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ithebookhoarder · 9 months ago

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Hiiiiiii, Could i request an Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader fic where Anthony married reader who is from a lower class (basically like Theo) and they end up having a fight because reader did something that would be considered out of class or simply wrong while she’s trying to learn to be a viscountess. Sorry if it didn’t make any sense English isn’t my first language 😭😭😭

All's Fair in Love and Cricket (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Synopsis: After getting into a fight with your new husband you decide to settle your differences in a 'sporting' fashion, whilst reminding Anthony once and for all just who he married.

A/N: Ohhhhh boy did I enjoy this one. I'm sorry if it feels a little rushed or clunky in places, I may make some more edits at some point. I struggled with the flow of writing so much action but I loved it too much not to post it. So yeah, anxiety be damned else this would join the rest of the unposted drafts I have stashed away. I hope you enjoy it. 💕

Warnings: Anthony being a stupid idiot, class references (discrimination), reference to illness

Masterlist

It was late summer and as the sun beat down on the green lawns of St James’ Palace the lords and ladies below began to wilt. Many a woman held her parasol above her head in a desperate attempt to remain cool, which was hard when you wore petticoats and had nothing to do but sit and watch the men play cricket for hours on end.

Even Her Majesty looked like she was struggling to make it through the afternoon's entertainment, her attendants desperately fanning her where she sat under her canopy. They looked close to melting in their ornate gowns, however they were clearly willing to endure if it allowed them to continue admiring the game - and more importantly, those playing it. It was like waving a bone in a dog’s face as they watched all the eligible young men of the court sprinting about the green, their physique and athletic talents on clear display.

No wonder the Queen had her opera glasses with her, despite her proximity to the field.

You almost felt bad for them, watching as the men were subjected to the same treatment as the young ladies were night after night at social functions… hence the 'almost'. After all, there was a sense of satisfaction watching them preen and dance about like show ponies on display. That, and the view wasn’t exactly a terrible one when your husband was one of those playing.

You’d have endured sitting on that blasted green a thousand times over, baking in the afternoon sun and surrounded by swooning women, just to watch Anthony Bridgerton as he captained his team.

Being one of Anthony’s oldest and dearest friends, his competitive nature was well known to you (for which you had one too many games of Pall Mall at Aubrey Hall to thank), but it seemed to be out in full force today. You’d simply lost track of how many times he had dashed back and forth, working up somewhat of a sweat as he barked orders at his teammates in a desperate bid to ensure victory. It was no surprise to you that he had subsequently been forced to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves, exposing his rather sculpted arms to those watching.

As you said, there were worse ways to spend an afternoon - and normally, you’d have been smugly lapping it up, however, today you were unable to truly enjoy yourself. Not when all you wanted to do was march over to him, take that cricket bat and give him a good whack or two. Maybe that would knock some sense back into idiot…

That was the issue with being in love with your dearest friend: those who knew you best also knew the best ways to hurt you, and Anthony’s behaviour at dinner the following evening had proven just how true a statement that was.

It had all started after the entire family had been summoned to the townhouse for a dinner, to toast you and what had so far been a successful first Season as Viscountess Bridgerton. At first, everything had appeared normal, with the usual laughter, merriment, and ease that one would typically experience at a Bridgerton gathering. It was what had first endeared the family to you, back when you had been but a small child, living at Aubrey Hall as the only daughter of their Stable Master.

They had never been anything other than kind to you, inviting you to play with their children, and join them in their daily lessons. They had also bought you gifts on your birthdays, invited you to join them at events, and even paid for the finest doctors when your father had fallen unwell several years ago. It was as if, to the Bridgertons, your family was their family - an attitude that they extended to the all members of the staff that kept their ancestral seat running. It didn’t matter if you were Head House Keeper, or the greenest of scullery maids. Everyone was counted and cherished, and the Bridgertons had earned utmost loyalty in return.

The rigid rules and divisions of high society didn’t appear to exist within the wisteria covered walls, and it had been that way well into your young adult life. In fact, it had been you that had initially rejected Anthony when he first declared his love for you one day, after taking you along with him on one of your many afternoon rides.

You’d been the one to remind him who he was and that society expected him to marry someone they deemed worthy of him and his title - and that wasn’t you. You didn’t have a penny to your name beyond the small sum you’d saved from helping with the younger Bridgerton children as a governess. You didn’t have a title or an estate or anything to bring to a marriage.

