I love reading all your tags related to testing. Like this lovely person is one of my people, we understand each other.

I love you fellow software person!!

The leader and a body guard(Rin x reader)

(Sorry this took so long, school sucked all of my motivation away. You can find the rest of the series here: Eloni )

warning: violence, slight angst with a happy ending

Sometime after the rock revolution, Neon J decided to leave for a 3-week vacation

This meant that you and your coworkers would need to report to Rin

The first couple of days were difficult because Rin didn’t seem to care about the reports and would flirt with whoever was giving him the report

It wasn’t till week two that things began to spiral

1010 had been in the middle of a performance when a fight broke out in the crowd

You jumped out of where you were standing to help control the crowd

You assessed the damage after everything calmed down

The venue + stage was partially destroyed, Purl-Hew lost his glasses and an eye, Haym lost an arm, Zimelu and Eloni’s faces were cracked, and Rin was missing

Rin was missing

This was bad news as the factory still hadn’t been repaired yet which meant that he couldn’t be brought back until Neon J came back

And if Neon J found out that you lost a member of 1010, you and your co-workers would be fired

So your group split into two parts, one half would take Zimelu, Haym, Purl- Hew, and Eloni back to Barraca Mansion while the other half would search for Rin

You were placed into the latter

It had been nearly an hour since Rin was discovered missing and there still was no sign of him. You were definitely going to get fired. While the concert was in Cast Tech, you along with several others were sent to search Metro Division in case he simply went back to Baraca Mansion without telling anyone. You were about to head back when you heard the sound of crashing metal. 

“Hello, is anyone there?” You didn’t mean to say anything, but you were caught off guard. Against your better judgment, you began to walk towards that alley. You were desperate to find him after all.

“Stay back! RETREAT!” shouted a panicked autotuned voice. It was Rin.

“Rin? Is that you? Are you ok?” you rushed down the alley to find Rin hiding next to a dumpster.

“Don’t look at me!” Rin was trying to cover the right side of his face with his arm.

“What? Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah! Do not worry about me, I’ll make it back fine,” Rin tried to stand up, still covering his face, but immediately fell back down because his leg was missing.

“Look… everyone’s worried about you and you won’t be able to make it back by yourself with that leg,” you gestured at Rin’s broken leg. Please let me help you, I know some shortcuts.” You offered your arm. Rin hesitantly lifted his hand for his face and grabbed your hand for support. The metal that covered the right side of her face was gone, revealing the damaged hardware underneath.

You involuntarily flinched, he may not have been human, but it was still pretty jarring to look at something that looked like a person who was missing part of their face. Rin also flinched, covering his missing face with both of his hands now.

“I’m so sorry about that”, you rubbed your neck, “I just… well I didn’t expect the injury to be that bad.”

“You aren’t going to scream, are you?

“What? No, I'm very sorry about that. Besides I’ve seen way worse” you joked, trying to release the tension. Rin hesitantly uncovered his face once again and grabbed your hand and pulled himself up. The two of you dodged the groups of people walking through Metro Divison.

As the two of you were walking through, you couldn’t help but wonder about Rin’s reaction when it suddenly hit you, 1010 got severely injured during the rock revolution. One of these injuries included all of them losing their faceplates. Their fans unsurprisingly freaked out which caused 1010 to explode due to some protocol Neon J must’ve implemented. Your heart sank when you realized Rin’s reaction wasn’t because he was worried about his image, but he was scared of you screaming and what would follow afterward.

——————

After that incident, Rin seemed to act differently towards you. He took you more seriously and listened to your reports

Even after Neón J came back, Rin still came to you for your reports

Probably just practice for when Neón j retires, you thought

As the weeks passed, the time spent on the casual chats you had increased to the point you’d forgot to give him the actual report several times

“And that’s how we got Quienne and Bebe.” Rin had just finished telling you the story of how they got their cats by Haym and Eloni smuggling them in through a box. This was one of many of the 'behind the scenes stories' that Rin had told you. While they didn’t act that much different when they weren’t on camera or in front of a crowd, it was nice to be trusted enough to hear about their personal lives.

“So what about you?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have any good stories? I don’t think it’s fair if I tell all of my secrets after all~.” Rin teased

“Well, I do have one. I was at a dance audition and waiting for my turn to perform and this dude that was performing was pretty much a circus act. He was doing all these frontflips and backflips and it was just crazy. Wish I had recorded it.”

“You used to be a performer? How come you stopped?” Rin curiously asked.

“Nah, I never made it past the first round of auditions. I didn't really mind since I only entered to support a friend.” You sipped on your coffee

“That’s a shame.” Rin paused for a moment. “You know I could always offer you lessons.”

 “that's really nice, but I’ll have to decline. No amount of practice can fix these two left feet.” You looked at the clock, realizing half an hour had passed. You quickly said your goodbye and left to avoid getting into trouble. Rin watched your back as he left, unsure why he couldn’t take his eyes off you.

