Where Dreams Come True (On Hold)

Chapter 9: What's a Man to Do?

9.4.15

You guys are truly amazing. Your comments and votes mean the world to me, so thank you SO much, really.

Sorry it took me so long to update. I first didn't have any inspiration and I got kind of stuck. Then Miss Stone told us about how she was creating the boys as Sims, which is something I had wanted to do, but I didn't own the game. But then I watched her videos and I caved. I'm such a copycat, I know :P So I've been distracted by making my own versions of the boys and Sang and running a Virtual Ghost Bird world of my own. Good news is, Virtual Sang has made romantic connections with Virtual Owen, Virtual Sean, Virtual Victor, Virtual North, and Virtual Luke...I'm working on the others ;)

Hopefully school doesn't interfere too much since I cut back on hours at work, but we'll see since I now have homework :-/

Last thing before the chapter, I didn't plan on dinner or time with Silas being as long as it turned out, but I guess that's what happens when I get un-stuck.

I hope it's not a bad thing ;)

~*~

Gabriel has me shower before he works his magic, and in his usual fashion, tells me not to wash my hair. I do as he says and wrap myself in a towel before rejoining him in the bedroom. He immediately thrusts clothes at me and tells me to get dressed.

I put on my bra, and go back into the bathroom to put on my underwear because I need to use the toilet and prepare the underwear for period protection. I leave the towel in there and walk back out. I pick up the skirt Meanie picked out. It's a blue and white tie-dyed zigzag maxi skirt. I slip into it and put on the white ruffled crop top he paired with it.

"How's it look, Meanie?" I ask, taking his attention away from my makeup bag.

His eyes light up as they take me in. "Fucking perfect, Trouble!" he enthuses making me giggle. "Alright, get your pretty ass over here," he instructs, and I do as he says joining him at the table in the room. He sits me down in the chair and studies my face critically for a moment. Once he decides on something he nods to himself. He turns to the makeup spread out on the table and picks out a couple things.

He first applies my foundation and powder. He tells me that he's going to do some contouring tonight, which surprises me. He usually leaves that for when I'm getting a little more dolled up. I don't mind though, I love the effect it has. He then moves on to my eyes and studiously applies eye shadow, liner, and mascara (using the best worst invention ever: an eyelash curler). A few swipes of lip gloss, and he's finished.

"Voilà!" He says with a flourish, his French accent perfect. He turns me to a mirror and I really like what he's done. He tight-lined my eyes in black so that it's not overpowering the white eye shadow and the bottom lids' blue liner. My lips look pouty with a medium shade of a neutral colored gloss—one of my favorites.

"It looks great, Meanie!" I enthuse.

"I know," he says arrogantly. "Really, it just enhances your natural beauty."

"Aw, thanks. You're so sweet."

"Uh huh. Just don't tell the others. I have a reputation to uphold," he whispers conspiratorially.

I raise a brow at him. "What reputation?"

"Oh, you know, my cool, serious, fashionable, take-no-shit stylist reputation." What a goofball.

"Mmhmm. Whatever you say, Meanie," I sing good-naturedly.

"Alright, missy, let's go join the others before they get too antsy."