“Except the most important thing!” Anthony had pleaded. “Love… I love you, and there is no one else for me in this life except you. Life is short, terrifyingly short. Look at my mother and father… to be without the person you love most in the world is an agony and I cannot bear it. Please. I can’t lose you. I will not spend my life without you, knowing love is within both of our reach but that we were too afraid to grasp it? If I cannot spend my life, no matter how long it may be, with you then I will have no-one. No-one. My brothers can have the title. I don’t want it. I only want you.”

He’d continued to insist that for the following 6 months, even after his family had moved to their London house for the Season. It didn’t matter how many beautiful, eligible, wealthy heiresses he was introduced to. He would entertain none of them. He would have none of them. Only you.

It’s what he’d continued to insist until you’d eventually accepted, realising that he was right; Love was the most important thing and you both deserved to have it in your lives, come what may.

So, you’d said yes.

You’d become engaged and gradually made your way out into society as the new Viscountess Bridgerton, armed with the support and guidance of the Bridgertons.

Which brought you to last night and the dinner that had been organised to mark the end of the most challenging, but rewarding, Season of your life - and the dinner had started so wonderfully. Yet, somehow it had all gone to hell in a hand basket in the mere blink of an eye thanks the well meaning, but ill timed, teasing of Colin and Benedict.

Your brothers-in-law had both decided to raise a toast to your first Season as an ‘official’ member of the family and they'd got off to a rather complimentary start, if you were being honest. However, they had somehow moved from their praise on to reminiscing about the many years and many adventures you had had since joining their family.

Whereas every anecdote had caused the rest of the family to spiral into more laughter, your husband had looked more and more infuriated. In fact, Anthony had warned them not too kindly to ‘sit down’ and ‘shut up’ about your childish behaviours, which of course had only encouraged them further.

“Oh, hush, brother,” Benedict had quipped, raising a glass to your successful debut. “She knows we mean it all in good fun. After all, she once had a phase where she refused to wear shoes and would walk barefoot around the estate, traipsing mud everywhere! I think we’re allowed to be surprised by how far our dear darling Y/N has come.”

“It’s true - It’s a miracle,” Colin added, wiping the tears of laughter from his cheeks. “The transformation is remarkable. Who knew she would go from feral ragamuffin to lofty Lady Bridgerton.”

Anthony’s only response had been to tighten his grip on his glass to the point it looked like it would shatter.

Whether it was the residual stress of your busy social calendar, or something else entirely you had no idea. All you did know was that Anthony was angry, and even your gentle touch would not soothe him.

In a desperate attempt to calm him, you’d pulled Anthony out onto the terrace shortly after dessert had been cleared and asked what was happening. Much to your surprise, he had turned on you, venting about how childish his brothers were and how embarrassing it was that they were discussing things unbefitting someone who was a Viscountess.

“They’re just joking, my love. They were doing it to get a rise out of you.”

“Well, it wasn’t funny,” he’d growled, causing you to bristle. “They’re so immature. They need to grow up and realise we’re not children any more. That… that you’re my wife and joint head of this family.”

“So? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Anthony,” you snapped, the warning clear in your tone. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing, I just - it - they’re… it’s embarrassing.”

“So, you’re embarrassed? By what? Your family? Or me? Because everything they said tonight is true. I did do those things, as did you. I may not have been born a noble lady but you knew that when you asked me to marry you. So don’t suddenly act like you're ashamed, that you are somehow better than your family - than me.”

Somehow the argument had only spiralled from there, with both of you saying things you didn’t mean, and with both of you storming off and slamming the doors behind you.

Even now, sat on the edge of the cricket pitch, the thought made your blood boil. How dare he? How dare he act ashamed of you and the wondrous memories of your youth together? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t grown and matured since then. You had done everything within your power to be worthy of him and his family, and yet all it took was one mention of the girl you had once been to make him upset?

As if sensing your silent fury, Eloise had been glued to your side since the moment you'd left the house. Her company had been a blessing, with her numerous whispered remarks and jokes, making the day almost bearable. One remark in particular from Eloise had caused you to burst out laughing in a most undignified fashion after watching Anthony trip over one of the opposite team - the Duke of Hastings of all people.

You still weren’t quite sure how they had been positioned on opposite teams, but you were sure there was some kind of wicked divine intervention responsible. Who else would think it a good idea to put two competitive men against one another? Your hosts, perhaps? After all, Lady Danbury and Her Majesty had organised the game and you had learned long ago not to underestimate the women - especially when they decided to conspire together.

