the perks of being an assistant

One More Dance--Tony Stark x Reader

Originally posted by iwantcupcakes

Word Count: 1,086
Pairing: tony stark x reader
Prompt: Hold my hand dammit, we gotta make this look convincing!
A/n: In this au Tony and Pepper aren’t together and Pepper is still Tony’s assistant, also I like to think this takes place somewhere between AOU and Civil War.

You loved working for Stark Industries. Being the head designer for the company came with a lot of perks, you had your own personal office with the latest technology and your own personal mini fridge–which was a blessing when you were working long nights at the office. However being in such a high position also meant that there was a lot required of you, such as attending the yearly holiday gala.

You were currently making your rounds, greeting a few of the other designers, making idle chit chat with the developers and engineers you were heading over to talk to Happy when you saw your ex walk into the room.

Your eyes went wide and you quickly rushed out of his line of sight. You were mentally cursing trying to figure out your next move, were you going to try to sneak out as soon as possible or were you gonna fake a date? You really had no one to blame for this mess but yourself, you knew it was risky dating within the company, rules are in place for a reason, but no, you had to go off and date one of the top engineers…stupid.

You were trying to figure out the fastest and safest way to the door when Pepper stopped you.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Tony wants to schedule a meeting to talk about some of your most recent designs and on ways to improve some of your old designs. When do you think you could talk to him?” Pepper asked as she caught hold of your arm.

“Umm, anytime really, I’m free whenever he’s available just buzz me into his office when he’s got time.” You said quickly trying to make your escape.

“(y/n).” Your ex said as he made his way next to you and Pepper.

“Hey, Eric, how’ve you been?” You asked trying not to be rude.

“Good, I’ve been good. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us. I was thinking maybe we could give us another try.” He said reaching for your hand. You thought this was very inappropriate, not only were the two of you at a work function, but you were in front of your boss’ personal assistant.

“Oh,”  You said awkwardly as you moved your hand away from his grasp. “Eric, I’m seeing someone.” You lied, looks like you were gonna have to go with the fake date scenario after all.

“Who? Do I know him?” Eric asked his entire body language changing. You glanced at Pepper hoping that she’d chime in and help you.

“(y/n)’s recently started dating Tony.” Pepper piped up when she saw you were at a loss for words.

You did your best to keep your expression as collected as possible considering Pepper just told your ex you were dating your boss.

“Tony as in Tony Stark?” Eric asked raising an eyebrow.

“The very same one, we’re trying to keep it quiet.” You said carrying on the lie.

“Really?” He said you knew he didn’t believe the lie.

“Yeah, speaking of Tony, I’m gonna go look for him. See you around Eric, Pepper.” You said excusing yourself to search for your boss. Hopefully, you’d find Tony before Eric did. 

After about ten minutes of searching, you ran into Tony and Happy. Holding such a high position in the business meant that you had constant contact with Tony and Happy leading to a somewhat friendship forming between the three of you. 

“(y/n) there you are–”

“Tony not now, it’s an emergency. Listen I ran into Eric–yes my ex Eric–and he started talking about how he was interested in us getting back together and I obviously don’t want that so I told him I was seeing someone and when he asked who Pepper chimed in and said that I was dating you. So here I am praying that you didn’t bring a date to this thing and hoping that you don’t fire me for asking this, but can you be my fake date to get him off my tail?” You blurted out. 

“Hold my hand.” Tony said confusing you. 

“What?” You asked not sure what to say.

“He’s coming this way. Hold my hand dammit, we gonna make this look convincing!” Tony said as he intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you close to his side. 

“Act like I just said something funny.” Tony whispered in your ear. You giggled and used your free hand to cover your smile. 

“Eric, I heard you found out about us.” Tony said as your ex approached the two of you. “Ironically (y/n) here was the one who wanted to keep us under wraps.” Tony said pulling your hand up to his mouth and placing a kiss on the back of it. 

Eric quickly changed the subject obviously uncomfortable with the small gesture, he went on about one of his latest issues with one of your designs and you were just annoyed at the fact that he chose now to bring it up. 

