Author's Note: Surprise update! I wrote this in two days. You guys asked for more Megs and more Dylan, but guess what? I added in a lot more than just that! I figure that you'll all enjoy what I'm gonna torment you with . . . Or you might just shoot me because of it. Next chapter is in the works.
.o.
There was something to be said about having competent help.
Megatron watched as Dylan fussed over the "new" Mercedes, taking care to wash the exterior and interior with the utmost care. He wasn't jealous or envious of the attention being lavished upon his second in command, as he didn't care for the humans to be clambering over his alt mode willy-nilly. But he was missing the soft touch of a femme, the kind words, the mutual respect, and the battle-worthy smack-talk and rough-housing that had been between himself and Nightbird. He let himself drift into memories of their time together, letting his guard fall just enjoy so that he was startled when the noise erupted outside of the garage.
Bwoop-BWOOP!
:It appears that Barricade has arrived, Lord Megatron.:
:No, is that so?: countered the larger Decepticon sarcastically, already missing his first gentle, peaceful mood since before Kaon's Uprising.
Dylan, who hadn't met the wayward son of the Autobots, warily looked towards the door of his garage and sighed. "I swear, if they're looking for more illegal Puerto Ricans on my estate again, I'm going to file another formal complaint about their lack of good detective-work."
:Lord Megatron, I should inform him—:
:No, you will not inform him. I wish to see how perceptive he is.:
:I will not allow him to be harmed.:
:If you can scratch Barricade's paint, I will be truly shocked.:
:I sparred with Prowl before the War.:
:You have also seen what Prowl and Barricade are capable of on the front lines when they're not holding back. You are not at their level, and I much prefer your processors and frame undamaged.:
:Yes, Lord Megatron.:
In the span of their short conversation, Gould had walked to the door and opened it, walking outside and calling, "Can I help you, officer?" He watched as a man of medium height with muscles that a uniform could barely cover got out of the vehicle, leaving the poppers on.
The officer stalked closer. "There has been some suspicious activity and vehicles entering and exiting this premises."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, officer."
"We have visual confirmation and some video surveillance of several high-end cars with license plates that do not match the description of the car, nor do they belong to you or are listed under Hotchkiss-Gould." The man grinned, and it was a very, very nasty grin. "Care to tell me what's going on?"
"You'll have to talk to my lawyer. I don't talk to common cops unless he's with me. Have you read me my Miranda Rights yet?"
"You'll have to tell that to my boss, who wants to know why you're being so sloppy with your resources." Slamming Gould against the building wall, he jammed an arm across his windpipe, pinning him there and running a hand up along his thighs, over his stomach, and up his sides to check for weaponry. He made sure to make the touches just less than appropriate, and got splutters and curses for his efforts.
Then, just to screw with the human, Barricade leaned in real close, keeping his holoform's lips millimeters from Dylan's as he whispered, "You're cute. I can see why Soundwave likes keeping you around. You're totally his type. Feisty."
The Mercedes went through the garage door and aimed for the cop car.
Dylan Gould almost passed out in shock as the man holding him was suddenly not there, a cloud of something breezing back to the car . . .
That transformed and dodged Soundwave as if he weren't even in danger of a collision. The movements were so casual, so surreal that it shocked Dylan further, and he wavered upon his feet, opting to slide down against the wall of his garage and stare in shock at the new Decepticon. The black-and-white chortled darkly. "Your new pet at least has learned not to speak to strangers! What other manners will you be teaching him, Sounders?"
The silver car transformed and attacked the newcomer, who merely shifted out of reach again, agile and swift, voice mockingly-pitying as he teased, "What, can't catch me?" His hand darted out and ensnared Lazerbeak in the cage of his fingers, not even looking at the bird as he subdued the small creature, holding him firmly and keeping him from shooting or biting.
"No!" Dylan snarled, picking up a piece of rebar left over and not yet cleaned up from the reconstruction of the heating system. He hurled it and nailed the cop car in the side.
Six red optics slowly panned over to focus upon the human, four of them belonging to the new mech.
An inhuman "mouth" spread in a bastardization of a human leer.
Dylan wondered if now would be a good time to wet himself and faint.
"You've proven your point, Barricade; let Lazerbeak go." Megatron lumbered out of the garage, gaze dull and disinterested, even his tone was bored. He glanced down at the human beside them. Prior programming deemed them beneath his notice, but he knew that they had worth.
