#like come on what does ocelot even bring to the table here. how is lying and/or doing cool gun-spinning tricks gonna help a hostile takeover

[skyburger]

i dont remember where i saw it but shoutout to whoever made me realize revolver ocelot is really the only guy in foxhound who doesn't have any crazy powers or talents like. Hes just really good at lying to everyone and spinning guns i guess

[segafan37]

Shadamy Snippet: Emergency Meeting Pt. 1

Author's Note:

This Shadamy snippet used to be a Teaser Snippet for Chapter 6. I wasn't planning for it to be part of the story at all. It was just a old deleted scene that I wanted to share to give you, the audience, a broad idea about the upcoming chapter. However, after my sister read the teaser, she insisted that it be apart of the story. So, after some tweaks, the former Teaser Snippet is now apart of Chapter 6!

I hope you enjoy it! 😁 Art by @drawloverlala

Inside Dodon Pa's Mansion

[Normal p.o.v.]

After Metal and Rouge parted ways to look for Devious, Rouge started wandering through the different crowded rooms and corridors of the mansion. There were four levels to the mansion and Rouge was currently on the main floor. Metal ventured to levels 3 and 4, leaving Rouge to explore the others.

King Donda Pa was never one who lacked in abundance and his mansions were likewise. Each one was styled to attribute the environment that surrounded them, and the one Rouge was in was no different.

The mansion was large and fanciful, displaying the breath of winter. The hallways were long and wide and painted a calm blue. Tall windows filled the rooms and corridors showcasing the fierce blizzards outside. 

The halls were decorated with broad tapestries of cream and royal blue, and the floor was polished marble. The rooms were equally vast with crystal chandilers, honed marble floors and many assortment of decor to accent the rooms.

Rouge scanned the multitude of faces as she made her way throughout the main floor. Everywhere Rouge went she was surrounded by Mobians, both good and bad. Everyone seemed cordial enough, but the bat knew better. She could just feel the tension in the air. 

Rogue would have been lying to herself if she said this whole affair wasn't the least bit unsettling. It was just a matter of time before something or someone causes the inevitable. 

 It took a whole hour, but she had finally explored all of the main floor. Rouge still hadn't found her man though. It was time for her to switch tactics.

Just then her communicator picked up a male voice.

"We can't celebrate yet. We still need Rouge to do her part." 

It was the voice of Slinger the Ocelot.

"Don't you worry your pretty head about me, Ocelot." Rouge cooed, "I'm already in the mansion, and I've got to say, this mysterious dealer knows how to put on a party! I'm surprised that Dodon Pa even allowed this event! But seeing that he never takes sides...I guess it's not too surprising."

"Hey Rouge!" a female voice squealed through her eyepiece. 

Rouge immediately smiled. It was Salkia, her sweet little student. Well, she wasn't little anymore, but Rouge couldn't get the cute little 10 year old out of her head, who wanted to learn how to kick but. 

"If any of the food looks good, save me some! Okay!?" Salkia asked.

"Will do, honey!"

Slinger gave out a groan.

"Just stay focused, alright!"

Rouge rolled her eyes. She could tell he was in one of his moods again.

"Relax, Slinger. No need to get snippy!" she said.

"Yeah! We all know you're jealous!" Salkia added. 

"Mm hmm!" Rouge smiled.

Slinger released another groan, which made Salkia giggle. She knew she shouldn't be teasing Slinger when he's like this, but he's been acting like a big grump the whole day. And she was tired of it! 

Salkia and Rouge continued to pester Slinger with their giggles, until he finally spoke.

"That's not the reason why!" Slinger argued.

This made Rouge and Salkia both fall silent. They knew what he was talking about. [Author: Chapter 4 reference] No one spoke for sometime.

Rouge sighed and decided to change the subject and break the awkward silence.

"By the way, what do you mean by 'Rouge needs to do her part'? You two are the ones assigned to get the package! I'm just here in case there's a slip-up."

"And to secure our escape route!" Slinger emphasized.

"Which I already have covered!" Rouge insisted, "Now you stay focused on your job, while I stay on mine."

Slinger sighed. "Fine. We'll contact you when the package is secured."

Rouge's communicator went silent and she continued to make her way through the crowd, as different fragments of conversations caught her ears. 

"I wonder what makes this relic so powerful?" asked a female.

"Whatever it is I bet it's worth a fortune!" another spoke.

"Everyone's assuming that this relic has power, but for all we know, it could be a hunk of junk!"

"Well, if that were true, then Dodon Pa wouldn't have allowed this event to take place in his mansion in the first place."

