John J. Rambo (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theydrewfirstblood) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
ph_logs2024-07-02 12:33 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote in ph_logs2024-07-02 12:33 pm
none of my pain and woe can show through (July Catch All)
Who: John Rambo (theydrewfirstblood) & YOU! (Mostly. Couple closed starters below.)
What: July catch all for Da Hollow's Favorite Commando(TM)
When: Throughout July
Where: Baker Ranch, Temple of the Sacred Roots, Forest--all around, really
Warning(s): canon typical nonsense: war, violence, PTSD, police brutality, will continue to warn in comment subjects as I go, with extra warnings for coping with mental illness (PTSD, anxiety, depression), nothing graphic or disturbing but I know if I'm going through it, reading about it doesn't always help so take your measure and know ILU.
but my dreams, they aren't as empty (Ranch, ota)
After what happened among the cultists, learning about this eldritch bullshit...dying, coming back...
The tiny gold leaf he was clutching when he came back to himself remains in his pocket at first. He's got plans for it, and they all involve keeping the fucking thing on him at all times. He doesn't want to lose it, doesn't want to leave it laying around...doesn't want to be this irrational and paranoid about potentially letting one of the boys find it around the house.
That whole deal, the whole mess...John doesn't want it to touch them, even incidentally. He hasn't really talked about it with them, save to say that he wasn't in any shape to discuss it yet, and he's not.
But throughout the next few weeks, John can easily be found at the ranch, either by those on business or those with an open invite--or hell, those who get lost in the woods and end up on the new boundary of his property watching rabbits and hares roam free behind the specially constructed fencing. He's working hard...not to forget, but to cope with what happened.
He's also just plain working, because he wants to add a couple bedrooms to the house. Just in case.
If something else happens, if he needs to know his people are safe...he could use the extra room.
as my conscience seems to be (closed to Sigma)
Within a week of returning from...the bullshit...John's thinking of the others a lot. The ones that were there with him, the ones who had his back, the ones he was most fearful for.
He thinks of Sigma a lot. Guy's unstable, like John after a fashion, but there's something about him that reminds him so much of the colonel it hurts. It doesn't make him homesick, but gives him some of the same strange comfort he finds when he's spending time with Alex.
So he ends up dropping a note in the mail for Sigma--i just has his name, his phone number, and the offer use it if you ever need to or want to.
He also includes a date, time, and an offer to open a tab at the Oak & Iron if he's up for it.
Which is where John can be found, within about a week of the end of the cultist outing. He's at a table near the back, sewing--not fabric and thread, but leatherwork: a small pouch for the leaf that he can thread onto the cord that holds Serranai's bead.
Of course, he has no food or drink, despite Tasha's puppy dog eyes, but as he glances up again to see if Sigma's entered yet, her tiny blonde figure appears with a basket in hand, packed high with everything she could possibly hope for him to put away in a fucking week much less a night's dinner.
"I do eat, y'know." he reminds her.
"Of course, but this makes sure you eat well. Now hush, there's berries in there for Coco."
The aforementioned chicken peeks her head over the edge of the table, forcing John to grin as he sets his leatherwork aside to find Co's treat in the basket.
i have hours, only lonely (Temple, ota)
Thus far, John's communion with the goddesses has been private...but the more he learns, the more he finds himself turning to them, the more curious he gets.
So...he goes to the temple. Not a lot, but he attends a couple services, and a couple times he just goes to sit or to pray. It's nice, to sort of...do it right? Maybe. It does help, a tiny bit, to feel more like Serranai hears him when he talks to her, and if someone wants to join him in prayer or say hello after a service? He's not only open, but in a better mood for being there.
He still prefers the temple of his own making, though.
my love is vengeance that's never free (Forest/Wildcard, ota)
John does precisely that: visits his own temples to not merely pray, but reach out. He occasionally goes to the beach to give offerings to Kora: little driftwood tokens he's whittled into fish, coins, and bottles he's filled with broken shells and sea glass he collects from the sand. He'll walk along the water, toss them into the waves with a few words to her...