Hm. Perhaps he should amend the plans he had in regards to what Sentinel wanted to use the humans for. Turning towards the long road that lead to privacy, he spoke as he walked away. "Barricade, with me. I will debrief you in private. Soundwave, see to your human pet. He may prove to have some worth after all."
Privately, Barricade muttered, :Megatron, that human is a menace.:
:He follows orders, which is more than what Starscream does. Both are pompous, narcissistic buffoons.:
:Should I start a betting pool about the outcome of their meeting?:
:Quietly, quietly.:
:Many thanks, my Lord.:
.o.
"Well, you didn't bring me out here to interface with me until we were stupid with romantic, gushy, let's-make-peace-with-the-Autobots Youngling love, so why did you need to speak with me without Our Glorious Mind-Reading Meddler around?" Barricade lounged against a hillock, all suave lines and the grace he never showed to any but those who knew his function in the Decepticon ranks. His frankness with how he spoke with the Decepticon Lord came from the many years of their friendship, and Megatron's mentorship of the younger mech.
Megatron pulled the cowl away from his face and settled down against the opposing hillock, watching Barricade closely. "How much do you know about coding?"
The younger mech snorted and shrugged. "About as much as my Caretakers, which is more than the average mech. We can create a persona, a front, and store it in an unused partition of our processors, and interact through that front if we need to do so for an extended period of time. It comes in handy, but it can screw with objective cognitive thinking."
"Mm. Which was how Jazz was such a good spy, yet was considered the mech to go to if one needed a party, and how Prowl is able to cut emotions out of most of his actions and tactical decisions." Relaxing, the mech nodded. There wouldn't be much explanation needed here after all. "So you understand how to create a personality code that can be locked from the outside in another mech?"
"It's unethical and considered a form of torture by Autobot standards unless it's to correct certain behavioral problems where non-invasive therapy has fallen short . . . but yes. I know how to create, install, and lock behavioral personality coding into a mech's processors." Shifting uneasily, Barricade muttered, "But you've already given me enough reason to refuse furthering the Decepticon cause."
"Deactivating your Creator-Caretaker." Megatron looked up at the stars, then down at his hands. So much life ended, extinguished, by the clawed digits. "I have done far too much to be forgiven for, Barricade. I don't even know if I can be blamed for all of it, which gives me hope that I may somehow make up for it before I have to face judgment before Primus." His gaze locked onto the younger mech's own. "I was here not four days ago with Optimus Prime, Ratchet, and Bumblebee . . . and the human Prime. Ratchet dug out coding from Kaon."
"Primus' Breath! You've been hacked all this time?" Barricade half-flung himself forward, moving to a crouch, sensory wings hitched high in a classic Praxian shock-expression that only a few would recognize after so many eons since the city-state had been decimated. "You were under restrictive coding! Pitfires! Let me see," he demanded, opening a wrist-port and holding it out.
Megatron hesitated, and didn't move to transfer the codes that remained into the waiting port. His voice was soft. "Why . . ."
"Why what, Megs?"
Curling a lip at the nickname, but knowing that it was part of what made him care deeply for the younger mech in ways that he couldn't care for Bumblebee anymore, Megatron muttered, "Why do you not withdraw from me in disgust?"
The answer was instant. "If you have been operating with conflicting code for this long, I want to know if I can find any others who are under this sort of coding, and get them sane again." He pushed his wrist closer. "I missed you, Megatron, as much as I hate you for killing Jazz. You're family, slaggitall, and I will not lose you."
Muffling his keen of shock, of happy surprise, of gratefulness, Megatron reached forward and plugged into Barricade's wrist.
.o.
Megatron didn't know what to do. He held the twitching frontliner in his arms, almost panicking. He didn't know what to do! Brokenly, he stuttered a prayer to Primus before opening a direct channel to Optimus, sensing that he was interrupting something important between his brother and his remaining officers.
