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salvadore_hart) wrote2018-12-04 09:45 am
salvadore_hart) wrote2018-12-04 09:45 am
Entry tags:
(Archive) Maybe Love is Like the Moon (1/?)
MAYBE LOVE IS LIKE THE MOON (1/?)
my one and only Relatively Abandoned Star Wars Fic - pre-OT3 Poe/Finn/Rey (sandstormpilot), Wedding Planner AU, Non-Star Wars Au,
Poe Dameron considered himself a pilot first, and an excellent one if asked privately. The wedding planning was something that had just happened.
It started with a moment of adrenaline and the joy of success. There’d been a breakthrough and the reconnaissance team had landed successfully on Europa, a team Poe had personally trained. The communication was full of cheering and Poe’s body had felt alight with adrenaline. Amidst the congratulations, commotion, and success General Organa had approached him. With her hand on his shoulder, she had asked if he would perform her vow renewal. There had been something about the air of victory that made it seem natural that she ask it of him now. Victory looked beautiful on her. She’d looked up at him with the same confidence that shown in her eyes when she sent him on missions. Poe could never say no.
What Poe remembers from the wedding is crying, and getting drunk after all was said-and-done with the groom while his team led rounds of “Here comes the General" every time Organa had crossed the room. She had been regal in her dress blues and a flowing sash of blue that looked nearly like a cape. Han had leaned against Poe, he remembers, and slurred, “That’s my wife,” with the same star-struck look Poe had the first time he flew a star ship.
The reception was held in the mess hall, converted into something respectable enough for a reception. Poe had made the plans, his team had followed his instructions with the diligence they’d shown in space.
That had been before New Republic 2 on Mars. A time when pilots were needed.
Now Poe has an office in the capital, in walking distance from his apartment. A small business nurtured from his on base office, when late hours would have young crew members knocking on his door just hoping for a quick ceremony. Then, when missions to Europa needed bigger and bigger groups of science officers, these young kids who’d heard tales of the General’s wedding hoped that Poe Dameron might wed them before they shipped off and he’d been flattered. He had even sketched out a few bigger parties when members of his squadron were ready to marry too. He never could have guessed it would become a storefront with ‘Dameron Designs’ painted on the large glass window. Hadn’t foreseen the hologram tables with his designs, or the desk tucked away in the back, out of site from the rest of the open-plan design where he kept little memories of before.
BB-8 chirps at his side, bumping into Poe’s ankles as he keys his way into the office. It’s early; like the bakers and florists Poe deals with on a regular basis Poe starts work long before the rest of the business on this street, Though, officially, the doors don’t open until 10 am. He likes to come in and keep the same hours he made before.
“Alright, buddy,” Poe says softly, letting BB-8 roll around him and through the door first once it’s one. The droid makes this series of beeps that Poe’s come to hear as a little tune. Poe whistles the sounds back as best he can while BB-8 bumps against the work table, connecting to the machinery and drawing up the plans Poe needs to finalize for this week.
Normally this would be the routine, except today is different.
“Lights at 10 percent.” Poe says. Then, “Start a new file, BB-8. Call it S-549 and let’s start from scratch.”
The client is due in half-an hour, someone Poe hasn’t even met for consultation, and unlike every project before Poe has no idea where to begin. Only has the bride’s name to go on and that this was a personal favor for General (now Senator) Organa herself.
Poe’s got that anticipatory feeling in his chest, the most mild form of a rush he knows all too well. He’s felt it at it’s purest while in orbit watching the horizon become so clearly the curve of a planet as you rise into the atmosphere. It’s the feeling he gets when he can see the whole picture.
Poe licks his lower lip, draws it between his teeth and stares at the bare blueprints for the venue he plans to suggest. His mind supplies dark blues and lighting like the glow of stars so far off that space is inky black all around them. Starts to design, knowing it’ll all be scrapped once he meets this unknown groom who is due. But still. BB-8 is making little electronic sounds of approval, designing the cake based off of files that only Poe and the droid know about.