...and he makes his monthly pilgrimage to the depths of the forest for Serranai. He gives her his offerings, he takes his meal under the tree he thinks of hers--and he spends more than a couple of hours there, trying to draw comfort from her presence. It's probably in his head, but he feels her more strongly here. Maybe it's the memory of her, but he swears that the forest is more alive here, the animals a little tamer--the odd flower a little more colorful.
The place isn't hidden--at least not by John. Find him here, deep in meditation, walking to or from this place with an empty basket in tow and a homemade longbow slung over his shoulder--or anywhere else, doing anything else. The sky's the limit.
((and if you need a personalized starter, PM the journal or hit me up on discord--the server proper, or privately at madwomanwithabox. :D))
theydrewfirstblood) & YOU! (Mostly. Couple closed starters below.) What: July catch all for Da Hollow's Favorite Commando(TM)
When: Throughout July
Where: Baker Ranch, Temple of the Sacred Roots, Forest--all around, really
Warning(s): canon typical nonsense: war, violence, PTSD, police brutality, will continue to warn in comment subjects as I go, with extra warnings for coping with mental illness (PTSD, anxiety, depression), nothing graphic or disturbing but I know if I'm going through it, reading about it doesn't always help so take your measure and know ILU.
but my dreams, they aren't as empty (Ranch, ota)
After what happened among the cultists, learning about this eldritch bullshit...dying, coming back...
The tiny gold leaf he was clutching when he came back to himself remains in his pocket at first. He's got plans for it, and they all involve keeping the fucking thing on him at all times. He doesn't want to lose it, doesn't want to leave it laying around...doesn't want to be this irrational and paranoid about potentially letting one of the boys find it around the house.
That whole deal, the whole mess...John doesn't want it to touch them, even incidentally. He hasn't really talked about it with them, save to say that he wasn't in any shape to discuss it yet, and he's not.
But throughout the next few weeks, John can easily be found at the ranch, either by those on business or those with an open invite--or hell, those who get lost in the woods and end up on the new boundary of his property watching rabbits and hares roam free behind the specially constructed fencing. He's working hard...not to forget, but to cope with what happened.
He's also just plain working, because he wants to add a couple bedrooms to the house. Just in case.
If something else happens, if he needs to know his people are safe...he could use the extra room.
as my conscience seems to be (closed to Sigma)
Within a week of returning from...the bullshit...John's thinking of the others a lot. The ones that were there with him, the ones who had his back, the ones he was most fearful for.
He thinks of Sigma a lot. Guy's unstable, like John after a fashion, but there's something about him that reminds him so much of the colonel it hurts. It doesn't make him homesick, but gives him some of the same strange comfort he finds when he's spending time with Alex.
So he ends up dropping a note in the mail for Sigma--i just has his name, his phone number, and the offer use it if you ever need to or want to.
He also includes a date, time, and an offer to open a tab at the Oak & Iron if he's up for it.
Which is where John can be found, within about a week of the end of the cultist outing. He's at a table near the back, sewing--not fabric and thread, but leatherwork: a small pouch for the leaf that he can thread onto the cord that holds Serranai's bead.
Of course, he has no food or drink, despite Tasha's puppy dog eyes, but as he glances up again to see if Sigma's entered yet, her tiny blonde figure appears with a basket in hand, packed high with everything she could possibly hope for him to put away in a fucking week much less a night's dinner.
"I do eat, y'know." he reminds her.
"Of course, but this makes sure you eat well. Now hush, there's berries in there for Coco."
The aforementioned chicken peeks her head over the edge of the table, forcing John to grin as he sets his leatherwork aside to find Co's treat in the basket.
i have hours, only lonely (Temple, ota)
Thus far, John's communion with the goddesses has been private...but the more he learns, the more he finds himself turning to them, the more curious he gets.
So...he goes to the temple. Not a lot, but he attends a couple services, and a couple times he just goes to sit or to pray. It's nice, to sort of...do it right? Maybe. It does help, a tiny bit, to feel more like Serranai hears him when he talks to her, and if someone wants to join him in prayer or say hello after a service? He's not only open, but in a better mood for being there.