“How long is this delightful game again?” Eloise’s polite remark oozed with sarcasm as she leant back against the tree behind her.

It was obvious she was bored senseless. In fact, you half suspected she would have already left had her mother not been sat on the opposite side of the green, watching her like a hawk.

“I’m not sure,” you groaned in reply. “I lost count of who was winning about an hour ago.”

“So, we’re to be trapped here for eternity?”

“Pretty much, considering this part will not end until either Simon or Anthony lose, and we both know that neither one of them will concede defeat easily.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “And I thought they were bad at Pall Mall-”

“-LOOK OUT!”

The cry interrupted both of you as you turned in surprise. Given the so-far sedimentary tone of the day, neither of you had expected such excitement as numerous Lords and Ladies began to hurl themselves out of the way as a stray cricket ball rocketed through the air, towards the crowd.

“Good god!”

The exclamation seemed apt as both you and Eloise ducked, watching as the ball sailed past, causing several yelps and groans from the people around you. You were pretty sure you also spied a glass of lemonade flying through the air in all the chaos. However, your attention was drawn to the figure charging towards you to retrieve the offending item as it rolled to a stop.

Anthony.

“Pardon me, Y/N,” he murmured, reaching down to collect the ball that now lay a small distance from your feet. You nodded in greeting, aware of the many eyes watching but you elected not to say anything, not trusting yourself not to make some snide remark.

As it was, you both had barely said more than a handful of words to each other since your argument last night.

Clearly sensing the lingering tension between you, Anthony quickly turned to address his sister instead. “Eloise.”

“Ah, brother," Eloise cheered. "Splendid play so far. Tell me, when did the object of the game become the decapitation of the ton? I would have attended far more cricket matches had I known that was the aim of the game.”

“You can blame Simon for that one,” he replied, his taunt hidden beneath his neutral smile. “Still, good dodging back there. I thought he might have nearly caught you both.”

“Almost.”

“But alas he missed, like most of your players today,” you quipped, enjoying the way Anthony seemed to redden at the reminder of his team’s less than stellar performance. “Still, good effort. You’ve almost caught up with Her Majesty’s team. I believe that’s better than last year.”

“Well, that might have had something to do with the fact that she does have Simon,” Anthony grumbled.

It was true, no one could out-run Simon - even if Anthony always gave it a damn good try: hence why the Queen often had him captain her team when he was in London for the season. Besides, the head of the other team was usually Lord Duval, due to his position as the Queen’s chief administrator. However, it seemed his brains and financial strength were all he had, due to the fact his social skills, and athleticism were sorely lacking.

“Touché, and who is up next?” Eloise asked.

“I don't actually know. The other team seem to be taking remarkably long to sort themselves out.”

Just then, almost as if on cue, three men began to hurry towards them.

A quick glance revealed that one of the gentlemen who was approaching was Colin Bridgeton, and the other the Duke of Hastings; that much you knew. The third was rather unfamiliar to you, however, you were pretty certain he’d been playing on Simon’s team. Regardless of his identity, neither he nor any of the other gentlemen now stood in front of you looked very pleased. Rather, they looked as if they had all sucked on a lemon, their frowns were so deep.

“Sorry to interrupt ladies, but I must reclaim Lord Bridgerton here for a moment. It appears Anthony will be needed to bowl again,” Simon sighed by way of explanation.

“What on earth for?”

Colin was the first to answer. “Lord Dingby is unable to bowl on account of the heat, and the Baron will not play.” His skepticism was clear as he shot the so called Baron a disapproving look. “He ’twisted his ankle’ or so he claims, thus we are down a bowler and the other team is down a player.”

You all rolled your eyes.

“So then, who will bat?” questioned Eloise curiously. “If Anthony is bowling you still require one more man to take their place on the other team?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour. However, no one appeared to have an answer, and by the disapproving glare steadily growing on the Queen’s face, they didn’t have long to come up with one.

“Maybe Lord Stevens?” suggested the third man hastily, staring around at the crowd.

“No. He injured himself riding the other week,” Simon replied. “And unfortunately our hosts only saw fit to invite enough male guests as were playing. We aren’t exactly spoilt for choice regarding possible options.”

It was true. There didn’t seem to be any visible answer in sight given that those most suited to the game were already positioned on the field.

“What about female guests though?”