Tony picked up on your annoyance. “That’s interesting Eric, but right now I’m just not interested in hearing it, set up an appointment Monday, and we’ll talk about it then. Right now I have a date that I have to dance with.” Tony said pulling you away from him and towards the dance floor. 

“Thank you.” You said as the two of you began your dance. 

“Don’t worry about it, this isn’t the craziest thing someone’s done to get a date with me.” Tony said smirking. 

“I-I didn’t do this to get a date with you, Tony.” You said looking at your feet trying to hide your blush from him. It was no secret that the man was attractive and on top of that he had an aura that captured you and left you helpless–in short you weren’t sure you’d survive him flirting with you. 

“Of course you didn’t.” Tony said winking at you. 

“Thank you Tony, but I think I’ll be going now.” You tried to walk away from him but he just used this as an opportunity to spin you and pull you back into his arms. 

“But if you do that he might think this is all an act, and we wouldn’t want him to think that now would we?” Tony asked as he continued the dance. 

“No, we wouldn’t. Maybe just one more dance.” You said resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Yeah, just one more.” Tony repeated, happy to have you in his arms.

Requested by @tabi-toast

asian-potato-lady  asked:

pass the happy along ♥ when you get this, reply with five things that make you happy and pass along to ten nice people

How do I do this? haha


1. Youth work: I love becoming a mentor to disadvantaged youth in my community who live on the margin. Nothing feels more rewarding than being able to keep youth off the streets. Helping to assist in designing and implementing frameworks to help situate youth with mental health issues on the streets to  participate in early intervention programs/  engaging young people how to write, produce and compose songs in music workshops with the express aim to artistically express themselves without fear of judgement or discrimination/ assisting youth with financial, housing and legal support and services and basically just providing access and equity for those newly re-assimilating with the mass, battling homelessness or just struggling to stay in school. My perk in life is giving as much back to the community I can ( I’d rather they live through my experience, then experience it for themselves) also preaching tolerance and the power of knowledge!

2. Vinyls/ crate digging: It’s an obsession. 

The joy of bargain digging classics/ getting random unknown vinyls to take home -  the anticipation of discovering new sounds - and the anticipation of the needle dropping and hearing the lo fi crackling as the new sound transports me elsewhere. Absolute natural high. I cant resist the temptation to save up and splurge on vinyl shopping bc you can’t hug a mp3 !

3. Beauty, in general: Emotional, Intellectual, Sexual, Spiritual, I just like people to come as they are. I love strict beauty, magnanimous beauty, broad beauty, solemn beauty, profound beauty, awesome beauty, motherly beauty: graceful beauty, noble beauty, warm-hearted beauty, delicate beauty, gentle beauty, passionate beauty, a husbands beauty: masculine beauty, active beauty, trustworthy beauty, courageous beauty, resolute beauty, brave beauty, Wife’s beauty: feminine beauty, passive beauty, supportive beauty, obedient beauty, reserved beauty, tender beauty. Children’s beauty: filial beauty, obedient beauty, depending beauty, youthful beauty, comical beauty, cute beauty.

4. (Hip hop) God bless the child who can write his own rhymes: 

I have no formal education bc due to circumstances. 

So when I see other young brothers and sisters/ high school drop outs  want to boost their level of understanding through poetry, spoken word or emceeing it rekindles an old flame of my love for something I have been in love with since I was I dunno 9? 

“I met this girl, when I was 10 years old
And what I loved most, she had so much soul
She was old school, when I was just a shorty
Never knew throughout my life she would be there for me”

Incase you haven’t noticed, I’m talking about Hip Hop. 

Literally, she had taught me EVERYTHING I know. EVERYTHING. The engendered togetherness of the hip hop community as a whole enlightens me always. I love the power of hip hop to mobilize and inform, and I love even more to see community ambassadors grow out of it. It is the priceless principal of self-empowerment and entrepreneurialism, knowledge of self  - and the worldwide culture it has turned into makes me proud to be a disciple of the Hip Hop temple.