:Optimus, I have a situation that requires Ratchet and the boy.:
:What happened? Who is injured?: Optimus replied. :Where are you?:
:I'm where we were when we last met. One of my soldiers wished to see the code . . . it . . . I don't know what to do!:
:Primus-forsaken infantile idiot!: Ratchet burst in, the shadows of other officers hanging onto his words. :Who did you infect?:
:Barricade.:
There was silence for all of a half-second before Optimus spoke firmly, :We'll be there in five minutes. Keep his systems running, or if all else fails . . . put him into stasis lock.:
:If it gets to that point, I'll keep it clean and painless.:
:After your lifetime, Megs, it's good to know that you still have mercy.:
The com-link clicked off and the Warlord, reduced by this . . . by this . . . to being a mere mech, a mortal again. He hated this! He hated feeling useless, and what's worse? He put the one mech who believed in him in this situation.
Roaring engines came up from behind him, encircling him, as he continued to tweak and manually override certain systems to keep the smaller mech in his arms living. Hands joined his, and Ratchet murmured, "Good. Good job." He ran a diagnostic, and then made room for other hands to start working on Barricade's cranial case. Megatron kept the coolant lines running, not noticing that more hands were weaving around his own, moving with perfect synchronization to help keep a body running and cooling overheated processors.
When he looked up to see who was plugging into Barricade's mind, his energon pump stuttered.
"Prowl."
"Not. Now." The words, clipped and terse, were hissed half under the mech's breath as he cradled his creation's helm between black hands, wires extending from wrists into several ports that were cleverly hidden under armor. "Keep his coolant running. If he lives, we will talk then."
Both knew what would become of Megatron if Barricade was extinguished.
.o.
The Youngling darted around silver legs, laughing and teasing the yellow-and-black Sparkling that tried valiantly to keep up. A booming, vibrant laugh reverberated through their smaller frames, and they were swept up by dark silver hands, beaming into the Lord Protector's face. "Well! My two favorite troublemakers!"
"We wanna watch you scare Guards today!" Barricade demanded gleefully, leaning forward and trying to get closer to Megatron's shoulder, his favorite perch. The Adult chuckled and let him settle there, stroking his helm and back with gentle fingertips reassuringly.
Bumblebee nodded enthusiastically from against Megatron's chestplates, chirping, "But first, Optimus said that you have to get us some energon."
"Did he, now? And where is my little brother?"
"Little?" a deep voice rumbled with amusement from around a corner. A familiar red-and-blue frame strode into view with a chuckle. "Hm, I suppose so, after your upgrade. We have a few things to do before you terrorize the new recruits."
"More of your 'art and culture' nonsense?"
Snorting, Optimus shouldered his brother and grinned. "No. Complaints from some of the Enforcers from Polyhex. You were with Terratron, so they came to me instead of waiting."
"Blast. Chiefs?"
"Nope. Street Enforcers. They claim it has something to do with how their Chiefs are treating them."
"Will Prowl and Jazz be called in to talk with them?" Barricade asked warily. He hadn't seen much of his Caretakers in the last week, due to a sting they were making in another city-state. Nubby sensory-wings drooped at the thought.
Megatron sighed, handing Bumblebee to his Caretaker and curling Barricade close to his Spark, the nine-foot frame curling into a shape that seemed far too tiny to accommodate all of his limbs. "Little Spark, your Caretakers told me that you understood why they had to handle that situation."
"Doesn't mean I gotta like it."
"And it doesn't mean that you ever have to like it. But it is necessary sometimes to put one's on desires on a shelf with the Energon goodies to wait until the appropriate time to fetch them."
"But I'm their son!"
"And they asked me to watch you. Not Ratchet and Wheeljack. Not Terratron. Pit, not even Optimus was asked to keep you with him. I take their trust seriously, and I will not betray that trust by letting you ever come to harm while you are under my watch. Trust me." He stroked a long, elegant finger down Barricade's back, avoiding the sensory-wings out of practice. With a smile, he murmured, "They left you with be because they know that I would kill or die to protect you. And that will never change. I vow this to you."
Barricade looked up at the mech who was as good as the brother to one of his Caretakers, then nodded, burying his face against warm chestplates and murmuring, "Will they be home soon?"
"Yes. I promise you, yes."
:Barricade. Barricade, my son. Mechling, come back to me.:
The memory faded.