Poe gets so enthralled in it he honestly misses the first bit of the greeting. Turns around lazily at the sound of a clearing throat and goes still.
“Sorry, am I early?” asks said groom, presumably. He’s crossing his arms and looks nervous even though he has a smile so bright that it lights up his eyes. Poe feels like he’s been punched in the gut, biting his lip hard as this man says, “The door was open,” and Poe can’t think of anything to say back.
“Are those designs for us?” the groom asks, gaze thankfully leaving Poe’s face to stare at what’s come to life. The stars are making up most of the light in the office with the curtains still pulled shut and the low light. The man is reaching out as if he can touch the three dimensional chandelier design that Poe had transplanted from a memory from his childhood and it’s too much. Seeing the light playing on dark skin and the way that smile keeps changing, somehow becoming better with each tiny movement, each interaction with Poe’s designs.
“Lights at business hours setting,” Poe says, abruptly, glad he doesn’t sound as strangled as he feels. He moves to pull the curtains open over the big windows just to get some room between the two of them. His heart is beating out of his chest, and Poe has never felt like this.
“Sorry,” he says, finally. The room comes to order as BB-8 shuts the file down and rolls in a quick straight line toward Poe with inquisitive sounds, forcing the groom out of his way.
Letting BB-8 roll around him and bump into his legs with increasingly distressed sounds, Poe feigns professionalism to hide his sudden embarrassment. Smoothing his hair down from where he’s run it into a weird shape with his fingers, then he reaches out a hand. “Poe Dameron, by the way. Sorry I was caught up. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, uh, Finn,” Finn says, rolling with Poe’s 180 as best as Poe could ask. “Sorry if I interrupted. That was really beautiful, you know. Was that the reception hall?”
“Just something I was fiddling with, actually,” Poe replied. “We’ll sit down and design something just for you and your fiancee, something personal. It’ll be even better than that.”
Finn’s eyes keep traveling back to the table with a look that Poe know very well. It’s the look of someone besotted - Poe has seen it on the faces of a hundred newlyweds. Just never over one of his designs, not like this. He doesn’t know what else to do with Finn saying, “If you say so,” so hesitantly.
Except reply, “I promise you.”
my one and only Relatively Abandoned Star Wars Fic - pre-OT3 Poe/Finn/Rey (sandstormpilot), Wedding Planner AU, Non-Star Wars Au,
Poe Dameron considered himself a pilot first, and an excellent one if asked privately. The wedding planning was something that had just happened.
It started with a moment of adrenaline and the joy of success. There’d been a breakthrough and the reconnaissance team had landed successfully on Europa, a team Poe had personally trained. The communication was full of cheering and Poe’s body had felt alight with adrenaline. Amidst the congratulations, commotion, and success General Organa had approached him. With her hand on his shoulder, she had asked if he would perform her vow renewal. There had been something about the air of victory that made it seem natural that she ask it of him now. Victory looked beautiful on her. She’d looked up at him with the same confidence that shown in her eyes when she sent him on missions. Poe could never say no.
What Poe remembers from the wedding is crying, and getting drunk after all was said-and-done with the groom while his team led rounds of “Here comes the General" every time Organa had crossed the room. She had been regal in her dress blues and a flowing sash of blue that looked nearly like a cape. Han had leaned against Poe, he remembers, and slurred, “That’s my wife,” with the same star-struck look Poe had the first time he flew a star ship.
The reception was held in the mess hall, converted into something respectable enough for a reception. Poe had made the plans, his team had followed his instructions with the diligence they’d shown in space.
That had been before New Republic 2 on Mars. A time when pilots were needed.
Now Poe has an office in the capital, in walking distance from his apartment. A small business nurtured from his on base office, when late hours would have young crew members knocking on his door just hoping for a quick ceremony. Then, when missions to Europa needed bigger and bigger groups of science officers, these young kids who’d heard tales of the General’s wedding hoped that Poe Dameron might wed them before they shipped off and he’d been flattered. He had even sketched out a few bigger parties when members of his squadron were ready to marry too. He never could have guessed it would become a storefront with ‘Dameron Designs’ painted on the large glass window. Hadn’t foreseen the hologram tables with his designs, or the desk tucked away in the back, out of site from the rest of the open-plan design where he kept little memories of before.