He still prefers the temple of his own making, though.
my love is vengeance that's never free (Forest/Wildcard, ota)
John does precisely that: visits his own temples to not merely pray, but reach out. He occasionally goes to the beach to give offerings to Kora: little driftwood tokens he's whittled into fish, coins, and bottles he's filled with broken shells and sea glass he collects from the sand. He'll walk along the water, toss them into the waves with a few words to her...
...and he makes his monthly pilgrimage to the depths of the forest for Serranai. He gives her his offerings, he takes his meal under the tree he thinks of hers--and he spends more than a couple of hours there, trying to draw comfort from her presence. It's probably in his head, but he feels her more strongly here. Maybe it's the memory of her, but he swears that the forest is more alive here, the animals a little tamer--the odd flower a little more colorful.
The place isn't hidden--at least not by John. Find him here, deep in meditation, walking to or from this place with an empty basket in tow and a homemade longbow slung over his shoulder--or anywhere else, doing anything else. The sky's the limit.
((and if you need a personalized starter, PM the journal or hit me up on discord--the server proper, or privately at madwomanwithabox. :D))
no subject
He takes the glass of water and has a sip. It's nice after the heat of the day.
"You remind me of someone," Alex said. "That good man I mentioned before. He has a nasty habit of going it alone, too."
Damn it, David - damn it, Jason! Always trying to protect your people by pushing us away, and you're too damn stubborn to realize all of us will fight and kill and die for you! We have, we all have, and God bless Mo but he's too good-hearted to kill but he'll fight like hell, he always does. Same as any of us would do for the rest.
He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, realizing he'd drifted off. "Sorry. But you really do remind me of him. That's one of the highest compliments I can pay."
cw: depersonalization, allusions to touch starvation
This guy probably wasn't Special Forces. Not like him.
"Wasn't made to wait for backup." he replies quietly. "They designed us to be the backup. Pull us out when the chips are down, get the job done."
Every word--the worst part is that they're not deliberately chosen. It's just...the truth, as John sees it.
Made, designed, not trained. Pulled out to get the job done, not called on or ordered to go.
John is well aware that, unlike this person Alex knows, he's little more than a very well constructed weapon. Expendable, like he told Co not long ago.
He just needs to make peace with it. Then maybe he won't be in so much pain all the damn time.
cw: discussion of child murder, passive suicidality
He takes another sip of water, unsure how much he wants to say and weighing his natural, almost reflexive tendency for secrecy against how much John needs to hear it.
"He's different. He didn't want to be part of it. He dragged himself in when he was living in Cambodia. River was strafed and his wife and kids were killed. It broke him. So he came to me, half-out of his mind, wanting the most dangerous thing he could do. Sometimes I think he was trying to kill himself. But he stayed good through it all. Tried to court-martial a whole squad for killing a runner, a kid, because they thought they could get away with it." David had failed, but not for lack of trying. Fucking Ogilvie, that slimeball.
He leans against his cane. "You don't lose that. There's that core to a man, and it can't be changed, no matter what happens to him. Some people don't have that. He does. I think you do, too."
CW: mild internalized homophobia/biphobia
Delmar dug something out of the mud for himself...why couldn't John?
Because Alex is wrong. that nasty voice in his head responds. Because Sam is right. You don't get it. You'll never get it--you're no good beyond your functionality. You belong in the blood and the guts, what you want doesn't matter.
But...if it doesn't matter, why did Serranai come to him? Twice? Why did she feed him, look after him--why did she give him her favor? Why did she--
He shuts his eyes against the memory of her kiss, but he can taste her again, feel the sweet burn of it--feel that moment of joy and affection tearing him apart.
"I want that to be true." he admits, toying with the bead hanging from his neck as her face fills his head, the warmth of her regard and her hands on his face still burning his memory. "But the world wouldn't let it be back home. Then I come here, and...and I think maybe it could be true. Met some people..."