:Nnngh . . . Prowl?:
:Yes.:
:Why are you in my head?:
:You tried to analyze code internally.:
They stood opposite from one another, a writhing, sickly red-and-black ball between them. Tendrils of energy tried to escape, but they lost support and dove back into the mass. Prowl stared dispassionately down at the corrupt coding. :This is a problem, Barricade.:
:Has it corrupted my system?:
:No, thankfully. But it has damaged you.:
:How?:
:Your coolant system failed. We have someone manually pumping and moving fluids through your frame to keep your processor cooled until I take care of this.: He waved his hand towards the tank-churning sight. :Some of your systems were damaged because they overheated.:
:Frag. I really opened up the cube of stupid and shoved my entire head in, didn't I?:
:Yes, but it was good intentioned, and were it any other code, I doubt that it would have caused so many issues. Ah. Here we go.:
And just like that, it was gone. Barricade shuddered, and felt the strong arms of his Creator-Caretaker wrapping around him. He felt as small as a Youngling again, but didn't mind it. In here, where nobody could see him, he didn't mind his weaknesses. :I was scared . . . but didn't realize it.:
:Megatron hasn't left your side since you crashed.:
:He said he would never let me be hurt.:
:I know. He's held to that vow when he has broken so many others. He's been pumping coolant for you.:
Barricade sighed, and felt his systems begin to get sluggish again. :I . . . recharge . . .:
:Yes, child. You're safe. Sleep.:
:Don't leave me.:
:I won't.:
.o.
"Put him in stasis, Ratchet."
The emergency-yellow mech did just that, hearing the soft whines as a system went dormant. He sighed and reached over to still Megatron's hands, grasping the claws and drawing them upwards, away from the frame.
Red optics focused upon the medic and great shoulders slumped forward in relief. His Spark swelled with the nod of affirmation that Ratchet gave him.
"Well, slag, Megs. Shouldn't ya've thought before ya handed all ya problems onto mah mechlin'?"
That voice.
Systems stilled.
"'Parrently not."
That. Voice.
Turning slowly to look down at the mech who was now sitting back on his haunches and watching Megatron steadily, the Decepticon hissed, "You live."
"Ain't that a kick in the lug-nuts."
"He falls under our agreement, Megatron!" a young voice called over, and Sam Witwicky walked over, sitting on Prime's shoulder. The moment that Optimus stilled, the boy leaned elbows on knees and his voice was gentle. "But all that aside, thank you. Barricade is needed by both sides."
"Are . . . are any other humans here?"
"Ya're slaggin' kiddin' me. My boy almost dies an' he's wonderin' if there's humans around?"
Jazz leapt to his feet, but was restrained by Ratchet, who jerked him back and shoved him onto his aft, keeping him down by pressing a hand to a shoulder. With a grunt, the medic answered for Megatron, "He can't be seen with us, especially by NEST!"
"They won't understand the culture, nor the way that an enemy can still be a loyal brother and a friend. The only humans who would understand this would be any who have lived through a political civil war. For Americans, those individuals died over a hundred-fifty years ago. For Brits, they still don't understand. Eastern European nations would understand, as well as certain African nations, the Vietnamese and Koreans." He shrugged, unfazed by Jazz's temper. "Besides. Even if he doesn't know it, this is the human season of forgiveness, brotherly love, and all that mushy crap. Show some philanthropy, willya?"
"Kiddo, did you not see what that slag-head did ta me in Mission City?"
Optimus sighed and rubbed at his face while Sam merely smirked and said, "Yeah, well, he killed me in Egypt, but you don't see me huffing and tossing a hissy fit about it."
"You're a Prime, kid! That takes a special Spark!"
"You're kidding, right? I know that my Mom forwarded some juicy blackmail of me when I was a kid to you and Bee after the April Fool's prank we pulled on her." His gaze flicked down to Barricade, and he shuddered. Memories were still very strong in this place, and a too-still body under the familiar canopy of trees did nothing to cease the memories that still seemed far too fresh.
Jazz pouted, then snorted and turned to look at Megatron, who was still openly gaping at the fact that the mech he had killed was still sitting right before him. The larger silver form turned to look at others around him, his shock open and clear for all to see while he continued to hold Barricade half in his lap.
First Aid.
Wheeljack.
Arcee.
Sideswipe, in glorious red.
Sunstreaker in . . . silver?
Bluestreak. Primus, Bluestreak. The mech held a firearm in one hand loosely, but nobody was fooled by the relaxed pose of the youngest Praxian adult. He could level and fire that with pinpoint accuracy in an astro-second.
Ironhide.
Chromia?
"Oh, and you'd better believe it," she said in her dusty alto tones, affirming Megatron's guess that he had spoken out loud.