——————

Rin was walking to his dressing room when he saw you walking alongside several other security staff. As rude as it sounded, Rin normally wouldn’t think twice about the people he worked with. Most staff would either quit from being harassed by crazy 1010 fans or get fired for secretly being 1010 fans who used the job to get access to 1010 content, or worse, 1010 themselves. Rin shuddered as memories of one of the many incidents came back. Rin could count on both of his hands the amount of current staff that has been working for over a year and you were one of them. Rin began to think about the early part of his career when he and his family would actively engage with the staff, talking about both of their personal lives and inviting them over to hang out in the mansion. He and his brothers stopped interacting with the staff after the high turnover started. What was the point of talking with them if they were going to quit and avoid 1010 like the plague or get fired and be avoided by 1010 like the plague. He was glad that he could talk to you. He also liked the sound of your voice and how your eyes sparkled brighter than the LEDs that lit up him and his brothers. Rin blushed at the last thoughts. The sound of your voice and the sparkle of your eyes? It’s not like he was in love with you or anything. He was technically your boss and your relationship was completely professional. Yeah, your interactions were one of his favorite parts of his day and your smile would always brighten his day, but even if he was in love with you(which he is not) there’s still the challenge of gaining the approval of his family and having to deal with his fan’s harassment. He couldn’t let you go through that. Though Rin couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to talk with you outside of work…even go on a couple dates… maybe he was in love afterall.

——————

You walked past Rin and smiled. Despite your attempts, you fell for Rin's charm just like his fans did and it took you no time to notice this. You knew you were never going to say anything, afterall, everyone knows the rule about not dating coworkers and Rin can choose practically anyone, why would he pick you?

——————

It was the first concert after the rock revolution

The fans were extra antsy due to the lack of content, so it was all hands on deck

You were positioned on the front of the stage

This concert was no different than the previous ones, 1010 were performing, a couple of their fans attempted to jump on the stage, and you could barely hear your own thoughts over the mix of music and cheering. Suddenly both of those stopped. You looked at the stage and so 1010 standing still in mid-performance. You were told about this situation during training: it was either a malfunction or a hacking. You prayed that it wasn’t the latter. 1010 suddenly began to move in sync, but it was different from their normal in sync movement. You saw two fans get tackled to the ground as a red saw blade passed them at what would’ve been chest height. Your radio buzzed loudly as you were given your new orders:

“Get everyone out of there.”

It was chaos as you rushed around to get everyone out of the venue. Those with superhuman abilities(pyrokinesis, levitation, etc) stayed behind to prevent 1010 from leaving the venue. Despite not having any abilities, you stayed behind too. You were running around in the back looking for anyone who still might be there when the rubble from an explosion behind you knocked you to the ground. You quickly got up and saw Rin towering over Neon J. Without thinking, you quickly grabbed a nearby pipe that came from the newly busted wall and smashed it over Rin’s head. This managed to stop his attack, but it also brought his attention to you. He suddenly ran towards you, grabbed you, and threw you against the wall. Your consciousness began to fade in and out as your head collided with the wall. You saw Rin approaching you, then darkness, Rin raising his arm to strike, darkness again, Rin being pulled away by Neón J, darkness again, the inside of an ambulance, and then nothing.

——————

You woke up in a hospital room. Your eyes scanned the room: on your right was a monitor accompanied by an IV drip. On your left was a small table with flowers, a get-well balloon, a couple cards, and a Rin with a worried face sitting on one of the chairs of the room. Rin noticed you were awake and quickly rushed before stopping unsure of what to do.

“Y/N” Rin said, unsure of what to do or say

“Rin”

“Y/N… I’m so sorry about what happened- I didn’t want to-I couldn’t stop- if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you-” Rin began to stutter out of guilt. He kept making sentences but giving up on them and starting new ones.

“Rin, please” Rin paused and looked at you. “It’s not your fault, I know you would never do this” the two of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity before you continued, “You know... if the offers still up… I’d be happy to accept those dance lessons when I get discharged." Rin began to smile

“Yeah, the offers still up”

——————

Neon J walked through the hospital’s halls. For the past two weeks, he had been personally escorting Rin to your hospital room. He knew Rin felt responsible for your injuries so he didn’t object to this despite the possible security risks(he couldn't keep his boys locked up). He had heard from Rin that you had woken up and he was glad that you were ok, but he had to cut your visitor time short due to an interview that all 1010 members must be present for. He walked into your room to find the two of you sleeping with Rin’s head on your lap. 

“It’ll be fine if Rin misses one interview.” Neon J thought as he closed the door. He also began to wonder how long it will be before Rin introduces you officially to the family.

Meta meme: What was school like when he was younger? Was he bullied? An outcast? Was it hard to control his powers when he was younger as opposed to now?

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on || ALWAYS Accepting

Well, now, that depends on what you mean by ‘when he was younger’. He was in third grade when his dad got arrested. But, before that, Warren was really a different person. He was never hugely outgoing, was never really an extrovert, but he was definitely- lighter. Not as weighed down by the world.

Happier.

When Warren first went to school, he attended Bayshore Public. It was a small but nice primary school not too far from the Peaces’ house on Pinegrove. He’d made a few friends in Sunny Hills (the daycare/pre-school he went to) who also attended Bayshore, so that helped. Some of them were even in his class! And his teacher was really nice, too. Mrs. Amanda Jenkins, an older woman who had done a lot of travelling in her youth. When she taught geography, she brought in little trinkets and souvenirs from all over the world for the kids to see, and she had ‘community projects’ where she’d get the kids to help with local fundraisers to build a well for a small village overseas. When she got a letter about and photograph of the well from the organisation she was working with, she showed it to the class and used it to show them not only how connected everyone was, but also how little good things can add up to a really big, really important good thing. 