5. these two

Taggy Thingy

Tagged by the wonderful @starkid-cult-member
Nickname: Leighcifer, Booty
Star Sign: Aquarius
Height: 5'2
Last Thing I Googled: The Crucible play PDF (I’m the Assistant Stage Manager)
Fave Music Artist: Lana Del Rey and Joan Jett
Song Stuck in my Head: I Don’t Really Wanna Do the Work Today (Firebringer)
Last Movie I Watched: Babadook
Last TV Show I Watched: Series of the Unfortunate Events
When Did You Create Your Blog? 2015
What Kind of Stuff Do You Post? Literally everything.
Do You have Any Other Blogs? Nope.
Do You get Asks Frequently? HAHAHAHA. no.
Why did You Choose Your URL? Perks of Being a Wallflower is one of my favorite books and movies, and Lauren Lopez.
Gender: Female (She/Her/Her’s)
Hogwarts House: Slytherin
Pokemon Team: Absolutely have no idea.
Fave Color: Green
Average Hours of Sleep: 5-7
Lucky Numbers: 9
Fave Characters: Klaus Baudelaire (SOUE), Patrick (POBAW), Luna Lovegood (HP), Draco Margot (AVPM), Leslie Knope (P&R), Rachel Berry (Glee)
How Many Blankets do You Sleep With? 5
Dream Job: A UN ambassador, or an author, or both.
Following: 660

One at a Time

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: Asthma attack.

Word Count: 803

Prompt: X

      Being the assistant for the Avengers obviously had its perks, being able to spend time with them was a big one, but also, the invitations to Tony Stark’s parties. This party was more of a celebratory one. After tracking down bases and hacking information about Hydra, you had finally made a break and the Avengers returned to the tower with Loki’s sceptre.Tony had then planned ‘revels’ the moment he got back.

    The party was enjoyed by everyone who had attended but now, in the later hours of the night, only You, Helen Cho, Rhodey, Maria Hill and the Avengers were sat around Thor’s hammer, trying to lift it. “You’re all not worthy,” Thor finished his statement as to why nobody could lift Mjolnir. During the disagreeing chuckles, a loud ring pierced everyone’s ears, leading everyone’s gaze to the unsteady suit of armer at the other side of the room. You stood up from your seat opposite Steve and carefully walked to stand closer to him. He was your closest friend, your friendship starting when you first started working for them with the tech department at S.H.I.E.L.D. He gave you a quick glance before quickly averting his eyes back tot he stumbling suit. 

   You chest grew tight, nerves or asthma, you weren’t sure. The suit continued to talk and soon, without warning, the wall behind it burst open as other suits began to fly out at everyone. Steve pushed you out of the way before quickly kicking up the table in front of him and held it up, shielding himself. You crawled behind one of the sofas as Steve was sent flying backwards by one of the suits. Chaos was unleashed amongst you all, Steve had managed to take out one suit but you didn’t know about the others. You were currently focused on trying to slow your breathing. 

   You peaked around the corner of the sofa, seeing an opportunity. You dashed to the bar that Natasha and Bruce had just been behind and knelt behind it, tucking yourself into one of the corners. You weren’t helpless when it came to fighting, but you weren’t trained as well as the Avengers and in your current state, you weren’t prepared for combat. Everything went quieter, with only the voice of Ultron rambling on once again. You couldn’t hear too well, your mind currently focused on taking deep, steady breaths. Through you wheezing you heard Thor’s hammer being thrown and the crash of metal to the floor. You assumed it was over, but you didn’t move.

   The Avengers were questioning Tony and Bruce about Ultron and what had happened but Steve cut everyone off. “Where’s y/n?” He looked around frantically, searching for you. “y/n?” He called, the silence after allowing him to hear your wheezing. “Steve,” you tried to call back. He rushed to you, your breathing unsteady. “y/n?” he knelt down by you, “are you okay?” You took a few more deep breaths before answering. “I’m having,” you breathed, “an-”

  “Asthma attack,” he finished, not wanting you to exert yourself, “Where’s your pump?” He looked concerned. 