He trails off, unsure how Alex will react--then decides he really doesn't care. Not when he knows men like Watson and Hawkeye, folks like Gerry and Chris.
"...I met someone who almost had me convinced it could be true here, a guy I was ready to make it true for. But I couldn't. I just hurt him, then I lost him, and now...now I don't know. I know what I want...I know who I wanna be...but I also know that what I want? It don't matter. It never has."
i can't believe he's having this Realization™ so early thanks john
At the mention of John's former partner, Alex doesn't react, doesn't flinch. He's no spring chicken; he remembers Stonewall, the Mattachine Society, the Lavender Scare. Christ, but he'd hated McCarthy and his cronies and his Soviet-style purges of ideological 'undesirables'.
"I'm sorry," he says, and means it. Shit, but did Alex know about hurting people and driving them away. "About that man. It's never easy to find someone in this fucked-up world."
If John had found his happiness there, good for him. Few enough people did. Better to have loved and lost, and all that.
Because he sure hadn't. Being married to the job had been half of it, and being too much of a coward to give a serious relationship a try was the other. He'd justified it to himself at the time, but now with the wisdom of age, he can see his younger self clearly.
He takes another sip of the cold water as he thinks. At least he's got that odd little family now, the only bit of love he'd experienced since his parents had died. David and Marie and the kids and--
--collapsing to the floor seeing him relive his interrogation, in front of Peter Holland and God and everybody. Listening to that heartwrenching tape over and over and over and feeling the terror and anguish as though it was his own, having to go and throw up after the first listen because it was a physical ache as real as the stump at the end of his leg.
"Wait a minute. What about Panov?"
"He's not ready for a welcome-home party. He'll stay here for a couple of days under observation."
"I'd like to see him. I want to see him."
"There's nothing to see but a human dishrag. Believe me, you don't and he wouldn't want you to."
A botched mob hit, odds of pulling through sixty-forty against, a hospital in Paris, punctured lungs, injured heart. "He's in bad shape, so bad I don't want to think about it right now." Calling the hospital in Paris at three in the morning for some news, any news, and the practically-euphoric relief that had flooded through him when there might be partial paralysis but nothing worse, his head was still on straight and he was being an ornery patient as so many doctors were, and he'd be fine, he'd be fine, he'd be fine--
Alex chokes on his water mid-sip. "Aw, shit," he coughs, mostly to himself.
YOU’RE WELCOME ALEX XD {cw: general homophobia/biphobia, intolerant language}
…and from the sound of that ah, shit, it’s definitely a problem. Not like John’s situation.
“Men and women both.” He declares softly, then after a beat looks towards Alex with a small, wry smile. “That’s what I figured out when it happened to me, only I damn near choked on a soda. I was pretty young, didn’t know what it was—Dad made it real damn clear girls were the only acceptable option so that’s what I focused on. Thought I was okay since I wasn’t queer—I really did like girls. Just…didn’t feel all the way right, ignoring the rest, but I had to. Few people here helped me figure out I wasn’t crazy, and that it had a name.”
i hit two 30 rock references in this tag i'm unstoppable
And, only due to decades of experience, he does. It's trying to come back out, struggling, fighting to be heard and seen and known, you love him, but that just can't be allowed to happen. And it won't.
As Jason said so often to close the book on a subject: So be it.
"Doesn't do me any good now," he says. "I'm dead. He's not." His tone is blunt, speaking a hard truth.
YOU. RULE.
“Not true. Things change.” John replies. “That’s what she told you, like she told me. The woman with the white hair, before you got on the ferry. And it can change on a dime—it did for me.”
John pauses, remembering the sherrif’s station, how it was all falling apart…
“I went back.” He admits quietly. “When I showed up, it was before I got arrested. I thought I died there, at the mercy of a bunch of jackasses that pushed me to the breaking point…came here for a while, and something changed. I went back one night, like something pulling me to the ferry, and when I got back I survived. Court martial, three years of an eight year sentence…got talked into going back to ‘Nam, and I ended up back here.”
no subject
"Don't do that to me, John," he says quietly. "Don't give me hope."