Your question hung in the air for a moment, causing everyone around you to turn in surprise.

“Excuse me?” Anthony looked at you suspiciously as you began to rise from your seat. He was well versed enough to know when mischief was afoot. A fact that was proven right a moment later as you held your hand out towards a shocked - and excited - Colin.

He was only too happy to oblige your silent request as he placed the bat in your grip. It was rapidly becoming the most exciting event of the season and lord knows he wasn’t about to spoil the fun - especially if he got to rub salt into Anthony’s wounds at the same time.

After all, given his display the previous evening, it was time you truly gave him something to feel embarrassed about. Losing.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Perfectly,” you smiled. “You’ve seen me when we’ve played Pall Mall. I have a decent enough swing. Besides, you said yourselves you need an extra player and there isn’t exactly anyone suited left - not anyone male, anyway.”

“Anthony?”

To his credit, your husband was also smiling, even if you could see the sudden tension forming behind his perfect smile. “I see no problem with it. I’m sure our hosts would prefer the game finished rather than called off because we ran out of players.”

“Agreed. Well, it’s settled then.” Simon cheered, clapping a hand on Anthony’s shoulder as they looked back towards the field. “It seems she will be taking his go.”

Then they noticed the rain cloud of a man next to them.

"She can’t play!” protested the third man. Everyone looked at him in silent disbelief. “This is a gentleman’s game. A Lady can not play."

“Her Majesty seems to have no objections,” Eloise commented smugly, glancing across the field. Indeed, it was true Her Majesty seemed to have no objections to the turn of events, choosing instead to exchange a wad of pound notes with the man beside her. If anything she looked exhilarated by the prospect. "Besides, I doubt a feeble female such as ourselves will pose any threat to your team, your Lordship.”

“Well… I… Bridgerton, I still don’t think-”

Thankfully, Anthony was all too busy gazing at you to take any notice of the pompous oaf’s objections.

It was a look you were more than familiar with, the unspoken desire and encouragement obvious in the way his gaze softened. It was the same look he always gave you when you’d done something amazing (and most things were amazing in his eyes). It didn't matter if it was taming a particularly unruly horse, solving a maths problem that left the rest of them scratching their heads, or daring to step onto the dance floor at your first ball, knowing not another soul in that room other than him.

It was a look that made you feel invincible. That you could do anything and everything you put your mind to as long as you had Anthony cheering you on from the sidelines... you were a team. Always.

"Anthony?" you asked, the challenge obvious - but also your sincerity. If he truly did not want you to play then you'd have marched back to your chair and sat right back down.

You'd meant it before. You loved your husband and wanted nothing more than to be the best partner you could be. Your hurt from last night had stemmed from the fear that, for a moment, that wasn't enough for him anymore.

Fortunately, it appeared you were wrong. Your husband wasn't embarrassed by you. If anything, he looked ready to kiss the ground you walked on as he leaned over and whispered in your ear, "If you can get four runs, I will personally pay you 5 pounds."

"You have a deal," you laughed. "As it is, women and ladies alike play cricket up and down the country. It’s high time we had a chance to show you boys up."

The other man began to protest again. "My Lady, my La-"

He never got very far. You simply stopped, turning and handing him your parasol and shawl.

"Thank you," you cheered marching away.

He paused, taken aback. It didn’t help that Eloise was only too eager to firmly pull him back into your now vacant seat with a glare that could have melted ice.

All around applause broke out as the players resumed their positions on the field. It took a moment or two for them to prepare for play but now everyone seemed to be watching intently.

Oh well, if you were to dare to play at all then you may as well dare to achieve something from it, you mused, gripping the bat handle and aligning yourself with the wicket. Victory seemed a rather good start, especially given the fact you had no idea what Lady Whistledown would make of this turn of affairs. You’d already had a shocking enough entrance into the world of the Ton, what was one more daring display?

"Go easy, Lord Bridgerton," the referee cautioned from the side of the green.

Anthony nodded obediently at the crowd’s titters. You could see the restraint he was demonstrating, choosing not to hurl the ball at you the way he would had you both been in the privacy of your home. Instead, it took all his will power to grip the cricket ball and resume his position on the field.

Unfortunately, you never knew when best to desist from poking proverbial bears. That, and Anthony was too easy a target.

"Yes, do go easy on me," you jibed. Everyone who knew you could hear the sarcasm buried in your voice as you took the bat and fluttered your eyelashes at him. "I’m only a delicate woman, but I must endeavour to ensure her Majesty’s team at least has an opportunity to best you, Lord Bridgerton. You’re only losing by what? A few wickets?"