  “In my bag,” you managed. Steve instantly stood up and ran to your bag that lay on the floor by the sofa. He frantically searched through it, looking for your pump. 

     “Steve,” Natasha called, “is y/n okay?” He didn’t look at her and continued searching before he got it and ran back to you. “She’s having an asthma attack,” he informed quickly, kneeling down behind the bar and handing it to you. 

    “Take two puffs,” he told you, “one at a time.” You nodded, you knew what to do but you knew Steve was worried. “Can you walk?” You took a puff of your inhaler and nodded before breathing out and taking another. Steve’s arm slid under your arm as he helped you up and walked you slowly out of the bar. He sat you down against a wall, giving you more space. “Take a two puffs every two minutes,” he told you again as he walked over to the sofa. He picked up a cushion and put it behind your back. 

   “If y/n doesn’t feel better after awhile, we’ll have to get her to a hospital,” Steve informed everyone else, all worried. Bruce nodded in agreement and looked back over at you. Steve walked back over to you, kneeling down carefully next to you but still giving you enough space. He scanned your body, looking over you for any injury. “Have you been hurt?” he asked, worry still very evident in his voice. You shook your head, taking another puff. You turned your head slightly to look at him, his eyebrows raised with concern. You gave him a small smile, placing your free hand softly over his.


(A Snowbaz Library AU)

Pride and Prejudice// Harry Potter// The Perks of Being a Wallflower//

The Fault in Our Stars// Falling Up// Fahrenheit 451// Carry On

In which Baz is the assistant librarian at his local library and Simon is a very persistent, dyslexic student from the same high school (who just so happens to be failing English.

Summary: Ouch. 

Warnings: Swearing and too many emotions.


Baz kept his eyes focused on the dark, slippery pavement ahead of him, reflecting the blurry orange light of the street lamps softly. Simon’s breathing was steady and uneven from the passenger seat, loud and frantic. Baz thought that he was crying, and he wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the road.

“Snow?” he asked quietly. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?”

Simon gave a large, jagged shudder, closely followed by a sniffle, and then sat up a tad straighter. “I suppose so. Yeah.”

“Alright, then,” he nodded encouragingly.

“Well,” Simon began, swallowing his emotions. “The hospital receptionist called me, and he said that Ms. Salisbury is in surgery right now. She- um- well, she had a heart attack about an hour ago, and her neighbors brought her to the hospital. I didn’t know, but I guess she has a history of heart attacks-”

“But she’s only in her thirties!” Baz’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, I know,” Simon said dryly. “That’s what’s so weird about it. They’re doing some testing after she comes out of the operation to see if she’s got some sort of condition, but that’s only if she lives…”

He fell silent.

Baz took a deep breath and reminded himself not to stare, to keep his eyes stubbornly trained on the highway in front of him. The sound of rain roared on the roof of his silver Prius.

“Wait, Snow, why would they call you?”

Simon inhaled sharply. “See, that’s the part I’m confused about. They told me that I was her emergency contact, and I know that she has my number, because she tutored me for a while, but that’s not the weird part. They told me that I was her only living relative.”

“What?” Baz gaped. “You’re related to Ms. Salisbury.”

For a moment, there was no sound from Simon’s half of the car, but Baz assumed that he was shrugging. “Yeah, I mean, I think so. Probably. They told me that I was her kid.”


“That’s what he said,” Simon reassured him.

“Well, I mean, that’s-” Baz tried to figure out exactly what to say in a situation such as this. “Wow, Snow. That’s incredible.”

“It’s awful,” Simon disagreed. “The orphanage could have told me who my mother was, much less whether or not she was alive. Eighteen years in that hell hole, Baz, and I only find out that I know my mother when there’s a high chance that I’ll never see her again.”

Baz took a deep breath.

“No,” Simon said.


“You were getting ready to give me some big speech about life,” he explained. “I said no.”

“Right, then,” Baz nodded, turning the wheel to take the exit that lead to the hospital. “You know, Snow, at least you’ll get to say goodbye if she goes tonight.”