Well, would you look at that!, Rouge laughed to herself. It seems everyone's here to get their hands on the relic. Huh! Too bad none of them will have a chance to see it!  

"What I really want to know" a male's voice began, grabbing her attention, "is who this mysterious dealer is? He clearly doesn't care who gets the relic as long as he's getting paid. And I for one, don't trust those kinds of people. If I'm going to get that relic, I need to first know who I'm dealing with." 

"Smart guy." Rouge whispered, as she approached the stairs to the second floor. 

"Okay Rouge, enough eavesdropping. You got a Mobian to find." 

Once atop the second floor, she looked about and immediately identified this level as the party floor. The music was louder here and gambling tables, slot vendors, pool tables and the like were scattered throughout the joining rooms. Rouge felt like she had walked into a casino.

Rouge peered over the corridor's open railing, and took one last look at the faces below, trying to find the one Mobian who would know how to pinpoint Devious. But she had no such luck. Rouge sighed. She knew it was a long shot. This guy was wanted after all, but Rouge couldn't ignore her strong hunch that he'd be here. 

Rouge gritted her teeth in frustration.

Where is he!?

Time was of the essence. She and Metal only had a limited amount of time to locate Devious, before Salkia and Slinger collected the relic. If her sources were correct, the best and only person who could find Devious quickly would be his favorite broker.

Rouge looked over the crowd again, but she still couldn't spot her man.

That cat could be hiding anywhere! I better check in with Metal to see how he's doing.

"Metal, honey? This is Rouge. Do you copy?"

There was no answer. 

"Metal, come in! This is Rouge. Did you find anything?"

Still silence. Rouge was about to try again, when a deep sinister voice startled her from behind. 

"Looking for someone in particular, my dear?"

Rouge spun around to come face to face with the infamous psychic magician Mammoth Mongul. 

His large tan trunk was almost touching her nose. Rouge could smell thick expensive cologne and winsted.

It was never easy to frazzle this bat; she has faced many dangers before, all without hesitation. Some, even close to death, but Rouge also knows when she's met her match. 

The hairy elephant towered over the bat, making her appear small and insignificant. Mongul's dark green orbs pierced through Rouge's teal eyes, paralyzed her. She remained in his gaze for ten full seconds.

A small smile slowly crept on the mammoth's face. Was Rouge terrified? Yes. Did she want to scream and fly away to safety? Yes. Was she going to show it? Not on her life!

The Bat released herself from Mongul's spell; eyes sparkling with defiance, as she matched the beast's smile with her own.

"I'm surprised at you, Mongul!" Rouge scolded, "You of all people should know not to be here! It could be dangerous for you." 

Mongul smiled at the bat's attempted threat, and decided to give one of his own.

"My dear, Rouge. I appreciate your concern but I can assure you that I am not the one who is in the least bit of danger."

"Is that so?" Rouge questioned, trying to sound unaffected by his words, "Well, even still! I would think you would send one of your mindless followers to get the relic for you to save you the trouble."

"Don't be so quick to judge, bat. I have sent one of my men to take care of the relic. I'm here for a different reason, and being here is no trouble at all."

Rouge raised a painted brow, "Oh?" 

"Yes. Just like you, I'm looking for someone, a colleague of mine." Mongul leaned down to bring his face closer to Rouge's ear. "And perhaps", he whispered "my colleague is the same pink cat dealer you're looking for." 

Rouge took a step back. 

How does he know about Locky!? 

Rouge swallowed, as her heart raced.

"I'm sorry, who?"

"No need to hide it, Rouge! Someone of your acquaintance told me all about it."

Rouge gasped.

Oh no, Metal! 

"No need to worry about your robot friend, my dear; he's perfectly safe. But I know he'll appreciate your concern." 

As he said this, Mongul's eyes met Rouge's and his distinct facial features began to pixelate before her. It was just for a brief moment, but Rouge could clearly see the face of her comrade. 

"..."

"..."

"Metal, …" Rouge whispered, "I'm gonna knock your bolts right out of you! And turn you into scrap!"

Metal Sonic quickly returned to his cloned form and moved out the way, before a slap could be delivered to his face. Some guests saw the scene and were shocked at Rouge's bravery.

"Why so anger?..." Metal Sonic questioned. His voice was just above a whisper. "Did I scare you?"

"Shut. Up." Rouge growled.

"Okay, okay! I just came down to tell you some news." Metal rose to his full cloned height and peered down at Rouge.

"Then start talking!"