Oh. You were in for it now.

Anthony’s grin was devious as he stepped back a few paces, weighing the ball in his hand till finally he charged at you, swinging his arm over in the perfect bowl.

It was then you brought up your bat to send the ball back in a high arc.

There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone followed the ball with their eyes. It was as if they couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to hit it. However, the shock quickly wore off as everyone remembered the point of hitting the ball in the first place.

"GO!" came a yell from the crowd as excitement began to spread.

So, you did.

Hitching your skirts in one hand, you began to sprint towards the other set of wickets, grinning as your partner passed you along the way.

Of course, you would have liked to protest that you could have indeed run faster had you not been encumbered by your stays and petticoats. Your slippers were also rather terrible for any movement. What you wouldn’t have given for a pair of trousers right then.

"Come on!" came another yell - it seemed as if everyone was forgetting their dignity in all the excitement as you tore back and forth across the grass in a mad blur.

Had it been anyone but you, it would have been a terribly scandalous moment. Yet, your name - and the status of your betrothed - meant this was all merely seen as sport. Besides, from the way Her Majesty was whooping from her perch by the trees, it was clear where her loyalties lay.

"Come on Y/N!"

"Anthony! Run!"

"Over here!"

"Come on!"

The cries blurred into one as you finally turned at what you planned on being your final run, only to spot Anthony as he came sprinting back towards you… and the wicket.

"Oh no, you don’t," you laughed, charging onwards in a final burst of energy.

You could hardly catch your breath as the world slowed around you.

All that remained was you, Anthony, and the closing distance between you.

You could see his desperation laced with delight as he watched you stagger towards the wicket… just as the ball he’d thrown hit it.

"IN!"

The referee’s declaration initiated an eruption of noise as all around the green, men and women celebrated the spectacle they’d just witnessed, and the victory you had now ensured. Within seconds you were swarmed, mobbed by well wishers and triumphant team mates. There were so many hugs and snatched ‘well done’s that you were quite at a loss what to do other than stand there and accept it. Thankfully, Anthony seemed to have read your mind and was at your side as soon as he was able to fight through the jubilant throng.

The moment he reach you he took your hand in his. His expression was a mixture of awe and contrition, clearly unsure what to say to you.

"Good game," he praised. "Simon better watch out - I think Her Majesty will be asking you to captain her team next year."

"What a tremendous idea, Lord Bridgerton. I may just do that."

As if summoned by the very mention of her, a voice rang out clearly from behind you. Without even turning you knew exactly who was standing behind you, as the throng suddenly fell silent around you and parted like the Red Sea. In all the excitement you had failed to notice the Royal party making their way across the field to join in the celebrations.

With a gulp, you turned and dropped into the most respectful curtsey you could manage without falling flat on your face. "Y - your Majesty."

The Queen chuckled. "I must thank you, Lady Bridgerton, for providing such excitement to our proceedings today. I also must thank you for the twenty pounds I just procured off of Brimbsley - that’ll teach him to bet against me."

You merely dipped your head in gratitude, unsure whether this was actually happening or not. After all, the closest the you’d ever been to monarch was your hasty presentation several months ago and that had barely earned you more than a curious glance, like you had been some exotic animal on parade at the Zoo. And now, the Queen was addressing you? A lowly Stable Master’s daughter?

It was enough to make you feel as if this was all some kind of surreal dream.

"Anyone who bets against your Majesty deserves to be relieved of their coin."

"True, True," she preened, gesturing for you and everyone else to rise. "I gather you have played this game before?"

"Growing up around the Bridgertons ensured I had little alternative," you confirmed, relieved when the Queen proceeded to chuckle good-naturedly.

"I dare say you didn’t, my dear. Well, it certainly makes for a rather entertaining afternoon, as well as a victorious one. Perhaps we aught to have women playing more often." She turned her head and chose to direct her next words directly to your husband. "You’ve chosen quite the bride, Lord Bridgerton - you are to be congratulated on choosing such a spirited partner. I hope you realise how lucky you are."

"Indeed, your Majesty," Anthony replied, the earnestness clear in his eyes. "I’ve realised just how truly unique and remarkable she is… and how lucky I am that she chose to be on my team, even if not on the cricket pitch."