By the end of that first year, Warren already had two best friends at Bayshore. Their names were Grant McGraw and Sam White. Grant and Warren had gone to Sunny Hills together, and had been friends for ‘ages’, as they’d put it (’maybe even forever!’). Sam hadn’t gone to Sunny Hills, but he HAD run up to Warren on the Bayshore playground, tapped his shoulder, and yelled ‘TAG - you’re it!’ before bounding away, and, well- They were little kids. That’s all it took. Grant, Warren, and Sam almost always shared a mat during Listening Time. They’d compete to see who could build the biggest block towers (Grant usually won) and debate over which truck was best (Warren usually voted for the red one, because it had the biggest and shiniest wheels. The other two agreed this was a very valid point) and how many LEGOs it would take to build a real rocket ship like the ones at NASA (Sam thought maybe twenty boxes, but only if it was Star Wars LEGOs). Sometimes, they’d go over to each others’ houses on the weekends. He always had to let Mama and Papa know early if he was going to have friends over. 

See, just like his dad, Warren got his powers very young. (Penny didn’t, and she was oddly grateful she’d had to wait for adolescence.) Baron and Penny knew they could mitigate Warren’s powers when they were around, but also knew they weren’t always going to be right there. So, ever since he’d first shown his powers, they’d drilled into his head that they were a secret. ‘Don’t use your powers in public’ was drilled into his head along with ‘don’t get in the car with strangers’ and ‘don’t run off where we can’t see you’. They’d explained as well that if people knew what he could do, they might have to move to a new house and a new school, and Warren didn’t like that idea, so he kept it under wraps. Every day after school, or after going out with his friends, Baron or Penny (whoever was closest when they got home) would ask him if he kept their secret. Whenever he said yes, he’d get a sticker, a treat, to stay up a bit later, or even a family movie night (Disney movies, usually). To help with this, when they had a moment, Baron would take Warren into the fireproof garage and let him use his powers as much as he wanted - even give him some pointers. He knew how awful it was to keep fire bottled up, and didn’t want that for Warren, so insisted he get some sort of outlet for it. Penny thought it was a great idea, as long as it was safe and supervised. They’d play games, experiment, or just burn as much energy as they could, to help naturally curb Warren’s desire to power up outside of home. So, thankfully, none of Warren’s friends knew, not even Grant and Sam. 

Of course, those two weren’t his only friends - just his best friends. There was also Lacy Chai - his future coworker, and the granddaughter of his future bosses (she helped him get the job). He stuck up for her once when she was being picked on, and that was that. They briefly got teased for ‘dating’, but that didn’t last long. Kids moved on. Mindy Fenter had the best coloured pencils, so everyone wanted to be her friend. She had a crush on Grant, and so let Sam and Warren use her colours too so he’d like her better. Ben Olsen was another Sunny Hills alumnus, and sometimes he and Warren traded snacks. Andy Walker was the funniest kid in class, so everyone liked him, and sometimes he’d play tag and keep-away and four-square with Sam and Warren and Grant. Jessie Sanderson was the best at monkey bars, and a few times she gave the three of them tips on how to do it better and the best ways to climb up to the very top - the part the grown-ups said they weren’t supposed to be on, but never really stopped them from sitting there once they got up. Grant’s older sister, Gina, would make them sandwiches when they were at Grant’s house and she was really nice, and Grant and Gina’s oldest brother Graham would set up games on his N64 and let the three of them play if they promised to be careful, so Warren considered them friends, too. But, not everyone was that nice. There was a bully in their year. His name was Ulysses Harper. He was the tallest in the class, but Warren was almost the same height as him (and ended up being taller, in later years), so for the most part, Ulysses left him alone. Besides, it’s easier to go after solo targets, and the Three Amigos were basically inseparable. (Interesting fact, Ulysses would go on to work as an [unpowered] petty thief for the Battalion, under the command of Saul Springfield, before staying a brief stint in juvie, re-inventing himself as a life coach and motivational speaker, and getting a teaching degree. He returned to Bayshore to teach fifth grade, and was known by all of the kids as one of the nicest teachers in school.)