Simon huffed, his eyes red and bloodshot. “I don’t want to. I want to ask her why she would fucking give me up and then watch me through my senior year without even a hint that she knows who I am.”


“No,” Simon growled. “Don’t.”

“Snow,” Baz said forcefully, taking a moment to slide his focus away from the road and onto Simon’s face. He looked pale and gaunt, like a malnourished child. The moles stood out on his skin more than normal, and his eyes appeared to be rimmed with bright pink-red. Baz pretended not to see a tear clinging to his jaw. “Lucy Salisbury is most likely in her mid thirties. If you do the math, then she would still be a teenager when you were born. She probably only gave you up because she had to!”

“Just because she was a teenager doesn’t mean she had to give me up,” Simon grumbled spitefully. “She could have fucking kept me.”

Simon,” Baz said, and Simon finally looked at him with those cornflower eyes that he’d fallen for only weeks ago. “When I was five, my mother committed suicide. I don’t know how; I don’t know why. All I know is that she didn’t have to, that she could have lived with whatever it was that was going on in her life for at least another ten years, so she could watch me grow up, but she didn’t. I don’t hate her because she took her own life, though.”

For a moment, it was silent.

“You said I was a poem,” Simon said quietly.


“On that first night, with coffee, you told me that I was a poem.”

Baz bit his lip. “Yes, I did.”

“Which poem?”

He laughed minimally. “Snow, that wasn’t the point of the metaphor. I didn’t relate you to a specific piece of poetry.”

“But if you could choose one piece of poetry,” Simon reasoned with him. “Just for the sake of curiosity, what would it be?”

Baz thought for a moment, then smirked. Simon adjusted himself in his seat and curled his knees up to his chest, like a toddler, ready for storytime. Baz smiled.

“Simon Snow, there is no poem in a world of people who completely invest themselves into being poetic to describe the amount of poeticness that oozes off of you on a daily basis,” Baz smiled. “I promise.”

Simon grinned shyly and then yawned, fatigued. “Someday, you’re going to write me a poem or something, okay?” he said. “And it’ll be the first piece of literature that I ever enjoy reading.”

“Okay,” Baz whispered affectionately, feeling settled as they pulled into the driveway of the hospital, which towered over the surrounding buildings like the David to their Goliath. “We’re here, Snow. Ready?”

Simon looked away, but Baz knew that his eyes were hardened. “Yeah.”

Baz’s hand was starting to hurt, but he didn’t mind. Simon’s fingers were warm and delicate as they tangled with his, and he squeezed Baz’s palms every time the elevator speaker dinged or a nurse rushed by or when the room was too quiet to stand. He tried not to think about Simon rushing in to find Ms. Salisbury, dead, on her hospital cot, her hair spread out on the pillow like an angel’s, like Simon’s, and her eyes colder than his would ever be. He tried to pretend that it would all be alright, that Ms. Salisbury would live, and she would pay Simon’s college tuition and make him birthday dinners and let him cry on her shoulder when the emotional dam in his head cracked. He couldn’t. Instead, he just let Simon squeeze the circulation out of his hand and disappeared into a world of crystal blue eyes and porcelain skin.

When they finally reached the emergency room, which branched out into several different wards, the two of them broke into a fast-paced walk, then a jog, which soon evolved into the two of them sprinting two Ms. Salisbury’s room.

“Sorry, immediate family only,” a wide-eyed receptionist blocked Baz’s way through the door.

Simon came to a sharp halt and whirled around on his heel behind the receptionist, who looked minimally intimidating in his scrubs. Baz  began to pushed his jaw out and got ready to barge his way in (which was completely out of character, but necessary) when the golden-haired boy cleared his throat loudly. The receptionist turned around with a raised eyebrow.

“He’s her future son-in-law,” he said loudly, though he wasn’t looking at the man in scrubs. He was looking at Baz. “Let him through.”

The receptionist stood aside reluctantly, and Baz pushed past him before he was even out of the way. Simon pulled him into the bedroom, which was covered in blue tiles and watercolour paintings of flowers. It smelled like chemicals, like furniture polish and medicine. He froze, and Baz fell into line behind him.