"Not here." Metal instructed, still holding Mongul's deep voice. "Follow me."

Metal brought Rouge to a quiet room somewhere on the second floor. It wasn't like the ballroom, like the other rooms Rouge been in. This was a study. It was large in comparison to most studies, but it was still a study, none the less. 

Once both were safely inside with the door locked, Rouge turned to Metal.

"Now, talk!"

"Why are you still angry?" Metal still was using Mongul's voice. 

"Metal, stop with the cloning for one second and talk to me!"

Metal sighed, and returned back to his normal self. Rouge let out a small breath she didn't realize she was holding. Rouge folded her arms, waiting to hear her comrade's message.

"I was surprised at how many Mobians came to Dodon Pa's Mansion." Metal said simply." 

"That's what you wanted to tell me!?" Rouge screamed.

"Rouge, if you do not wish for us to be discovered in a restricted area, I suggest you lower the volume of your voice." 

"I'll start lowering my voice, when you stop messing around! Now, tell me why you brought me here!?"

There was a silence in the air, as each stared at the other.

"I found him." Metal calmly spoke.

"What?"

"I found him." Metal repeated, "I found Locky."

.

.

.

Exsert from Shadamy fanfic "12 Years Later: A New Dawn". You can read the rest of this chapter and more on Wattpad, DeviantArt, Quotev, or Webnovel.

[strifescloud]

my blood once was my own

3.7k words, big boss/revolver ocelot, mature rating

ocelot in love, through the years

Fifty years is a long time to love someone.

read on ao3

Adamska falls in love for the first and only time at Tselinoyarsk.

He’s there to stall, to create an opening for this man - this American that the CIA sent after The Boss, and so he kills and he grandstands and he puts on a show.

The way he is dismantled so efficiently, thrown to the ground amongst the corpses of the men he’d just slaughtered, plants a seed in his chest that never leaves.

You ejected the first bullet by hand, didn’t you?

It’s breathtaking.

He keeps the bullet, of course, hanging on a chain right above where that strange feeling had lodged in his sternum - after all, he doesn’t get to keep the eye he eventually steals.

Fallen for him? Volgin asks, and Ocelot does not, cannot answer, because it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like something is growing, crawling through his capillaries, burst vessels expanding like unfurling leaves to cast shadows under the sun.

But quietly, privately, he thinks yes.

He feels its roots curl their way into his arms, his legs. It is what takes him to the WIG, in the end, the force that works his jaw muscles open to compel him to ask for a name.

John.

He wouldn’t forget it.

He’s not expecting the call, but it’s not unwelcome, even though he can tell Big Boss - Snake - John - is lying through his teeth about being in battle.

I’m keeping busy, though - care to join me?

He had the frequency now.

He wonders who named him Adamska - if they had cursed him to a lifetime of succumbing to the temptation of snakes. The roots within him had grown deep, unyielding, suffocating his lungs with the weight of absence. He makes the call, takes a bite of the forbidden fruit.

They arrange to meet.

It’s as remote and non-descript a hotel as they come - which is to say very, in their line of work, staffed with the kind of people who tend not to look you in the eye.

Ocelot doesn’t notice. He only has eyes for the man at the bar.

He greets him with Snake and receives Ocelot back, sliding into the seat beside the imposing figure. Snake had not lost a single bit of his edge, the aura around him both tangible and restrained, and Ocelot feels something in his chest constrict again.

It turns out Snake is still just as oblivious, but Ocelot thinks there’s no way to misinterpret the way he slides his hands up the other man’s thigh just under the bar table, whispering fuck me, Snake into his ear.

There’s a darkness that settles in Snake’s eye at the words, and he wants to unravel it.

The sex is perfect in its imperfections.

It’s the way Snake growls and bites harshly at his throat, but still lays him on the bed with hands too gentle to be stained with so much blood. It’s the way he’s not as experienced as he wants Ocelot to believe, and Ocelot pretends not to see through the false bravado.

It’s the way he sinks down onto Snake, taking all of him, and John whispers Adamska.

He answers in kind when he comes, John falling from his lips like a confession. In a sense, it is.

They lie in the aftermath in silence, John’s hand curling over the bumps of Adamska’s spine the way one would pet a housecat, but he does not feel tamed. He leans up, presses his lips to John’s neck, and the weight on his lungs subsides long enough for him to whisper his devotion into the skin. John’s breath shallows, but his hand does not still.

Later, Ocelot wonders if he was the first to pledge his life to Big Boss. He certainly wasn’t the last.