I like to think that, in a world where Baron wasn’t arrested, it would have continued on like that. The three of them: Side, by side. … By side. They would’ve stayed best friends all throughout elementary school. They’d learn how to skateboard together, be on the same soccer teams over summer, and spend so much time at Livewire Arcade they’d be on a first-name basis with the owner (Vince Upton). They’d have snowball fights in winter and cram like sardines so they could all fit on one lift on the school ski trips (and almost get stuck at least once, almost fall off at least twice). They’d graduate together and be in at least five pictures in the end-of-year slideshow, cheesing it up like the doofuses young kids are supposed to be. They’d all go to Trinity Prep for middle school; Grant was technically outside of school limits, but he begged his parents enough to fill out the paperwork for it, and Gina (who was taking a few years off to help save up for college) agreed to drive him there in the morning, since it was on the way to her job, anyways. The three of them would have a sleepover at Sam’s to celebrate this (he had the biggest basement). Grant and Sam would convince Warren to audition for school plays, and Grant and Warren would convince Sam to go to football try-outs, and Sam and Warren would make sure to actually listen to announcements when Grant became the student council rep. (Another sleepover at Casa de Sam to celebrate this; his parents weren’t surprised anymore when Sam walked in with the other two trailing behind. None of their parents were.) Every Halloween, they’d go out together - coordinated costumes in later years - and pool their candy; Gifts were exchanged every Christmas, cards every Valentines’, and their parents had swapped so many recipes at Thanksgiving that nobody could remember who made what, most years. At one of Grant’s family Christmas parties, a Chipmunks special would come on, and the boys would manage to untie one of the helium balloons and laugh themselves to tears while their parents had wine and talked about whatever boring stuff grown-ups bothered with. Sam and Grant would be disappointed at Warren not going to the same high school as them, but offer a mixture of congratulations and ‘O most learned Lord Warren of Peacefordshire!’ jokes about him going to some fancy ‘private school’, and, of course, they’d agree to hang out over the summer and weekends. Sam and Grant would go to the Lantern to pester him (He’d still work there, just not as often), they’d get together in Warren’s back yard (the biggest of the three) or the park behind Bayshore to play rugby (Sam was best at it, so Grant enlisted Graham - studying to be a gym teacher - for help, and eventually they got enough local kids in to make an unofficial ‘team’), and for a week every summer they’d drive up to Grant’s folks’ cottage to just hang out. It’d be during one of these week-long getaways that Warren would reveal his powers to his friends. They were only upset that he’d waited so long to tell them, and thought it was SO COOL that their best friend was a SUPERHERO, and also, WOW, the fire thing really made your dog’s name make sense (’So THAT’S where ‘Matchstick’ came from! Can’t believe we never figured it out.’ ‘... Yeah, because ‘super powers’ is the obvious conclusion.’). It was also during one of these stays that Sam and Warren would share their first kiss. Grant was a little awkward about being a third wheel, but got over it before that trip was even over. He’d say to Warren, ‘Hey, Sam’s my brother. Don’t hurt him.’ And before Warren could respond turn and say to Sam, ‘Hey, Warren’s my brother. Don’t–’ ‘He’s a superhero, Grantwell, how the hell do I-’ ‘You know what I mean, Sammy!’ and then it’d dissolve into a wrestling match-turned-water fight when the super soakers get brought out. Sam and Warren would take a brief (amicable) break from dating during senior year, but would get together again after only a week or two when they figured they didn’t need to see who else was out there and experimenting wasn’t for them. They’d have a graduation party at Grant’s new place (now HE had the bigger downstairs, Sammy! / That’s dirty, Grantwell / Guys shut UP my mom is RIGHT THERE / Oh sh– Hi, Mrs. P!) and crash on the couch/floor/wherever they felt like. They’d do donuts in the now-vacant parking lot of Livewire when Baron and Penny buy Warren a car as his grad gift and do rock-paper-scissors to decide who got to pick the radio station, next. They’d see every High School Musical movie when it came out without knowing why they enjoyed them so much. Warren would go off to university, as would the others, but they’d stay in contact, and whenever he had time off, he’d be back at Maxville with them. They’d help each other study for tests and surprise the others by driving up to their respective dorms with food (’Pizza delivery!’ ‘This is the weirdest damn pizza I’ve ever seen.’ ‘Shut up, Warhead, I did my best.’ ‘It’s a salad.’ ‘… A pizza’s a kind of salad.’ ‘You’re such a moron. C’mon in.’ ‘Apologize to the pizza first.’). Sam and Grant would buy tickets to Warren’s graduation. (He returned the favour and attended both of theirs, too. They all have three graduation photos on their dressers, each with the three of them in a different school and an only slightly different pose.) When it became legal, Warren and Sam would get married. Nobody would be surprised. Penny would cry, Baron would make a speech that was, quite frankly, much less threatening than people would expect from a former supervillain, Grant would be best man and use all of the vocational skills he learned in middle school to make the best speech he could and pretend he wasn’t getting misty-eyed, just a little drunk. He’d fool nobody. Grant would marry a girl he met at college, Francisca ‘Fran’ Lowell-McGraw, and they’d have two daughters: Ginger (’Ginny’) and Clementine (’Clem’), both of whom would be absolutely spoiled by Uncles Warren and Sam. They’d be walking home from the gym one night when Grant suddenly remembers and lets them know that, hey, guess who’s Clem’s teacher this year? Ulysses! … The one we went to school with– Yes, I’m sure, how many guys named ‘Ulysses’ do you know? And then they’d get in contact with him. He’d apologize for being a jerk when they were kids, they’d tell him dude, that was like, thirty years ago, it’s cool, and they’d all go for drinks at Callahan’s, the bar that had opened in the same spot Livewire used to be. Dr. Warren Peace, practicing psychologist, would get a call to go deal with ‘some problems’ that Grant McGraw, local radio host, and Sam Peace, foreman of a construction crew, would have rehearsed excuses for (’Oh, man. Did the office server shut down AGAIN?’ ‘You really gotta get an IT guy on that, babe.’) before he ducked out to let the vigilante super Hellraiser make an appearance and keep Maxville safe. He’d live a pretty normal life for a super, and he’d be happy. 

But, as we all know, that didn’t happen. Baron didn’t get to retire. Warren’s life was far from normal. And Warren wasn’t happy. 