"If you're here . . ."
Gentle hands rested upon his shoulders from behind, and he stiffened, feeling the sisterly touch turn into something fierce, holding onto wires and tubes that controlled all his motions. A bell-like voice rang deceptively gently beside his audio. "Hello, Megs."
"Oh, frag."
"You killed him."
"I—"
"You had some serious programming conflicts going on."
"Y-yes?"
"I have a certain hold on your internals that can turn you into nothing more than scrap right now."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did he just call her 'ma'am'?" someone whispered in shock.
"Yeap," another voice replied smugly, and Megatron recognized Ironhide's voice. "She c'n tear him apart and he knows it. She learned from the best, right, love?"
"She did indeed," Chromia replied, chuckling.
The voice continued beside his ear, fingers tightening. "It's only because I have seen your codes and seen what they caused you to do that I will spare you. It's only because you saved Barricade's life that I will spare you. You have made your life forfeit by killing the mech I am Bonded to, or did you not think of the eventuality of my finding you and avenging my loss?"
No, no he really hadn't thought of that angle.
Fingers slipped free from his armor, and the rose form moved around him to check Barricade's vitals in Stasis. "You have much to account for, Megatron, if you wish for my forgiveness."
All Megatron did was turn his head towards her, bow it, and then gently push his forehead to her shoulder, letting himself tremble. He was still adjusting to being fully himself since the beginning of this long, forsaken war, and he lost himself so often, so easily. "I need help."
Her vents hitched on an intake, and she turned to look down at the frame contorting into a position of asking for mercy. After a long moment, she sighed. "I will contact help for you. But you must prove to me through who I send you that you are worthy of redeeming yourself in my sight."
"Anything, Elita-One. Anything."
"Sounds like he has a crush on her," the young voice muttered. Megatron had never heard that voice before, and he winced, glad that his position of supplication hid his expression.
Ironhide huffed. "Kid, he's Optimus' brother. Elita is scarier than Optimus in a bitchy mood. She doesn't regret what she does to those who have hurt her loved ones, and she gets even."
Raising his head, Megatron added, "She is also the one whom I owe the most to." He looked to Prowl and winced. "The same goes for the Enforcer."
"Mm," Prowl replied, doorwings in a decided "pissed off but civil" expression, stiff with suppressing his emotions. But he didn't deny that he was owed more than most of the Autobot officers.
Megatron couldn't see who they were speaking to, but the relative youth of the voice confused him. He sighed and settled back into a completely-submissive form, knowing that the greater pack would harm him if he made any sudden or aggressive moves. "How are we not being discovered by my Decepticons?"
"Oh, just me," a jaunty, cheerful voice stated, and Hound walked into view from behind Megatron. "I've gotten a few upgrades."
"Good. Protect your comrades when you can."
"I generally do."
The loose ends tied and Megatron glared to Optimus. "He's been spying on me in Africa!"
"Well, now that you've confirmed it," Jazz said lazily, a grin wreathing his face.
Grunting, Megatron leaned to one side to see if he could view whoever was speaking from beside Ironhide. Emptiness met his gaze, and he sighed. "And Hound is keeping that new voice from being seen."
"Really? That's so cool!" the youngster gushed. "I wonder how that works, or if it's just system-specific to what he has installed."
Sam grinned at the shock on Megatron's face when it finally hit the mech. Megs looked like had been kicked in the gut and his fans had stuttered out. "Smelter's rod . . . a Youngling? You brought a Youngling here?"
A small noise and a hissed curse made him look down at Barricade, only to meet pissy red optics. Small, pissy red optics. He blinked in shock, and then looked to Sam. "You gave them Sparklings?"
"No. Sector Seven's experimentation gave them Sparklings that we've recovered and adopted into the tribe." Sam patted Optimus' shoulder, and he was let down. Walking over and fearlessly onto Barricade's chest, he reached down and picked the small mechling up, murmuring a soft word to him, which caused the child to grumble inaudibly. Looking back up to Megatron, he said, "You might want to apologize to Torch, here. Barricade has promised to raise him, and you caused Barricade some harm."
"Barricade . . . is a Caretaker?"
"Most of us are, as well as a few dedicated humans who have raised the Sparklings this far to a point where they are more healthy mentally than most Sparklings had been back on Cybertron," Ratchet replied.
