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_logs2024-12-21 08:16 pm
theydrewfirstblood) wrote in ph_logs2024-12-21 08:16 pm
trying to find peace of mind can break your heart (Closed To Close CR)
Who: John Rambo & You
What: My personal event opt-out, or John Rambo is conspicuously absent from Pumpkin Hollow during the winter holidays, nursing a steadily healing heartache he's just still learning to understand
When: during Givingstide, Mourner's Night, & all accompanied interfaith celebrations
Where: Baker Ranch
Warning(s): Grief, breakups, canon typical warnings (PTSD, wartime violence, torture, etc.), and for additional fun, potential NSFW if anybody wants to party :P
"Someone gave me one like that, said if I wore it when I slept, she'd keep the nightmares away. Connected her to me, even when she was still on the Beach. Thought maybe...I'unno. Might do the same for you. Give you a connection back here, when your head goes dark."
John stares at it, like he did a year ago. Normally, it hangs on the wall over his bed, but after spending all of his free time in his room the last few days--barring chores and meals--now that his family is in town for the holiday stuff, John is out on his porch with a glass of scotch, Co strutting around while Bao hops about the yard...
Like he did that night, John rubs a thumb along the cord strung through it, the cool stone knotted in the center of dreamcatcher that still means so damn much to him.
Reaching for his drink, John sips his scotch--yeah, he's not out to get drunk, just keep from getting too tense. The heat of the burn as it goes down his throat reminds him of the earliest touches from his partners and friends, of the first time Sam touched him voluntarily at last year's Givingstide. The bloom of warmth in his belly when it slides all the way down reminds him, more recently, of the endorphin high at George's birthday party with Siebren, even the radiant warmth of companionship hanging around with Drelasa.
"You don't gotta protect me, and I don't want you killin' for me. I'm not helpless, n' we're supposed to be better here, right? You're carryin' around all this shit from bein' a soldier but you don't gotta be that anymore."
Sam's gruff, quiet voice still makes him ache inside, even just in his memory. He's more withdrawn these days, less of a presence, but his dreamcatcher still hangs in John's room. It still keeps the nightmares at bay, most times.
"...we're supposed to be better here, right?..."
He's come a long way in a year. He's seeing multiple people, with varying levels of involvement. He's got a family of his own that's...absolutely breathtaking, good kids he loves so much it's stupid and extended family beyond them. He has friends, he has a flourishing business, he's a holy knight of a goddess...he has a life that's so much more and so much richer than he ever could have dreamed of in his own world.
...but a couple thoughtless words set him off at the dance of Celestine. He bounced someone's head off a wall for hurting Siebren. He was bitten by a creature he can only call a werewolf, and he's been content to remain changed.
He's not just haunted by what he's lost...but also by the things he hasn't let go. The violence, the bloodlust--the things that the Army made him.
Things he hates, things he doesn't want...things he can't give up because they can do some honest, genuine good. For some reason, the time of year has him thinking about Sam more, and thinking about all of that more, and wondering if he's really doing any better at all.
In the secret places he still doubts himself, he wonders if Sam was right to get shut of him.
And so, while he's got gifts tucked away, things to share when the holidays die down and he can enjoy the sharing more...for now, the family is off celebrating and he's home alone because he doesn't want to be taken back to that night. To what he lost, to what he'll never have.
He's just...
John Rambo just hasn't had enough experience with relationships to know that while you do get over the heartache, move on, love again and love deeper and love just as well--you really just can't forget your first love.
What: My personal event opt-out, or John Rambo is conspicuously absent from Pumpkin Hollow during the winter holidays, nursing a steadily healing heartache he's just still learning to understand
When: during Givingstide, Mourner's Night, & all accompanied interfaith celebrations
Where: Baker Ranch
Warning(s): Grief, breakups, canon typical warnings (PTSD, wartime violence, torture, etc.), and for additional fun, potential NSFW if anybody wants to party :P
"Someone gave me one like that, said if I wore it when I slept, she'd keep the nightmares away. Connected her to me, even when she was still on the Beach. Thought maybe...I'unno. Might do the same for you. Give you a connection back here, when your head goes dark."
John stares at it, like he did a year ago. Normally, it hangs on the wall over his bed, but after spending all of his free time in his room the last few days--barring chores and meals--now that his family is in town for the holiday stuff, John is out on his porch with a glass of scotch, Co strutting around while Bao hops about the yard...
Like he did that night, John rubs a thumb along the cord strung through it, the cool stone knotted in the center of dreamcatcher that still means so damn much to him.
Reaching for his drink, John sips his scotch--yeah, he's not out to get drunk, just keep from getting too tense. The heat of the burn as it goes down his throat reminds him of the earliest touches from his partners and friends, of the first time Sam touched him voluntarily at last year's Givingstide. The bloom of warmth in his belly when it slides all the way down reminds him, more recently, of the endorphin high at George's birthday party with Siebren, even the radiant warmth of companionship hanging around with Drelasa.
"You don't gotta protect me, and I don't want you killin' for me. I'm not helpless, n' we're supposed to be better here, right? You're carryin' around all this shit from bein' a soldier but you don't gotta be that anymore."
Sam's gruff, quiet voice still makes him ache inside, even just in his memory. He's more withdrawn these days, less of a presence, but his dreamcatcher still hangs in John's room. It still keeps the nightmares at bay, most times.
"...we're supposed to be better here, right?..."
He's come a long way in a year. He's seeing multiple people, with varying levels of involvement. He's got a family of his own that's...absolutely breathtaking, good kids he loves so much it's stupid and extended family beyond them. He has friends, he has a flourishing business, he's a holy knight of a goddess...he has a life that's so much more and so much richer than he ever could have dreamed of in his own world.
...but a couple thoughtless words set him off at the dance of Celestine. He bounced someone's head off a wall for hurting Siebren. He was bitten by a creature he can only call a werewolf, and he's been content to remain changed.
He's not just haunted by what he's lost...but also by the things he hasn't let go. The violence, the bloodlust--the things that the Army made him.
Things he hates, things he doesn't want...things he can't give up because they can do some honest, genuine good. For some reason, the time of year has him thinking about Sam more, and thinking about all of that more, and wondering if he's really doing any better at all.
In the secret places he still doubts himself, he wonders if Sam was right to get shut of him.
And so, while he's got gifts tucked away, things to share when the holidays die down and he can enjoy the sharing more...for now, the family is off celebrating and he's home alone because he doesn't want to be taken back to that night. To what he lost, to what he'll never have.
He's just...
John Rambo just hasn't had enough experience with relationships to know that while you do get over the heartache, move on, love again and love deeper and love just as well--you really just can't forget your first love.
no subject
“You…really?”
His tone and expression are genuine surprise as he accepts the gift like something precious that might be taken away any second—and he’d rather be ready to release it than risk it being damaged.
“Aw, Radar…you didn’t have to do that…”
no subject
Whenever he does, he'll find a small wooden statue of Serranai, expertly carved by one of the local craftspeople. Radar has zero skill in that department, so it was the perfect find at the Winter Market.