Another round of laughter echoed out at his declaration but you knew it was more than just a jest. In fact, by the all-too-clear pride radiating off of the eldest Bridgerton you knew what he truly meant with his honeyed praise.

It was all the apology you could need and had you not been in such company you’d have dragged him into the bushes and shown him just how much you forgave him. Besides, your victory on the Cricket pitch was enough pay-back for both of you.

As if sensing the amorous tension steadily rising around her, the Queen chose that moment to make a well-timed departure, in search of a refreshment. She barely gave you all a final nod before marching off to greet the rest of her guests, leaving you stood there with a rather gobsmacked expression on your face.

"Well… that really happened," you murmured, struggling to maintain your newfound confidence now that the whole saga had come to an end. "Did I actually just do that? Did the Queen actually just … talk to me?"

"She really did," Anthony confirmed, hands grazing yours nervously, as if unsure whether or not you’d accept his touch. However, your hands accepted his readily, fingers intertwining as you squeezed his palm in an obvious attempt to ground yourself. "You truly were incredible today - I know you don’t need to hear it but, for what it’s worth, I am proud of you."

"Thank you."

"And I truly am sorry for being such a world class fool, last night," he continued swiftly, clearly keen to make his apology whilst you were willing to receive it. "I didn’t mean to make you feel as if I was embarrassed by you. I never could be. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I was vexed with my brothers and because of several other trivial matters, but I allowed my temper to get the better of me and I handled it poorly. I lashed out at the wrong person - the one person who deserves nothing less than to be told how incredible she is, every single day. I am unworthy of you, Y/N. I know no one else in the entire world so awe inspiring and to let you think otherwise for even a moment was my failing entirely. You are brave and smart and funny and kind and beautiful-"

"Ok, Anthony. I get it."

"-and I am unworthy of someone with such skill on the cricket pitch-"

"Anthony," you squealed, trying to hide your laughter as he pulled you into his arms and smothered your face in kisses. "It’s fine. I forgive you. After all, I also lost my temper and said some things I didn’t mean. Can we just agree we’re both sorry and put this mess behind us?"

"Yes! God yes," he sighed, looking like a weight had visibly lifted from his shoulder. "Because I really do not like fighting with you. Instead, I think we should be enjoying your victory parade. Today is your triumph, after all - the Queen’s champion."

"Hmmm, I rather like that title," you purred, gazing up at him. "But between us? I prefer being your wife, much much more."

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #Bridgerton

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dreamgrlarchive · 2 years ago

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Diamond File Facial: finely ground diamonds resurface skin by filing to improve dark spots

Glass Skin Botox: multiple tiny botox injections just below the surface of the skin. alleviate fine lines, redness, texture, and more achieving glass skin

AquaGold Facial: microinjections that combine vampire facial methods, hyaluronic acid, botox, stem cells, antioxidants, vitamins, peptides, etc. improves fine lines, wrinkles, pores, pigmentation, acne scarring, dryness, tone, texture, skin elasticity, and more

cite

Hair:

Hair Care ❤︎︎

Wash Routines:

curly textured: wash and condition every 2-3 weeks, deep condition every 1-2 weeks

straight: wash and condition every 2-3 days, deep condition every 2-3 weeks

Styling ︎❤︎︎

Hair should have a style everyday! At home hairstyling is limitless and really depends on your taste and lifestyle. The everyday woman does her own her once every 1-4 weeks using natural hair products, heat, or other tools.

Professional Stylists:

hair is styled every 1-3 months: uses heat to straighten or curl, extensions to lengthen and add volume, shears to maintain/attain a shape and length

trim ends: every 6-8 weeks

hair color: touched up roughly every 6-8 weeks (depending on how fast your hair is growing and how fast your color will fade)

Silk Press:

after a clarifying wash and deep conditioning, natural hair is straightened using flat iron and/or pressing comb, then usually curled in feathers or pin curls to preserve the style

lasts 3-4 weeks depending on maintenance

preserved by wrapping hair at night, keep hands out of hair, and using a wide toothed comb only

can be further styled with different kind of rollers, or with pin curls

Braids:

afrocentric hairstyles typically done to protect hair while maintaining beauty

lasts 3-8 weeks

styles include knotless braids, faux locs, stitch braids, french braids, etc

Extensions:

hair added to natural hair to enhance length or volume

can be done at home with patience and proper materials

sew-in extensions: (my personal fav) 1-2 months

your natural hair gets braided down flush to your scalp and the bundles are sewn on by the wefts in a flat pattern typically with a section of hair left out to cover the wefts $100-600

microlinks: up to 4 months

i-tip extension is added to hair using micropliers, clippers and loop tool. takes far longer than most extension methods but looks the absolute most natural $500-1000

tape-in extensions: up to a year, touch ups every 4-6 weeks

medical grade tape is used to attach extensions to small sections of hair $200-400

clip-in extensions: 3-6 months

extensions are clipped on by the wefts. the hair itself can last up to six months, but it’s not recommended to sleep, shower, or swim with the extensions in $50-100