Baron was arrested just before Warren’s seventh birthday. Literally, the day before. It took a bit of time for it all to sink in. What do you mean, Dad’s not coming home? Dad always comes home! He’s probably just at work, or on another business trip, like the one he went on last year with Uncle Saul, or- Or maybe he’s getting a really BIG present and it’s just taking a while to get here! He’ll be back, Mama. Just you wait. 

And wait Warren did. 

Every day, by the door. He’d bring his snacks there, books, toys, anything to while the hours away. He just had to be there when Dad got home. Didn’t want to miss it. And that started cutting in to after-school hang-outs with his friends. Nah, he can’t go to Sam’s pool party, sorry, guys. It’s okay, though, ‘cause he’s not that good a swimmer, anyway. He doesn’t wanna go to Grant’s tree-house for ghost stories. He doesn’t wanna go play tag. He doesn’t even want to be in school, and it was getting hard to focus when he was there. He just wants his Dad back. So he waits. It was about two weeks before it started to sink in that Baron was Gone. Another week and a half before Warren fully realized it. He didn’t really understand why at the time. Sure, people tried to explain it to him, but it didn’t make sense. They kept telling him dad was a bad person, and that wasn’t true. They were lying. Dad had always been a good dad. A great dad, even. And he always came home. But not this time.

Losing a parent is hard. It’s even worse when you’re young. Warren was a mess of emotions as he struggled with his father’s arrest. Anger, confusion, fear, grief, maybe even some guilt. He didn’t know how to explain or communicate any of this, though. He was seven. And kids can be cruel. When Ulysses smelled blood in the water, he pounced. Boys aren’t supposed to cry, Warren. What are you, some kind of wimp? A sissy? A baby? Why don’t you go crying home to mommy and daddy, huh? … That was the first time Warren got into a fight. It was also the first time Ulysses Harper, age seven, had the fear of God put into him. Nobody had been around to see it. Ulysses had been class bully for two years, now, and had long since learned to make sure the grown-ups were away before picking his victims. So nobody could really explain how those burns got on his shoulders. Most people just assumed that Warren had to have shoved Ulysses into one of the heaters. Penny knew better, of course, and had plenty of time to talk to Warren about it, seeing as he got suspended for a few days. He protested this. It wasn’t his fault! He hadn’t started it, and he hadn’t meant to-! Penny did the best she could to hear him out, but have a serious talk about proper use of powers. Warren was only half-listening. There was too little notice to book a sitter for the days he was out of school, so he spent most of the time sulking behind his mom’s desk while she was at work. Not much to do there except read (which he normally liked, but wasn’t in the mood for), colour (which he couldn’t focus on), or think. He had a lot to think about. He thought about how unfair the punishment was. He thought about how much he was starting to hate school. He thought about how much he missed his dad. … He thought a lot about his dad. Everyone seemed convinced he was a bad person. Warren didn’t think he was bad. In fact, he’d been Warren’s hero. Warren had wanted to be just like him when he grew up. … Did that make him a bad person, too? Penny tried to assure him that it didn’t, but everybody else seemed to think so. He could tell. 

It was obvious, after all, especially at school, when he finally went back. Teachers were a bit more tight-lipped around him. Kids gave him a wider berth. Grant and Sam were unsure of how to handle it. They noticed the change in their friend, of course. They were children, and kids are often much smarter than we tend to give them credit for. But they were only in second grade. They didn’t know words like ‘trauma’ and ‘depression’. Nobody had thought they’d need to. They were only in second grade. They didn’t know why Warren was so upset. They tried to talk to him a few times. Even tried to invite him to play with them. But he didn’t do much talking in return, and even snapped at them, once. (Felt awful for it immediately after, but the damage was done). Parents were less inclined to invite him to their houses after news of the Ulysses incident spread. Though he never got up in Warren’s face again, Ulysses was in fact guilty of contributing to the whispers that circulated the lunch hall. It was these whispers - and the stares - that made Warren not want to eat with the other kids. He’d usually spend lunch hiding in the library or the washrooms. He never let anyone see him cry again. When people started getting louder in their jeers, he’d turn on them until they learned to keep their words hidden away behind his back. He still heard them. Everyone knew what they said about Warren Peace. That kid was trouble. Dangerous. Good-for-nothing. He’d end up in juvie someday, if he was lucky. What a shame. His poor mother. 

The thing about hearing that sort of thing often enough is, eventually, you start to believe it, yourself. So, Warren did. Penny tried to convince him otherwise. She told him she loved him, and not to listen to them, that she was proud of who he was and how strong he was being and that no matter what anybody said, he was a good person. That didn’t stop him from blaming himself when they lost the house. He’d given away their secret, after all. 