A steady, faint beeping crept through every corner in the small room, eliminating even the noise of thought. Lucy Salisbury lay flat on her back, her brilliant blonde hair curling around her jaw like a brace and a crease knit in between her two eyebrows, as if she was thinking very hard about something. Peacefully, her hands folded over her stomach, though it made Simon shiver. She may as well have been in a casket.

A tall, portly man with a mustache and a briefcase stood over her like her like a guardian angel, his hand on her shoulder, like her was too afraid to touch her hands, which were pale and small.

“E-e-excuse m-me,” Simon fumbled with his words, and Baz squeezed his hand.

The man looked up, startled. Neither boy said anything. They both saw the slight curve of his shoulder muscles into his arms, the moles than dotted his neck and cheeks, the slight part between his lips, all of which belonged not only to him, but to the smaller boy, which stood there in disbelief. He didn’t say a word.

“This is Simon,” Baz said quietly.

Nobody made a sound.

Simon moved forward slowly, and for the first time, it was quite apparent that he was none other than Lucy Salisbury’s son. He knit his eyebrows together, creating a crease in his forehead, and his golden hair shone in the dim light of the bedside lamp like an angel’s. Slowly, he reached out to touch her hand, just a touch, like a human coming in contact with a flame for the very first time. He curled his pinky around hers, as if making a promise, and everybody in the room shared a deep breath.

Her delicate frame twitched for a moment, just a moment.

There was a sudden spike in the monitor’s steady rise and fall.

And then, a soft screech buzzed from the machine, constant, without pause or hesitation. It sounded like somebody was screaming, far off, in a distant land.

Simon shuddered, and then joined the monitor, yelling as loud as he could, screaming for help, sobbing for comfort, begging for a second chance. None came.

And then there were fingers wedging in between his own, long and warm, squeezing the life out of his palm, pulling him back to reality.

Baz pulled Simon into his chest, and they knelt there together, empty.


(A Snowbaz Library AU) 

Pride and Prejudice// Harry Potter// The Perks of Being a Wallflower// 

The Fault in Our Stars// Falling Up// Fahrenheit 451// Carry On

In which Baz is the assistant librarian at his local library and Simon is a very persistent, dyslexic student from the same high school (who just so happens to be failing English.) 


There was a poem sitting in the corner of Baz’s library, and he was panicking.

He could feel the words forming in his mouth, the ones he wanted to say (consisting of “Please leave; its closing time” and “You’re very attractive, and you make me feel like I can’t breathe” and also possibly a series of garbled gibberish and feverish blushes in an attempt to ask it- him - on a date).

He was so real and solid, sitting there in the corner with his hundreds of moles and flushed cheeks. Baz watched from afar, admiring the way that his blueberry (summer sky, Mediterranean ocean, reflecting pool, ect.) eyes skimmed the worn pages of Pride and Prejudice, which Baz could proudly quote word-for-word.  The light from the frosted window, which took up the larger portion of the far wall of the library, bathed him in misty sunlight, making the boy look almost angelic.

“‘What are men to rocks and mountains?’” he spoke across several bookshelves, then immediately regretted it.

The boy looked up, confused.


Baz froze.

“It was… er… it was a quote. From the book,’’ he mumbled, then wasn’t sure if he’d actually said it or if he’d imagined himself saying it. It was a relief when the boy smiled minimally in response.

“What book?”

“That one,” the tall boy gestured to Pride and Prejudice. “The one you’re reading.”

The boy looked down at his book, and then looked back up, seeming disappointed. “Oh,” he said, then blushed. “Well, I’m not actually reading it.”

The gawkier of the two blinked, startled.

“Why were you staring at it for the past hour?”

The blonde angel boy blushed harder. “I can’t read.”

He tried to come up with a reasonable answer, but found himself on autopilot, which was a very difficult current to escape. “How?”

“Well… I’m dyslexic.”

“Yeah, but you’re not illiterate, right?”

“No,” he said, and Baz could hear a hint of anger in his voice. “I just can’t.”

“But dyslexic people can read,” he argued. “It’s just hard.”