They stay there as long as they can, a dreamlike haze of sex and sleep and words whispered in each other’s ears, and when the time comes for them to part ways Ocelot doesn’t feel the ache of loss.

The thing in his chest expands, brightens, spreads its branches further across his ribs.

He wonders if it has a name, aside from being his purpose.

He is not at Snake’s side during the MSF, but the distance does not burn as it should.

He is fulfilling his purpose, after all - working his way into organisations, a curated selection of secrets, of contacts, of whatever may be useful to Big Boss one day.

The thing is his chest always pulls, though, drawn like a compass to a place across the sea, and Ocelot knows that when he needs it to, it will guide him home.

He is not at Snake’s side, but their reunion is inevitable, and when it comes Ocelot will have everything Snake will ask of him.

The man he has tied to a chair spits blood onto the floor, and Ocelot frowns at the splatter that streaks across his boots.

“That’s all I know!” The strained, desperate voice heaves from within broken ribs, “That’s all, so please - please-”

Ocelot draws one of his revolvers slowly, running his other thumb across the polished, smooth barrel. His spurs clink in the silence, echoing off the concrete walls as he takes a step forward, and his informant chokes on a blood-soaked sob. He levels the revolver at the man’s bruised face, slowly shifting the barrel across the skin to rest on the right eyelid.

He thinks he does miss John, he muses as he pulls the trigger, but they’ll see each other again soon.

He is not at Snake’s side during the MSF, and the ice that grips his heart when the transmission comes through is new to him.

Snake - John is -

He does not panic. He wills his hand not to tremble as he makes his first call.

When Zero finally contacts him he’s torn between the festered resentment and something almost like relief - the location is safe, at least, and he can start making preparations to be there immediately.

“You won’t say no, will you?” Zero asks him, and Ocelot half-wonders if he’s being mocked.

“I have no choice.”

The thing that lodged itself in his chest in Tselinoyarsk, withered with cold fear, burns again with purpose.

“Thanks.”

“Save your thanks.”

His words, tainted with bitterness, leave the taste of blood in their wake.

The hospital is quiet, the air heavy with the smell of antiseptic and the sound of machines.

Ocelot watches.

John’s chest rises, the slow inhale of breath.

Beep.

Exhale.

Beep.

Regret is useless. John will wake up.

The nurses and doctors have left them alone, and so Ocelot feels safe to press his lips against John’s forehead before he leaves too.

It’s foolishly sentimental, but he makes sure the Star of Bethlehem flowers are always fresh, all through nine long years.

He follows Zero’s plan for the phantom with only a fleeting scrap of remorse. Just another body in their wake, another sacrifice to keep Big Boss safe. It’s no different to any of the others.

He can’t help himself from snapping at Miller whenever they talk, even though he knows Snake would disapprove. The man’s attitude is irrationally grating, blind emotion clouding his judgment, and Ocelot hates the familiar grief that he sees weighing down his shoulders.

He feels it on his, too, even if he tries to ignore it - John will wake up, after all.

His footsteps through the hospital hallway are hurried, and though he hates how telling they are he cannot bring himself to slow down. The nurses and doctors do not try to stop him when he flings open the door, ignoring the figure of the phantom that still lies asleep, and rushes to the other bed.

Nine years.

A familiar smirk crawls across John’s lips, and Ocelot’s heart unfurls like a blossom seeking the sun.

“Kept you waiting, huh?”

A rusty laugh crawls out of Adam’s throat as he steps closer to his Boss, red-tinged with anger and relief and something he doesn’t care to name.

“For a long time, Boss.”

John looks so much smaller in the hospital gown, propped up by pillows and his eyepatch gone, his muscles diminished by the years of disuse - fragile, though Adam finds it difficult to think it at first. Weakness guides him to reach out, leather-clad hand wrapping tightly around John’s, and though it is steady he wonders if John can feel the heavy nine years in his grip.

He waits for John to pull away - waits for a familiar half-smile, for a pointed jab about the watching eyes of the nurses that pace the halls, for the way John never seems to know what to do with his naked affections.

But John’s grip tightens on his, and Adam feels the weight of nine years begin to ease their burden across his shoulders.

“Tell me.”

Ocelot straightens up, but does not move his hand as he reports in to his Boss.

He doesn’t get through it all before he has to leave - nine years of him and Kaz and the world, all the tiny pieces moving apart and together, too much for the Boss to take in all at once. But he returns as soon as he can, armed with cassettes and reports for when he is gone, and Adam tells John a little more - too much, he thinks sometimes, from the way John’s eyes narrow at innocuous words, seeing something in him that Adam doesn’t know he’s revealing.