Moving around so much didn’t help things, any. The shelters and apartments he and Penny ended up into were usually in less-than-nice areas of town and brought with them a lot of noise and chaos. School became the only ‘peace’ he got. So, even if people tried so socialize with him (they didn’t), he wouldn’t want any part of it. He wanted to have some time to breathe, and read, and sleep during breaks. Even if people wanted to invite him over or hang out after school (they didn’t), he wouldn’t be able to have them at his place, and he didn’t really have the transportation to get around, any more. When he got involved with the school lunch programs, new whispers got thrown in. He was the Poor Kid, now. People started turning their noses up at him. One kid - Jack Osgood, who’d transferred to Bayshore in fifth grade - thought it would be hilarious to knock his lunch tray out of his hands. Warren, who had never said a word to Jack, had hardly even looked at him, but who had been looking forwards to that ham sandwich and Minute Maid (meat and juice are expensive), punched him in the jaw so hard Jack fell into Becky Lowell, and then the lunch room was chaos. Warren got another detention. He didn’t get another lunch. The teachers didn’t care who started it or why. They never did. Warren had learned pretty early that he had to deal with this stuff, himself. Trying to get help from the faculty only ever made things worse. So, he explained what happened to his mom, when she finally showed up, and only really felt bad for disappointing her. Well, and for making Becky spill her fruit punch. No, he hadn’t wanted to get into a fight with Jack. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to be left alone. ... And his sandwich. Of course, teachers didn’t see it, that way. Neither did the other kids. Safe to say, Warren had just ruined his chances of making any friends at Bayshore. At least people did leave him alone, after that. Jack had a bruise for more than a week that reminded people why that was a good idea. Warren didn’t care. They’d be graduating soon, anyways. (Nobody signed his year book. Not even Mr. Richards, the homeroom teacher. Warren threw it in the recycling on the way home.)

When he was twelve, Lacy got him a job at the Paper Lantern. Warren’s still not sure what possessed her to reach out to him. They weren’t exactly friends. She was a bubbly socialite, on the mathlete and cheer squads. He was the guy nobody wanted to be anywhere near, and he couldn’t afford extra-curriculars. In reality, Lacy felt bad for him. She didn’t think he was as bad as people said. She still remembered when he stuck his neck out for her way back in first grade. Sure, she didn’t get what he was going through, but she wanted to help, so she offered him a job. Warren was twelve, and had spent the last five years learning how to best live off food stamps and minimal cash. He’d seen how stressed mom was. ... He felt like a lot of that was his fault. So, of course he took her up on the offer. She made a case to her grandparents, and he was hired as a dishwasher. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and about all he could do at that age. He’d also realized that he’d probably never get into college without a scholarship. They’d never be able to afford it. Not in a million years. And he’d decided long ago what he wanted to do with his life. He wanted to be a psychologist, and he wanted to help people. You need a degree for that. So, when Warren wasn’t at school, he was working (Up to forty hours a week, by the time he’s a teenager). When he wasn’t working, he’d be studying. Sometimes, he’d even bring his books to the ‘Lantern, and be reading while he was up to his elbows in soap suds and dirty flatware. The people at the local library knew him well, but, that was about it as far as new relationships. A schedule like that doesn’t leave a lot of time for socializing. 

Warren graduated Bayshore without much fanfare. He moved on to Trinity Prep middle school. ‘Go, Titans’. By this point, Warren was growing his hair out. He was wearing his typical darker colour scheme. Black was easier to keep clean, and didn’t catch soot and smoke stains as easily. Black was also always in ready supply at the second-hand stores. And, as a bonus, it reinforced an image that kept people at bay. Sam went to Trinity, too, but he and Warren hadn’t really spoken in years. (Grant ended up going to Our Lady of Providence, a Catholic middle school. His family wasn’t religious, but, hey, it was closer and had a better computer sciences program, which is what his parents wanted him to go into, so.) In a way, Warren was glad for the new school. Not as many people knew him, here. Not as many people cared. Warren appreciated the isolation. The breathing room. Work was busy. He and his mom still hadn’t found an apartment that stuck (but they were getting close). He didn’t mean to keep setting off the fire alarms. He got better with his powers as the years went by. It was a struggle, though. Yes, Penny was an elemental, too, but she did water and wind (mainly water), not fire. He had to figure a lot of things out for himself. They’d always thought Baron would be the one to teach his son how to control his pyrokinesis, but, of course, he wasn’t around to do that, any more. And the older Warren got, the more he was starting to learn why that was. It was really-- Polarizing for him, if that’s the word I’m looking for. Now, I could write a doctoral thesis on Warren’s feelings about his dad, and how weird it is for him and how it probably would have been better, almost, if Baron had been a horrible father and made Warren hate him from the get-go, but this is about Warren’s school life and (lack of) friends, so I’ll just say it became even more of a touchy subject than before. 

One of the many things Trinity had that Bayshore didn’t was Career Day. 