BB-8 chirps at his side, bumping into Poe’s ankles as he keys his way into the office. It’s early; like the bakers and florists Poe deals with on a regular basis Poe starts work long before the rest of the business on this street, Though, officially, the doors don’t open until 10 am. He likes to come in and keep the same hours he made before.
“Alright, buddy,” Poe says softly, letting BB-8 roll around him and through the door first once it’s one. The droid makes this series of beeps that Poe’s come to hear as a little tune. Poe whistles the sounds back as best he can while BB-8 bumps against the work table, connecting to the machinery and drawing up the plans Poe needs to finalize for this week.
Normally this would be the routine, except today is different.
“Lights at 10 percent.” Poe says. Then, “Start a new file, BB-8. Call it S-549 and let’s start from scratch.”
The client is due in half-an hour, someone Poe hasn’t even met for consultation, and unlike every project before Poe has no idea where to begin. Only has the bride’s name to go on and that this was a personal favor for General (now Senator) Organa herself.
Poe’s got that anticipatory feeling in his chest, the most mild form of a rush he knows all too well. He’s felt it at it’s purest while in orbit watching the horizon become so clearly the curve of a planet as you rise into the atmosphere. It’s the feeling he gets when he can see the whole picture.
Poe licks his lower lip, draws it between his teeth and stares at the bare blueprints for the venue he plans to suggest. His mind supplies dark blues and lighting like the glow of stars so far off that space is inky black all around them. Starts to design, knowing it’ll all be scrapped once he meets this unknown groom who is due. But still. BB-8 is making little electronic sounds of approval, designing the cake based off of files that only Poe and the droid know about.
Poe gets so enthralled in it he honestly misses the first bit of the greeting. Turns around lazily at the sound of a clearing throat and goes still.
“Sorry, am I early?” asks said groom, presumably. He’s crossing his arms and looks nervous even though he has a smile so bright that it lights up his eyes. Poe feels like he’s been punched in the gut, biting his lip hard as this man says, “The door was open,” and Poe can’t think of anything to say back.
“Are those designs for us?” the groom asks, gaze thankfully leaving Poe’s face to stare at what’s come to life. The stars are making up most of the light in the office with the curtains still pulled shut and the low light. The man is reaching out as if he can touch the three dimensional chandelier design that Poe had transplanted from a memory from his childhood and it’s too much. Seeing the light playing on dark skin and the way that smile keeps changing, somehow becoming better with each tiny movement, each interaction with Poe’s designs.
“Lights at business hours setting,” Poe says, abruptly, glad he doesn’t sound as strangled as he feels. He moves to pull the curtains open over the big windows just to get some room between the two of them. His heart is beating out of his chest, and Poe has never felt like this.
“Sorry,” he says, finally. The room comes to order as BB-8 shuts the file down and rolls in a quick straight line toward Poe with inquisitive sounds, forcing the groom out of his way.
Letting BB-8 roll around him and bump into his legs with increasingly distressed sounds, Poe feigns professionalism to hide his sudden embarrassment. Smoothing his hair down from where he’s run it into a weird shape with his fingers, then he reaches out a hand. “Poe Dameron, by the way. Sorry I was caught up. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, uh, Finn,” Finn says, rolling with Poe’s 180 as best as Poe could ask. “Sorry if I interrupted. That was really beautiful, you know. Was that the reception hall?”
“Just something I was fiddling with, actually,” Poe replied. “We’ll sit down and design something just for you and your fiancee, something personal. It’ll be even better than that.”
Finn’s eyes keep traveling back to the table with a look that Poe know very well. It’s the look of someone besotted - Poe has seen it on the faces of a hundred newlyweds. Just never over one of his designs, not like this. He doesn’t know what else to do with Finn saying, “If you say so,” so hesitantly.
Except reply, “I promise you.”