He does not ask, though, because no part of him needs to be a secret to John.

By the time word spreads that Big Boss has awoken, they’re not quite as ready as he would like, but Ocelot does not panic. For Big Boss, he would make the impossible happen - help the phantom spin his legend, while John creates Outer Heaven in its shadow.

“How are you back on your feet so quickly?” Ocelot prods, having finally tracked John down outside of his room, directed in hushed tones by the nurses.

“It’s a non-smoking ward.” John drawls, and Ocelot shoots him a flat look.

“Boss.” He sighs, but he cannot help the smile that tugs at his lips, exasperated and fond in equal measure. But he is here for business, and even as John continues to explain the gears are spinning in his head.

He lays out the facts as he knows them - they are out of time. He gives a vague outline of their plans with the phantom, their many years of work, even as John’s brows furrow in thought. There’s an odd reluctance in the set of his shoulders, but Ocelot presses on - the medic had given his life for Big Boss once, the way any of them would, and though Ocelot can’t help but empathise he’ll throw the shell of him in the firing line once again.

The phantom, the hospital staff who directed him today with kind eyes and whispers, the other patients - all of them trivial, if only John could be safe.

And Ocelot, none the wiser.

“Can you keep it up?” John asks, peering at him with one sharp eye, “It’s a hell of a lie.”

The question twists Ocelot’s face into another bitter smile, half-amused and half-resigned.

“It won’t be a lie.” He replies, voice steady, “I won’t know his secret either.”

He doesn’t know how to interpret the way John sighs at him.

Ocelot presses onwards, laying out the rest of the plan - to fool his own mind into keeping Big Boss’s secret, erasing the knowledge he holds close to his heart.

It should be agonising, he thinks, and the way John looks at him is so oddly inscrutable - is it worry that furrows his brow, regret, or mere concentration, he wonders - but Ocelot is nothing but determined.

“All right...John,” he says when he is done, keeping his voice and his heart steady, “I’ve never forgotten you in these nine years, but I have to forget you now.”

It is strange, he thinks, how saying it aloud makes it real - how he suddenly feels unstable, wanting to reach forward but trying to stay professional out in the open, some foolish pride in him not wanting to show another tremor of weakness.

John shifts forward, his stare piercing, and even barefoot and in a hospital gown there’s an impossibly commanding presence about Big Boss - Ocelot doesn’t move.

A hand comes to rest on his cheek, and the thumb that sweeps across his cheekbone is slightly awkward and gentle in a way that Big Boss never is. A fleeting moment, soon to be forcibly forgotten, and yet Ocelot does his best to burn it into his heart.

“Adam,” John murmurs, “I’m counting on you.”

Soon after the truth is revealed to the phantom, Big Boss calls him across the sea.

The adjustment once the self-hypnosis was no longer necessary had been difficult - though the hypnosis itself had not been perfect, the focus on his duty had kept him grounded through the worst of it. After all, his Boss had been right there, and so Ocelot had been where he had always belonged.

But the phantom is no longer real to him. The distance between him and John burns as it never had before, and when the call comes in he goes without a second thought.

Last time he had not been at his side, Mother Base had gone down in flames. Adam would not let it happen a second time.

He is shown to the Boss’s quarters as soon as he arrives, late as it is in Outer Heaven - and how impressively Snake has worked from the shadows, Ocelot thinks as he wanders the halls of their new compound. There are fewer and fewer guards the closer he gets to Snake’s room, and he shakes his head even as he smiles - bold to the point of arrogance, but he’s not sure he can bring himself to remind Snake about security just yet.

After all, the last time they had been truly alone - not phone calls or whispers in hospital rooms or Adam’s warm hand on John’s cold wrist, begging him silently to wake up - was well before the fall of the MSF.

He raps on the door sharply with his knuckles and it is flung open almost instantly. Snake is half-dressed, stepping to the side to let Ocelot in, and Ocelot feels an odd but nostalgically familiar constricting in his chest.

“I came as soon as I could, Boss.” He says, eyes flitting around the sparsely decorated room. He can sense Snake staring at him like a predator and so he turns away, divesting himself of his coat and letting it hang over the back of Snake’s spindly desk chair. He removes his belts and holsters just as slowly, a deliberate show of trust just as much as it is a taunt, and scatters them across the desk.

Snake makes it halfway through Ocelot peeling off his gloves, pale fingers tugging at the red leather, before he speaks.