Warren had been dreading it since it had first been announced. He knew Mom wouldn’t be able to take time off to come in. And, Dad? Warren hadn’t seen him in almost six years. It’d be a damn miracle if he turned up for it. Probably a federal crime, too. So he didn’t bother telling Mom about it. He didn’t want her feeling guilty about it - she had enough to worry about. He managed to slip away when everyone else was filing into class after the first break, and snuck off campus. For the next hour, he wandered idly around the neighbourhood. Nobody tried to stop him. He was always tall for his age and old for his youth, and that - combined with his perpetual scowl - made people pay him no mind. A typical delinquent. Of course he wasn’t in school. Best keep your distance. He returned to school about an hour later, and when the teacher (Josephine LaRose) asked where he was, he shrugged and told her he’d just not been feeling well. As always, the other kids started to talk. Some of them said he’d ditched to smoke, others to sell drugs. And his parents hadn’t shown up! Oh, the rumours that flew, then. In any other setting than a public school, they could’ve been called slander. Nobody ever said anything to his face, though. Gossip had spread from some of the Bayshore alumni, and as gossip tended to do, it had been embellished and enhanced until the other kids were terrified of Warren. They didn’t want to end up drinking their burgers through a straw like Jack Osgood, after all. (Jack, for the record, had never needed to liquefy his food. He was totally fine over at Westwood Middle School, and barely remembered ever meeting Warren Peace.) So Warren only heard whispers in passing. Usually, a glare and a ‘what was that?’ was enough to shut them up. He didn’t really care if they were talking about him. Let them talk. He was used to it. But nobody knew his father like he did (and, given that these kids weren’t in the super community, they didn’t know him at all) and heaven help anyone he caught speaking ill of his mother. She had enough to deal with without some snot-nosed punk speculating about how she earned a living. He didn’t regret scaring those kids, nor did he care about the lectures he got as a result. Leave him alone, leave her alone, and he’d leave them alone. He thought it was fair. Honestly, if it wasn’t for his 4.0 average (which all of the teachers were sure had to be a mistake) making the school’s test scores look good, they probably would have expelled him. It wasn’t even that he got into that many fights - he didn’t, not really. You could count the number of actual physical altercations he got into on one hand and have fingers left over. He was never disruptive in class. Never talked back to the teachers (or really talked at all, if he didn’t have to). Always turned in his homework completed and on time. But- He was a bad kid. Just look at him. He’s Trouble, capital T, and the sooner he got out of that school, the better for everyone else. 

And he did get out. 

He graduated Trinity Prep and skipped the convocation. Went to work, instead. Rent Day was coming up. After a lot of moving around, eventually, a letter would arrive telling him he got into an exclusive high school, but- We’ve all seen how that worked out for him, so, for now, I’ll end this here.

Happy Birthday, @chibisquirt! For birthday fic, here’s the first contiguous chunk of the Steve/Tony tech support identity porn AU inspired by the prompt you reblogged. (Tony isn’t Iron Man or an Avenger in this one, but he does consult with SHIELD.) It hasn’t been edited fully, but does have a bonus lolcat, so hopefully that evens out: 

“Tony’s Tech Emporium, Tony speaking, how may I direct your call?”

There was a long silence before a male voice responded. “I was told to call this number for help with the computer SHIELD gave me.”

In Tony’s defense, he was bored.

(continues below the cut)

Fury had called him into SHIELD to discuss quinjet engine improvements (specifically, Fury had threatened to let SHIELD engineers make modifications to Tony and Rhodey’s engine design, and Tony had descended wrathfully onto SHIELD HQ). Tony had budgeted half an hour, max, to explaining why that would be a terrible idea likely to result in catastrophic explosions, so he hadn’t planned on staying long.

Tony’s plans changed after JARVIS cracked SHIELD’s server encryption protocols within five minutes of Tony connecting to SHIELD’s wifi. It was almost cute how SHIELD thought 128-bit encryption was enough to keep him out.

He’d been tempted not to mention the breach in order to have a perpetual back door into SHIELD’s systems, but someone else was bound to discover the exploit eventually, and some of the information on SHIELD servers was about active-duty agents and their assignments, which could lead to a wave of executions if it got into the hands of someone less public-spirited than Tony was. (Plus he’d already had JARVIS save copies of some of the more interesting files for Tony to poke through later. He was only human, and resisting temptation wasn’t his specialty.)

As soon as Tony told Fury about the breach, the morning had turned into an impromptu security audit. It had been fun to watch Fury storm into the IT staff room and bellow at the poor bastards who were working that day. Tony had spent a very entertaining hour stampeding through SHIELD firewalls while SHIELD techs scrambled to lock him out again, before the alarms had gone off.

Fury had rapidly lost all Tony’s newly acquired goodwill by flatly refusing to let Tony help with whatever top-secret crisis was currently looming. “I have a ten-point shit-show classification system,” Fury had said, while looming over Tony as though sheer bulk could lend him authority. “It goes from one to ten. At a level ten, I’ll shake the devil’s hand and put him to work. This threat? This threat is a four. I’ll call you in at a five.”

And then he had swept out of the door with his dramatic coat billowing behind him, all the IT staff bobbing along like ducklings in his wake. Tony had been left behind with nothing more interesting to do than patch SHIELD’s firewalls, which only took him twenty minutes.

So Tony was bored. Bored and unsupervised, no less, and clearly Fury should have known better. When the phone on one of the SHIELD guy’s desks rang, Tony thought about it for about 5/7ths of a second before picking up the call.

“I can certainly help you with that,” Tony said, propping his feet up on the desk. Whoever normally used this workstation had left a game of Galaga running. Maybe later Tony could try to beat his high score. “What do you need?”

“I need to find the email address of someone I work with.”

“Easy peasey, you can look them up in your address book.”

“Right,” the man said, with a level of grim determination that Tony didn’t usually associate with minor tech support issues. “How do I do that?”

“First, just open your email.”

The man sighed a little, almost too quiet to hear. “And how do I do that?”

“You can double-click the desktop icon or find it in the Start menu.”

“The desktop icon,” the man repeated slowly.

Tony was starting to wonder if this guy had grown up Amish and signed up with SHIELD one week into his rumspringa. There had to be some explanation for how a young-sounding guy with a solidly American accent could have escaped adolescence without encountering computers before.

Whatever the reason was, it would be a dick move to interrogate him about it. Tony still remembered the first time Howard had sneered at him for not knowing the difference between direct and alternating current, and nevermind that Tony had been four at the time. Normally Tony didn’t have the patience to hand-holding, but this wasn’t some guy cornering Tony at a party and demanding that Tony upgrade his phone, this was someone who was calling the tech support line for help just like he was supposed to.

