There was something about the peace on the island. The swell of the tide matching the swell in his chest. A sudden tightness in his throat as the soft, delicate fingers threaded through his hair. It was real, this was real. Dogma swallowed hard, letting go, and accepted the enveloping peace that was lying in his lovers arms.
🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡
(Caption by the amazing @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf )
happy clonemas! may i request dogma, tup, and sentence 28? thank you! ✨
Well, I'm finally doing this 😂 thank you very much for the prompt 🫶 and for organising this little event!!
For the 7th day of Clonemas, Kamino gave me: Dogma is there when Tup's chip malfunctions, and it changes almost nothing (yes, there's angst under the cut). AO3
Tup woke with a start. His armor was digging uncomfortably into his ribs. Why was he still wearing it? Oh, if he’d fallen asleep during guard duty, Dogma would rip him a new one…
He went to sit up—and found he couldn’t. There was something looped around his chest, pressing him down onto the cot or whatever it was he was lying on. Thinking was hard, too. His thoughts moved slowly, sluggishly, like blaster grease dripping out of a container. He struggled to open his eyes, but his eyelids weighed heavy, slipping closed again any time he blinked into the white, sterile glare surrounding him.
Medbay? Perhaps he was injured. Not dying, though—he wasn’t hurting, not at all. Then why medbay?
He tried to sit up another time, even though his head swam and his vision fractured at the edges any time he got an eye open. But the thing across his chest was still there, and now he could feel one around his legs, too. Holding him down. Restraining him.
Tup wasn’t usually one to panic. Usually.
“Breathe.”
A hand came to rest atop his heaving chestplate. It pressed down, making him exhale, before it lightened again, directing the rhythm of the air rushing in and out of his lungs.
Tup still choked on the pounding of his own heartbeat in his throat. “Dogma?”
“Right here.” The hand caught his own. A warm palm wrapped around Tup’s. A strong thumb began to rub circles into the tender skin of his wrist.
Tup swallowed down the tightening of his throat. “Am I in trouble?”
Dogma didn’t answer immediately, as if he was taking a breath. When he did, however, he sounded so sure Tup could only believe him.
“No. You’re not in trouble.” His hand was squeezed. Tup would have preferred the touch of Dogma’s lips against his own, no matter how chapped and chaste, but his heart unwound in his chest, anyway. “Go back to sleep.”
Tup smiled, already feeling the effect Dogma’s deep, soothing tone was having on him. “Alright. Love you.”
He didn’t hear Dogma say it back before sleep overwhelmed him once more. He didn’t need to.
Dogma was here. They were both safe, and that was all that mattered.
Everything was going to be alright.
Dogma stared down at Tup’s fever-slick face. It blurred in his vision when hot, thick moisture suddenly beaded in the corners of his eyes. Confused, he wiped at his face, dampening his gloves.
Someone—Fives—took his elbow, pulled his hand from Tup’s grasp and began steering him toward the door. “You did well calming him down,” the ARC was saying, voice close and yet so far away. “Go get some rest now. We’ll call you if we need you again.”
Dogma twisted, trying to get one last look at Kix and Rex standing over Tup restrained on the hovercot. “Is he going to be alright? Can you tell me?”
Tup’s lips were moving, like he’d begun to murmur under his breath again. Like he’d started doing right before he’d pushed Dogma aside, leveled his blaster at General Tiplar and shot her, just like that.
Good soldiers follow orders.
“Sure,” Fives was saying without looking Dogma in the eye. “He’ll be fine.”
“Can I—?” Dogma began, but Fives led him the rest of the way out into the hallway and let go of his elbow like he’d been burned before he stepped back and toggled the control panel in the wall. The door to the medbay slid closed, shutting Dogma out.
Good soldiers follow orders.
You’re not in trouble. Go back to sleep.
Dogma didn’t return to his bunk in the barracks. He just stood there, in the empty hallway, hand that had been holding Tup’s only heartbeats before—just like Kix had told him to—clenched into a fist.
Tup/Dogma - Tup is a mer and Dogma is a marine biologist big on conservation who has no idea what to do with having a mer around and looking really hot and scaring away the endangered crabs please I need them for my dissertation
UNO-reversed/tagged by the lovely @hastalavistabyebye @mereelskirata and @kartaylirnaak <3 thank you peeps!! Currently jumping between WIPs like a crazed squirrel but I was actually able to write something coherent today ✌️
This was Tup, lightyears away, but to Dogma, his voice might as well have been the sweetest, warmest, gentlest touch. His cheeks flushed with warmth. They’d only shared a bunk during their first weeks with the 501st, while the terror of leaving Kamino had still been fresh. But even after Tup had decided to finally move into his own, yet untouched bunk, Dogma’s sheets had continued to smell like him.
A shuddery exhale crackled across the distance bridged by the call. “Dogma! I thought you’d been—you were—I mean, how did you get my comm code?”
Dogma had loved to bury his face in his pillow, his blanket, inhaling deeply as his blacks grew tighter. He almost hadn’t given them into the wash when it had been due.
UNO-reversing the above and no pressure tagging @shrilk @forloveofcodywan @cookielessthan3 @omaano @aerjnn @anxiousotters @sinvulkt @chocmarss @earlgreyci