“Ocelot,” he drawls, and Ocelot feels the burning gaze on his back, “stop playing games.”

The laugh he answers with is nothing but fond - because somehow, in all their years apart, he forgot his Boss knew him just as well, inside and out.

He turns and meets Snake’s gaze before his smile fades, before he can think to temper the affection that swells in his chest and shines behind his eyes, but Snake doesn’t say anything else. He only reaches out, hands warm through the thin polyester of Ocelot’s shirt.

“Did you miss me, Snake?” He purrs as he slots against Snake’s broad frame, letting Snake’s hands work at the buttons of his shirt. Snake huffs a laugh at him, fingers fumbling for a second in their haste, and Ocelot thinks he hears his answer in the silence.

Snake maneuvers him until Ocelot’s knees hit the bed and he falls backwards, pulling Snake with him - and this, Adam thinks, is where he belongs.

I missed you, he doesn’t say, because he knows that John will hear it in the longing way he finally kisses him, even when I didn’t remember that I did.

But these are the thoughts he keeps wrapped up inside himself, tangled like overgrown vines around his heart, and aloud he only sighs as Snake’s fingernails scrape over his back.

He lets Snake fuck him as slow as he likes, as if the moment could stretch into infinity to make up for all the years they’ve missed, his forehead against Snake’s shoulder as hips roll into his and calloused fingers.

Snake’s hand moves to his throat, the sudden pressure on his windpipe stopping just shy of choking, Ocelot stilling beneath the warm constriction.

“The phantom?” Big Boss asks above him, the other hand running up Ocelot’s thigh like a reminder. Ocelot smiles back up at him, unable to help the way it comes out unspeakably fond, bringing his hand up to cup Snake’s face.

“Never,” He rasps, running his thumb over where the eyepatch meets cheekbone, the mark he left on Snake for everyone to see, “I’m only yours.”

The hand on his throat relaxes, John’s lips twitching to almost match the fond smile that can’t leave Adam’s own face.

And you’re mine, Adam thinks to himself, leaning up to gently kiss where his thumb had just been.

The years pass slowly and in the blink of an eye, the phantom taking his place in Outer Heaven as Big Boss finds his in FOXHOUND. Ocelot is wherever and whatever his Boss asks him to be, his purpose leading him ever forward. He goes out on missions when asked but always returns as soon as he can, a force pulling him ever back to where he belongs.

After his return one night he stretches cat-like across Snake’s bed, naked but for the thin sheet that covers his body and resting his head on his arms. As he watches Snake do paperwork at the rickety desk, hair greying and brow furrowed in concentration, he thinks this is what contentment is.

It is fleeting, as all things are.

Outer Heaven falls, and Ocelot feels a slight regret for the phantom - but it was not Snake that died there, and that is what mattered.

Now that Big Boss is presumed dead they spend most of their days in Zanzibar Land, and though it’s not truly what John wanted Adam feels a selfish pleasure in how much of their lives now overlap.

He is always at his Boss’s side, lingering behind his right shoulder to cover for the eye he stole a lifetime ago - or Snake is just behind him, watching as Ocelot tortures their informants just to the brink for all the intel they need, and Ocelot revels in the chance to show off his craft.

He looks in the mirror one morning as they dress and it’s like he’s seeing them for the first time - his own hair was more white now than silver, hairline beginning to recede and wrinkles marring his face, and as he turns his eyes to the reflection of John he wonders when they got so old.

They’ve grown old together, some foolish part of his heart reminds him, only-

“You know, John, it’s been 35 years since Tselinoyarsk.”

Snake snorts at him.

“Getting sentimental in your old age?” It’s still more fond than scolding, and so Ocelot doesn’t snap at him as Snake comes over to run a hand through his thinning hair, “Your hair’s getting longer again.”

“You said you liked it long.” Ocelot says absently, and lets the deflection slide.

“Did I?” Snake asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer, “Come on. I want an answer out of our latest guest.”

Ocelot falls into step beside him as naturally as breathing.

His compliance with John’s every word is his undoing.

He is away when Zanzibar Land falls, despite his unease - after all, John had asked him to go.

He wonders if John had known.

His grief crawls wordless out of his throat, a loss that will shake the world reverberating off the shattered glass in his hotel room.

John is-

It is memory that moves his every step in the years to come.

Ocelot joins FOXHOUND, his machinations beginning to unfold beneath Liquid’s nose, manipulating John’s young clone into playing right into his hands - or rather hand, he thinks, the other replaced with Liquid’s own after his death.

All because of the Patriots - no, all because of John.