Plus it was actually a challenge to figure out how to explain basic computer concepts like he was talking to an alien unfamiliar with human technology. (Wait. Could this guy be Thor? No, Thor’s accent was totally different. Focus, Tony.)

“Okay, so, the main thing to understand about computers is that they’re like dogs. Really enthusiastic, but kind of dumb.” Tony leaned back in the swivel chair, settling in for a long chat. “They don’t speak English, they take all of your commands literally, and they try their best, but they don’t always understand what you want them to do. You with me so far?”

“I’m following.” Was it Tony’s imagination, or did the guy sound a little amused?

“Right, so. The whole point of computers is that you tell them to do stuff and they do it, but because of the whole not-speaking-English thing, you can’t just shout at them until they do what you want. Yet.” Tony was working on that, but voice recognition that took into account the full range of English speakers’ accents and dialects was an order of magnitude harder than just teaching his bots to recognize his commands, so Tony’s voice-to-text algorithms weren’t quite there. Give him four more months. “One of the ways computers let you know what stuff they can do is by displaying little pictures on the screen, and when you tap on the picture depicting what you want the computer to do, the computer runs off and does that task. Those pictures are called icons, like those little paintings, you know those?”

“Yeah,” the guy said, abruptly a lot more relaxed. “Small paintings of religious figures, usually associated with the Eastern Orthodox church. Those, I know.”

And wasn’t that a fascinating contrast, and the religious upbringing theory was getting stronger by the minute. “Right, so when you look at your tablet you see rows of icons laid out on the background, which is called the desktop. Just pretend you’re looking down at a desk with a bunch of tiny paintings on top of it, and each painting represents an action. That’s what your tablet is trying to show you. It’s like a dog waiting for you to pick which toy you’re going to throw so it can go chase it.”

“Got it. So when I pick an icon, the computer tries to do whatever the icon shows?”

“Exactly.”

“So the icon with a picture of an envelope is the mail? Email,” the man corrected himself.

“That’s right.”

The man made a sound of satisfaction. Tony could hear a faint ding in the background as the program opened.

“Is this your first time using email?”

“Yeah.” The man’s voice was determined again. “A guy I work with bet me a dollar I couldn’t find out his email address, and I mean to prove him wrong.”

“I can definitely help you with that.” Even if the guy wasn’t listed in the email directory, there wasn’t a personnel file in SHIELD Tony couldn’t dig up contact information for. “What are you going to send him?”

“I was thinking a blue picture.”

Tony’s fingers froze. So much for Steve being Amish. Maybe he’d been raised by a cult? A luddite, sex-positive cult? “A blue picture? You’re going to send your coworker porn?”

“Well, maybe something just a little racy. I want to catch him off-guard. He acts like I’m a real fuddy-duddy.” He sounded bemused, like he couldn’t understand how he got that reputation. This from a man who said fuddy-duddy without a trace of irony.

“He thinks you’re old-fashioned, huh?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well, if you work with this guy, I can’t recommend sending him porn. That’s bound to be against HR policy. But if you just want to prove him wrong, I think I have a better idea. What’s your name?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Steve.”

“I’m Tony.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Now Steve definitely sounded amused. “Tony’s Tech Emporium.”

“That’s right. So, Steve,” Tony said cheerfully. “Have you ever heard of trolling?”

It didn’t take long to write a virus--just a little one, Tony was being a model of restraint--and send it to the computer of one Clint Barton, who was apparently a SHIELD field agent. Tony entered the final closing tag and leaned back in his chair, angling his body towards the speakerphone.

“Okay, go,” Tony said.

“Hitting send.”

“Perfect.” With a flourish, Tony sent off the virus. It would take effect instantly, flipping Clint Barton’s desktop image from whatever it had been before to an image selected by Steve, after some consultation with Tony. “What did your email text say?”

“‘Dear Clint,’” Steve read, with radio play flair. “‘Thank you for motivating me to learn more about computers. I think I’m really getting the hang of them. Please enjoy your new desktop. Your friend, Steve.’ You’re sure the picture will switch over?”

“Positive. And he’s not going to have an easy time setting it back.” Tony had, as a little parting touch, removed the user’s ability to reset the desktop image. Barton could either requisition a clean computer from SHIELD IT, or learn to love cats who couldn’t spell. “He’ll think twice about doubting your technology chops after this.”

“Too bad,” Steve said, deadpan. “I was looking forward to more where that dollar came from.”

“What are you going to say when he asks how you did it?”

“I’ll tell him I know a guy.”

Tony smiled at the phone. This had been fun, more fun than he’d had in--well, maybe it was better not to think about that. “Yeah, you do. Tell you what,” he added, “I’m going to give you my direct line, okay? You have any more technology questions, you can call me instead of the general help line and I’ll get you set up.”

“Are you sure?” Steve said doubtfully. “I don’t keep a regular schedule. I might be calling at odd hours.”

“No biggie, my schedule’s weird, too. If I don’t answer and it’s an emergency, you can always call the main help line.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Now he sounded shy. It was adorable. Steve was rapidly becoming Tony’s very favorite ex-luddite cultist.

“Not at all, Stevie Wonder. Call anytime.”