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 He's more withdrawn these days, less of a presence, but his dreamcatcher still hangs in John's room.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
"Good," he mutters into the soft knit, and swallows against an inexplicable thickening in his throat. "Good. Wanted you to have something to keep warm."
no subject
…and that was the thing, wasn’t it? John was careful—but he was always clear. Sam meant the world to him, Sam was as good as family…and in the end he flat out told Sam he loved him, that it could be enough for John.
And that was too much for him to handle. John offered Sam his heart, and Sam saw the offer as some kind of power play. Complicated as it was…Sam wasn’t prepared to simply be.
That’s what this is. That, he’s starting to realize, is what family is. Being loved. Not for any reason or purpose…but just because you want someone to be warm enough, or feel safe, or be happy.
John hopes Sam can find that someday…maybe as she grows up, Lou can teach him that.
Holding Edgar just that little bit tighter, John says a silent prayer to Serranai and God both for the fact that he’s got kids like Edgar to help him learn the same lesson.
no subject
"Right," he says, "my turn?"
And he picks it up to open, shooting John a grin.
no subject
So when Edgar opens his gift...
"...I knew dreamcatchers before I got this one." he explains, gesturing with the metal framed one in his hand. "They're Native American in origin. My mom's people had 'em...Sam didn't know that when he gave this to me."
He doesn't remember if he's ever mentioned Sam Porter Bridges to Edgar, beyond the occasional talk of mail when he makes his deliveries around town...but there it is.
"We were close once." he confesses. "Changed when he...it just didn't work. But, uh...this was my Givingstide present from him last year. Been a whole year now since I got here, roundabouts."
no subject
"It's pretty," he says, very soft. "What's it for?"