The sitting boy rolled his eyes. “That being the understatement of the century.”

Baz sighed. “Sorry.”

He jutted his chin out, and a determined, eager flare ignited in his eyes. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“You guess?”

He shrugged. “I’m Simon.”


It was a name for a nerd, the sort of nerd that waited in the freezing rain for tickets to Star Wars: The Force Awakens, quoted Harry Potter simply because they felt like it, spent most of their time looking for graphic t-shirts online, and stayed up until midnight purely to play video games. It was a name for a nerdy, Star Wars-obsessing, Harry Potter-quoting, graphic t-shirt-buying, video game-playing angel.

“I’m Baz.”

Simon smiled crookedly, and Baz melted.

“What kind of a name is Baz?”

He raised an eyebrow. “What kind of a name is Simon?”

(He had already established what kind of a name he thought Simon was, and there was no way that he would tell Simon that.)

“One given by a mother who wanted a kid who wore suspenders and bow ties,” he giggled, setting the book aside and crossing his legs on top of the large armchair. He wore a Hufflepuff t-shirt and Converse sneakers, which Baz immediately prefered.

“Short for Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch,” Baz countered. “The Third.”

“There are three of you?”

“It’s a hell of a lot better than one Simon.”

The angel-nerd hesitated, and then smirked. “It gets better.”

“Oh, really?”

“Simon Snow.”

(A name for a superhero-angel-nerd, Baz later decided.)


“Yes, like the snow that falls from the sky in little patterns,” Simon Snow reassured him. “That snow.”

Baz stifled a (fake) laugh. (He thought that Simon Snow was the most beautiful name in all of existence and would never laugh at it, under normal circumstances.)

Right on time, the door from a shadowy corner of the library swung open and in marched Penelope Bunce, bearing an armful of novels and several empty coffee cups.

“We’re out for the night!” she announced loudly to the two boys, shoving her horn-rimmed, ruby glasses further up her nose. They watched in awe while she systematically shifted the novels and coffee cups from one arm and back again (occasionally using her knee for support) in order to swing her bursting messenger back over her shoulder, making it quite obvious that every move in this performance was well-rehearsed late every night.

“Ten more minutes,” Simon pleaded seriously, gesturing to Pride and Prejudice. “I need to read to page one-hundred-and-fifteen for tomorrow.”

“Just take it and I’ll put it in the computer tomorrow,” Penelope waved a hand carelessly, dangling her car keys from her index finger.

“But I can’t go home!”

“Why not?” she asked, and gave Baz a ‘this-is-all-your-fault’ look, which he responded to with a simple ‘I know’.

“I’m going to procrastinate and stay up until five in the morning if I go home!”

“Why?” Penny prompted him, already halfway out the door.

“It’s the magic of this place,” Simon grandly gestured to the library. “It makes you work hard.”

She laughed. “I’ll say.”

The two boys watched as she jauntily marched out of the grand library doors, miraculously still balancing the million books jumbled in her arms. Simon turned to him, eyes red-rimmed and worried.

“I have to finish this, or I’ll flunk English.”

Baz sighed, still trying to find a way out of his undeniable affections. He sighed, then gave up hopelessly.

“The library isn’t officially open until ten O’clock, but Penny and I are here around five-thirty,” the tall boy grumbled.

Simon’s face lit up like the night sky. “I’ll be here at five-fifteen,” he rejoiced and began gathering his things in a flurry of crumpled papers and overly-caffeinated drinks.

“Don’t!” Baz yelped. “I’m honestly not here until five-thirty!”

“And I’m honestly going to show up fifteen minutes early,” he promised, already halfway out the door.

The assistant librarian winced. “Am I going to regret helping you?”

(He already knew the answer.)

“YES,” Simon hollered from outside of the rotating glass doors, climbing into his rusty pickup truck.  “BUT YOU KNOW YOU LOVE ME!”

Baz’s face flushed as red as a tomato.

He watched his poem- a poem - drift out the door with his endless blue eyes and crimson cheeks, and felt something in his chest pirouette happily.