a bit on the short side, broad shoulders, broad smile, flaming red hair, wearing his BDUs like a costume. Not exactly a model soldier himself but apparently not self-aware enough to see the irony there. Hardly worth Oliver's time.
But by now, after three years at the Academy, he had figured out that just walking away would not save him from the questions or the laughter or the video of his crash being broadcasted in the mess. So he just shrugged and lifted a hand to the still quite visible scar on his face.
"Apparently."
He had been lucky. Facial reconstruction was so much easier than growing new limbs, and third degree burns really weren't too bad when they didn't kill you. Apparently, the only difficult part about his surgery had been extracting all the parts of the speeder that had fused with his flesh, oh, and connecting the two body halves again. Or so the med bots had told him. If only the dreams were as easy to deal with. Or the stupid questions of everyone around him.
"And, yes, it was quite spectacular, and, yes, it hurt."
The other soldier's smile grew impossibly wider, his freckled nose wrinkling. It was a handsome smile, Oliver had to admit. "I wouldn't have guessed." His voice was low, a bit lazy and heavily layered with amusement. "Not the question, though. We've got a kind of underground league going and… I could really use a keeper. If you're up to it that is."
Oliver wasn't sure whether the last part was a challenge or honest concern. Maybe a bit of both. But he didn't really care because his body started buzzing with anticipation just at the offer, with the thought of getting on a speeder again, of flying again. The med bots had diagnosed him with all kinds of things because of his lack of hesitation to get back in the game, but Oliver figured that it should have been expected. Before his first match of Quidditch, he had known what could happen, what would likely happen. During all two and a half years of his professional career he had seen much worse crashes and had watched friends die. If that hadn't stopped him, why would being ripped in half?
Yet, he merely shrugged. "I haven't even reported for duty yet," he said, non-committally. Everthing about this guy looked like trouble and Oliver really didn't need trouble, he needed a job that paid the medical bills and maybe allowed him to fly, once in a while, if he was really lucky. He couldn't afford to ruin this opportunity, not like the last one.
The guy made a face. "The general's office is just down this corridor." He saluted sloppily and turned to go. After a few steps, he turned back towards Oliver. "Find me when you have decided," he said and winked as if he knew what that decision would look like.
He probably did, Oliver figured. Participating in illegal Quidditch games on a space station was arguably even crazier than going pro in the official league. He shook his head. He really, really didn't need that kind of trouble.
Not now.
no subject
Date: 2016-07-11 08:30 pm (UTC)AAAAH, CHARLIE/OLIVER AUF SPACESTATIONS UND WAS HAST DU MIT OLIVER GEMACHT?
Ich liebe alles.
no subject
Date: 2016-07-14 12:28 pm (UTC)Oh, dear... poor thing. Aber ich mag wie morbidly casual er sich daran erinnert.
Ich finde Charlies Art immer noch total super! Und Oliver ist herrlich wie er zögert, aber doch irgendwie schon am Haken hängt :3
no subject
Date: 2016-07-16 04:17 pm (UTC)Ich bin ja ein totaler sucker für "First meetings" von daher - yay! Und ooooh dramatische Unfälle in der Vergangenheit - das ist auch total mein jam.