Megatron was stunned, and he looked to where a body was missing from a voice. "What of the one I cannot see?"
"Raised by a human."
"He doesn't fear me."
"I have a healthy respect for your capabilities, actually," the voice said, the tenor tone bright and grinning. "But if you're hacked, I don't want anyone to find out what I look like, or who I am. I will not cause distress to my family because I was captured, reprogrammed, or worse."
"You're young but wise, mechling," Megatron growled, settling back and not looking for the form anymore. His voice was soft. "It is a solid plan. Primus." He rubbed at his face, looking away from the Autobots. Unfortunately, he was thus forced to look into himself and again view everything that he never wanted to see about himself. "I must return, before suspicion arises from my dalliance."
"No, actually, you might do well to wait a moment longer," Ratchet muttered, reaching over and inspecting the "damage" before patting Megatron's cheek twice with a grin. "I understand that you have maintenance you need done, and Barricade has more talent than most at the basic stuff."
"You . . . but I . . ."
"My oaths are to preserve a Spark before they are to the Autobot cause. When I see one I can help . . . you bet your aft I'm gonna help him."
"I can't accept your help."
"You can't afford to refuse it. Between being frozen for hundreds of years, Sector Seven's meddling, a hasty reanimation with slipshod parts, and on top of all that, you've been in several battles without a medic's attention? Pitslag, bratling. You need maintenance."
"I will not sit and—"
Ratchet's aim never faltered through the years, and the wrench hit Megs square between the optics. "You sit your aft down, and you will be seen to!"
.o.
"So . . . Barricade, huh?" Dylan ran a soft cloth over the alloy rims, digging grease and dirt out from the inner edges. "He always been that much of a creeper?"
"He uses intimidation well," Lazerbeak replied, sidling up and settling himself close to Soundwave's door. "He's one of the most versatile weapons Megatron holds in his hands. He is a shock trooper, he is a spy, he is a hacker, and he assists the medics when they're in a pinch. Which is most of the time, since most medics aligned themselves with the Autobots."
"Weak-hearted, eh?"
"All save for the Chief Medical Officer and his protégé. Ratchet and First Aid." Lazerbeak snuck closer, only to have a clean cloth draped over his head. Before he could back himself out of it, gentle hands started to rub and massage the cleanser over his armor. He half-purred in appreciation and crawled into Dylan's lap, soaking up the attention.
Ravage would have loved this right now.
A half-keen hiccoughed its way through his vocoder, and he stifled it, but not fast enough. He knew that Soundwave heard, and he hated causing his master to remember the shock of losing another symbiont. Dylan had quickly become the feline's favorite human because of his deft hands that were strong enough to get grease out and yet gentle enough to know where delicate circuitry was located and how not to harm it.
Pausing his motions, the human carefully curled the bladed condor closer to his chest and stroked from the nares, up over optical ridges, and down the side of his face. No words were spoken for a long while, but none were needed.
All three knew that the human missed Ravage as keenly as the mechs who had known him for eons.
His death would be avenged.
.o.
Author's Note: Well, that chapter wrote itself. And it's the 50th chapter, too! Hot slag! I thought that I would finish this story off with 14 chapters, tops! And here we are! The top of the hill! Well, sorta. I'm sure that things will continue to keep going up from here. Thank you, everyone, for reading, for reviewing, and for encouraging me along! Without you, I wouldn't have kept this going for so long! Thank you! In celebration . . . I put Barricade on my desktop. And go figure? Behind him is both the Autobot and Decepticon insignias.
Next chapter, we see an old friend return. And no, it won't be Terratron or Sentinel. Not yet.
Song is: "Ragnarok" by Cu Dubh, a bagpipe/folk/new age/fusion band that performs at King Richard's Faire. Their album is Order of the Owl, and is available to purchase on their website. The guys who made and composed it all are some of the nicest, most humble performers that you will ever meet.
Fic Recommendation: Go read Twisted by SimpleRhapsody here on FFnet. It's an OP/OC, but it's written so well that I can't help but squee. Her OCs are complex, layered, sometimes have dubious motives, and are brilliantly done. I promise that there are no Sues in this fic and her OC has some pretty interesting flaws. It's her first fic up here, which makes all those details even better. Her grasp of a captivating writing style will keep you glued to your seat and begging for more. Heck, she even makes me like the Idiot Twins! Well, just a little.
