#hardly edited

BAZ

He’s done it again. SnowSays. It’s a stupid name, really. His name is Simon. It’s all over his profile, and yet he picked Snow instead of Simon for his dimwitted username.

He’s done it again. Copied one of my posts.

I didn’t used to mind. I mean, he was an annoying user that I constantly saw stalking my profile. Liking my videos, commenting on occasion. Snow wasn’t a fan though, not really. I think he only liked my videos to come back to them— maybe to better hide what he was doing by keeping my videos out of his reposts.

Snow barely got views. And then he copied one of my videos, on one particular day, and suddenly he was a million times better than me. Called the Chosen One of TikTok in the tabloids. Like the algorithm “chose him”.

It bloody well didn’t choose Snow. I made the damned video first, but it was buried under whatever dumb thing I’d said earlier in the day that had gotten more views. Me prattling on about something that piqued my interest online. A useless rant. And suddenly Snow is better than me.

I didn’t have a ton of followers. More than average, sure. Boasted a few thousand loyal followers. I mostly posted about fashion, because there were too many idiots running around trying to push fast fashion these days. And more idiots than them falling for the damn thing and making fools of themselves.

Usually I just… shouted at the void of the internet. Yelled at the screen about the fifth fashion disaster I’d seen online that day, how the fabric was clearly worn despite minimal wear, how the seams would tear at the slightest pull. Snow stole my idea. Again. Part of me felt childish for being annoyed at this. But those were my views and my followers— and if someone was going to be famous, the least they could do was look good.

Snow’s fashion choices were horrendous. Should’ve been downright illegal half the time. Food stains on his t-shirts. Jeans a size too small. One time he filmed a video with his shirt inside out.

Content: Emboldened Prompt

Rare Bookseller and the Vampire Auction by @oliversrarebooks

@augusnippets day 28.

Mind Control / Body Control / Betrayal

He smiled up at her, his eyes focused on every detail of her face -- the playful curve of her lips, the way her hair fell into the soft sweetness of her dark eyes. 

She didn't notice his stare; she was too busy painting. Her elegant hands graced his skin with fingertips and fine, gentle brush strokes. She had started early in the morning with rich, violent shades of indigo, blue, and red, smiling and dabbing along his arms, torso, and legs. Come mid-morning she had moved on to citrus greens, yellows, and oranges for his collarbone and his throat, globs of white smoothed into soft, puffy streaks across her entire canvas.

"This," he said, exhaling the hours-long silence, "is the most intimately I've ever been touched." The realization stuck at the back of his throat, hooked back his words and stung at his eyes. Of all of the lovers he'd had in his life, not a single one had taken such attention, their fingers didn't linger the ways hers did. To them, he didn't exist much past a breathing creature, but to her -- she claimed there was a deeper meaning to his existence, although she'd never told him what that deeper meaning could be. 

She smiled and paused her work for a moment and looked down at him, that same familiar expression of adoration across her face that he had grown to love. He had no idea what she saw in him, but he was thankful that there was at least something.

"You're lovely," she said, cupping his cheek in the palm of her hand. He took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm, covered in cracked, dry paint. 

She giggled. 

A moment later she pulled away from him and retrieved the full-length mirror from the wall, turning it to face him.

His breath caught in his chest in a sharp inhale. He admired the result of her long hours of tireless work: layers upon layers of dynamic color crafted in such a way that he seemed to change shape and shade and color and feel with every movement, with every shift in the way the light hit him. 

"Now, what do you think?" she asked.

He smiled despite the outpour of tears. 

"You've made me beautiful," he said. He chuckled gently. "Covered up all of the rotten parts."

Her mouth dropped open and she set the mirror down, crossing the shallow space between them.

"No," she said, "no that isn't it at all." She placed a hand on either side of his face and looked him straight in the eyes. "You were already beautiful," she said. "But you refuse to see it. Look at these colors, they're impossible to ignore." Her fingers traced the drying paint on his bare skin, flaking off in some places onto the carpet.