The time passes quickly, at least, the years fleeting in the monochrome haze of grief.

The decision to erase himself is an easy one, too. His true purpose is gone, left only with regret in the world he helped create, the warmth that once bloomed behind his ribs cold and withered as he keeps himself going for the sake of Snake’s dream.

He hesitates only briefly over once again erasing his memories of John, the only thing he had left. There were many things he dwelled on that he was alone with his grief, things he wished he had said, had done.

When he was very young, he had wondered if the feeling that crawled through his chest around Snake had a name. Curious, he thinks, how it is only at the end that he has the courage to call it love.

But it is the last necessary step, so he turns himself into Liquid without a second thought.

Ocelot wakes up again on the roof of Arsenal Gear, muscles aching and the heavy pressure of the drugs in his veins, and from the way his heart beats sluggishly he knows he doesn’t have much time. Solid Snake - David, God, he looks so much like his father, Ocelot thinks deliriously, and when a fist slams into his face he feels an odd ache of nostalgia.

It’s 2014, a part of his mind supplies when he finally collapses, fifty years since Tselinoyarsk.

He looks up at the clone of Big Boss, fifty years after love first took root in his heart, and flicks his wrist in a facsimile of a familiar gesture.

“You’re pretty good.” He says, and he means it.

John, I’ll see you soon.

Adam closes his eyes.

[lunaraen]

hi uh,,, if youre up for poly fics could you maybe do something with lukas/olivia/f!jesse?? please and thank you!!

Jesse isn’t the sort of personwho sleeps often.

And Jesse herself, stubborn as amule and self-sabotaging in the worst ways, is definitely the culpritresponsible for most of that.

Getting her to actually sleepusually involves physically dragging her somewhere she will, potentially tyingher to the bed or couch, which has happened before and she knows easily couldat any point if she tries to push the others too far, and potentially makingsure she stays there and doesn’t try anything until exhaustion takes her.

But when she does sleep…

Sleep brings nightmares andflashbacks, twisted memories and horrifying reminders of everyone she’s letdown and every single way she’s screwed up, and while they’re good at keepingJesse from ever wanting to sleep again, all they really do once she’s in bed iskeep her from ever wanting to leave because emotions are a mess and she’s donemore than enough damage to the world for one person.

A comfortable bed helps too,because there’s not much she wouldn’t do right now to stay in bed and be cozy.

Gentle, warm rays of sunlightcreeping in through the windows and past the curtains, dancing slowly about theroom as a gentle breeze makes its way through the currently open screens andcarries on the whispers of faint bird songs and a certain ocelot tiptoeing hisway around the porch ensure that Jesse is as relaxed as she can be and fullyintent to stay here, possible forever and definitely for the next few years.

The issue, Jesse thinks as she’snudged in the shoulder again, is that Olivia knows her too well.

And this isn’t her room, and theyaren’t in the Order Hall, which means Radar can’t save her with work to do; notthat he would, given that he’s usually as concerned about her as most of herfriends are, but still.

Radar’s busy working and doing agreat job and she’s more than grateful for the break.

She just has equally mixedfeelings about Lukas’s wonderful cabin, away from most civilization, and even ifit’s used mainly as a getaway now instead of his actual home since he movedback into the Order Hall, it’s a fantastic getaway and his bed is far toocomfy.

But the bedroom’s close enough tothe kitchen that Jesse can smell breakfast, the main message taken from thatbeing that Lukas and/or Olivia made a lot and it’s all delicious if it tasteshalf as good as it smells.

Jesse nuzzles her pillow,squeezing her eyes shut as she’s nudged again, this time in the side as Oliviatugs the blankets back even more.

Jesse should relax when Oliviasighs, no longer sitting on the bed as she gets to her feet, but she knowsOlivia.

Which means she knows thatOlivia’s going to dig her heels in just as much and will probably beat hersenseless with reason and logic, which Jesse has a hard time arguing withnormally, even when trying to stay clutched as close to sleep as possible whilebarely awake.

But she’s cozy. And tired. Andnot really feeling up to dealing with the world until she’s hibernated a bitlonger.

She’s a well respected hero,trained in fighting both fiends and paperwork, and she’s finally getting therest they’ve all wanted her too.

Well-respected hero or not,though, Jesse doesn’t quite manage to stop from squeaking as Olivia yanks offwhat’s left of the blankets, and Jesse scowls as she blinks up at her.

It’s almost more infuriating thatOlivia’s grin and giggle tells her it’s more of a pout than meant to be andthat Jesse probably looks adorable.

