Duke Crocker (
betterthanaplan) wrote2024-12-19 10:53 am
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The galley of the Cape Rouge, Thursday evening
Duke had had some time since his last therapist appointment to start slowly processing what his therapist had said. Specifically what the man had said about what he believed was the foundation of Duke's issues. A diagnosis if you will.
Which Duke had finally made time to look up and read about after getting home from the diner. And mull over over a cup of tea.
Sure, it wasn't the first time someone had suggested that he had PTSD. He'd kind of just assumed he had that, by now. But C-PTSD. The complex version. The one most associated with survivors of hostage situations or child abuse.
He sipped his tea and stared into space. And wished it didn't make as much sense to him as it did. Wished he didn't check off quite as many of the usual symptoms as he did.
"Fuck."
[for the partners if they wanna]
Which Duke had finally made time to look up and read about after getting home from the diner. And mull over over a cup of tea.
Sure, it wasn't the first time someone had suggested that he had PTSD. He'd kind of just assumed he had that, by now. But C-PTSD. The complex version. The one most associated with survivors of hostage situations or child abuse.
He sipped his tea and stared into space. And wished it didn't make as much sense to him as it did. Wished he didn't check off quite as many of the usual symptoms as he did.
"Fuck."
[for the partners if they wanna]
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"Duke, when are you going to accept that we both want you to succeed?" he asked.
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“You say that stuff, and to me it sounds like . . . I’m not enough.” His hand was still buried in his hair. “And — I only just realized I was even hearing that and not just feeling it. And it freaks me out and I just start yelling. Like I’m trying to get you to leave me.”
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“That’s not how the ‘left out’ thing came up. We’d touched on you two, yeah, but the conversation had moved on. She was —“ He cut himself off with a grimace and rephrased it. “— I remember thinking she was criticizing me. That she thought I was weak, so she wouldn’t tell me things. About her trouble, not sex stuff. That’s when I said I felt left out. The sex stuff came up again, but that wasn’t what I was focused on.”
He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d ultimately felt that had been one of their more successful conversations of late, but she’d turned to Lucifer with it. Which felt like more being left out.
“I hate not being told things, especially’ for my own good’. But like. That’s why I asked you to see if you could tell me: I was trying to respect that she didn’t want to. But then I’m getting —“ another cut off “— I feel like I’m getting — a lecture on going too fast and expecting too much. For just wanting to see if I could hear about some things.”
A beat.
“. . . And also asking for a little of my current preferred kink to be in the mix too. Which is gauche, but I am a sailor.”
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Had he mentioned he wished he had a drink right now?
"I understand that you feel left out. That you are doing your best, and it is frustrating when that best does not get you the reaction you were hoping for," he said. "The problem is that you are doing the best you think you should be doing, not what we're actually telling you we'd prefer. The sex is a good example. I am offering you a chance to see, experience, and understand this part of her, so you can explore it with her - and with me - in whatever way works best for the two of you later. And yet your immediate first thought is to ask about how you can make it more about what you like."
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He looked at Lucifer. “I am hurt. I’m trying to tell you about it instead of continuing to push it down. And I’m not going to apologize for asking for something I would like in a sex scene I am supposed to participate in.”
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"Duke," Lucifer said slowly, "I have acknowledged that you feel hurt. Much like, as far as I'm aware, Octavia has acknowledged that you feel hurt. I don't know what else you want me to bloody say besides 'yes, all of your proposed solutions for this are correct'."
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Lucifer reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Yes, he was starting to see why Octavia was so twisted up about this now. "Well, I'm sorry for making you feel that way," he attempted.
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“Thank you.”
He ducked his head, riding the wave of shame that came with realizing how hard he’d been freaking out.
“I’m sorry I yelled.”
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A pause.
"Can you walk me through what happened?"
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He didn't.
He just had no idea how to address this otherwise.
"Okay," he said. "I see. That was not my intention."
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"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought-- well. I thought we all already know how you feel, so let's make it better, I thought. Clearly not my greatest of calls."
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“I don’t . . . actually know if I’m ready for a full scene with you two,” he admitted very softly. “That’s why I asked about just hearing about it. You and Octavia keep talking about what a giant thing this is for her — Luce, I didn’t even know you two were doing things like that until you showed me her room. At this point, I just want to learn about it. How was I supposed to know it was such a big thing for her if neither of you say so until you’re telling me I’m handling it wrong?”
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