“Just because you need yoursleep doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat. You can go back to bed afterbreakfast.”

Jesse’s partly convinced Oliviaand Lukas will just force her to get more rest anyways, as much as they’rewilling to let her make that decision on her own.

“Mmph.”

“I made cookies.”

Jesse pauses mid-mumble at that,lifting her head and looking over her shoulder at Olivia, one eye barelyopening.

“Cookies forbreakfast?”

There’s something downrightdevious about the way Olivia grins widens.

“I can feed you somethingsubstantial too if I actually get you in the kitchen.”

The blankets rustle as Jesseshifts so she’s lying on her back, her feet less tangled in the sheets as shemulls it over, propping herself up on her elbows as she keeps both eyes barelyopen.

It’s a small, brief pause.

And it ends as quickly as itstarted, Olivia’s grin getting warmer as Jesse’s lips begin to twitch up andshe looks up at Olivia.

If it were anyone else, maybethis would be an actual decision or something to think over instead of a futilebit of procrastination in an effort to stay in bed. But Olivia’s cooking ispretty good, and her baking’s even better.

“…what kind ofcookies?”

“Just chocolate chip.”

‘Just’. Like they aren’t Lukas’sfavorite type and he won’t eat them all or hide them away if Jesse doesn’t gether rear out of bed and into the kitchen.

That’s probably half of hermotivation for slinking out of bed and bolting down the hall; the other isbecause she doesn’t want to stick around to see Olivia’s rightfully smug gringet any wider and it still doesn’t keep Jesse from hearing her giggle thatquickly devolves into a laugh.

How dare she know her so well.

Jesse’s smiling even wider herselfwhen she enters the kitchen, slowing to a walk before halting altogether,purposefully pouting this time as she narrows her eyes at Lukas.

How dare he be so cute.

She’s used to that though, in asense, and as much as she loves him for that, the bigger offense is the plateof cookie in front of him and on the table, a half-eaten cookie in one hand anda steaming cup of coffee in the other.

His smile is almost asinfuriating as it is endearing.

Because the cookies automaticallyoutweigh the plates of delicious looking, wonderful smelling food still on thecounter and on the table, and it all manages to make Jesse hungrier and happierand determined to get at least one cookie without having to dip into whateverimmediately endangered cookie stash Olivia’s made for the two of them .

“Hey, first come firstserve.”

Lukas’s protest doesn’t mean hedoes anything other than chuckle when she sits on his lap, slinging an armaround his shoulders. He’s as warm as he is adorable.

“It’s my breakfasttoo.” Her pout is horribly broken by the beginnings of a smile.

“It’s already beingeaten.”

He smiles as he takes anotherbite, wisely setting his coffee aside before it becomes a casualty, and Jesse’ssmile is just as big as she takes a cookie off the plate.

“I’m already stealing themfrom you.” She pauses, taking her time to bite and actually enjoy herabsolutely earned cookie before kissing him on the cheek and grinning at him.“And I’m cuter, so I win.”

He doesn’t have an argument,which means she wins, instead gently ruffling her hair and kissing her foreheadas she finishes her cookie.

“You look like something theocelot dragged in.”

Jesse thinks of the dark circlesunder her eyes, her messy hair and tired gaze.

More like something the ocelot partly chewed up and fully spatout.

“This is coming from the guyDewey walks all over?” Jesse huffs, smiling up at him as he plays with herbangs, one of his fingers currently twirling a curl even as he scoffs at her.

“Don’t act like you don’tspoil him too.”

Jesse decides not to argueeither, because they’re making nothing but good points, and her safety comes inthe form of finally noticing Olivia looking through the plates ofun-squabbled-over food.

“Olivia, who’s cuter?”

Once again Olivia knows them toowell.

“Trick question. You bothare.” Olivia grins as they groan, nodding her head towards the plates ofhash browns and eggs on the counter as she picks up a plate of bagels. “Doyou two want some real food to eat now, or are you going to keep arguing overcookies?”

Jesse and Lukas share a lookbefore Jesse slinks off of his lap, lightly poking him in the chest.

“Don’t think I’m letting youoff the hook, mister. We’ll settle this later.”

He kisses her on the cheek beforeshe sits in the chair besides his, chuckling as he picks up his poor abandonedcoffee mug and takes a sip.

“Good morning, Jesse.”

Jesse beams, kissing Olivia as she sets the food down on the table and smiling even wider as Olivia messes with Lukas’s hair, getting a squeak out of him before kissing him on the head.

“Good morning.”