Natural Styles:

all last roughly 1-2 weeks at most. allowing hair to completely DRY is crucial for these styles. your natural hair can be further changed in styles like buns, puffs, etc once dry

natural hair essentials: scalp oil, leave in conditioner, detangling brush, wide tooth comb, curling cream, styling gel, edge control and edge brush

wash n’ go

wash and detangle, then use leave in conditioner to keep hair moist. oil on the scalp and ends is recommended for growth and healthy ends

bantu knots

a traditionally african style where the hair is cleanly sectioned (usually parted in a cute pattern) and twisted into knots. style can be worn just like this or taken down for curls

braid/twist out

a specific pattern of curls is achieved after hair is twisted or braided with curl preserving products. end result depends on how big your twists or braids are

roller set

hair is sprayed with water and curl cream applied before roller of your choice is added. hair is left to dry usually overnight for springy well formed curls

Brows and Lashes:

Brow Shaping ❤︎︎

in salon or at home

Waxing - every 3 weeks

Threading- every 2-3 weeks

Razor Shaping - weekly

Brow Enhancement ❤︎︎

Tinting - monthly

can be done at home or by pro in the salon

Microblading - every 1-3 years + annual touch ups, exclusively professional work

cosmetic tattooing using a manual tool with nearly invisible hair-like needles to inject pigment in brows to create your desired brow look

Lash Enhancements ❤︎︎

*done exclusively by professionals

Lifts - every 6 weeks

basically a perm for your lashes to curl them semi-permanently for lashes to appear longer

Lash Extensions - new set every 6-8 weeks, fill ins every 2-3 weeks depending on quality and style

false individual strands of lashes glued to natural lashes to create semi-permanent length and/or volume

lash baths: wet lashes and apply a small amount of gentle cleanser or a “lash bath” to lashes. cleanse lashes and eyelids for about 10 seconds. hold a towel under your eye and use a nozzle bottle to flush soap and bacteria from lashes then dry with a disposable lint free towel. finish by brushing your lashes with a spoolie. daily.

Lash Styles:

Classic: one lash on each fan, thin lashes

Volume: fluffier lashes with more lashes on each fan

Hybrid: uses classic and volume lashes to make an alternated look

Russian: volume lashes made with very thin individuals, 5-6 extensions per natural lash, fanned out look

DIY Lash Extensions - lasts about a week (sometimes longer)

lash fragments or individual wisps are glued either under the lashes or on the lash line. KISS Falscara is a product that makes this concept simple and easy

Nails:

all these services can be done at home with the proper materials and KNOWLEDGE

Classic Manicure ❤︎︎

every 1-2 weeks

nail service that consists of soaking hands in warm soapy water then drying them. nails are trimmed, filed, and buffed. cuticles are pushed back before applying nail polish (base coat, color, top coat), then finally cuticle oil is applied.

nails can be enhanced with rhinestones, glitter, or charms and attached with uv gel or nail glue

my fav styles are pink, cream, white, black and any french tip using those colors

Pedicure ❤︎︎

every 2-4 weeks

sister to the classic manicure, but can be upgraded depending on materials. steps are similar to manicure, except feet are scrubbed and exfoliated before feet are washed and dried to apply nail color

regular polish, acrylic, or gel can be used on toenails

Gel or Shellac Mani ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

same process as the classic manicure, but traditional nail polish is replaced with uv base coat, gel or CND Shellac polish, then uv top coat that’s cured in a UV or LED lamp

longer lasting and more strong/3d than classic mani and is typically removed by soaking in acetone

Apres Gel-X Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks

my personal fav at home nails using the artme yoko matsuda nails. after doing a classic mani sans polish, you apply a dehydrator and primer to prep nail for gel. then you apply builder gel to your natural nail and cure. then you apply that same builder to the nail extension after etching it using an electric drill or acetone. marry the gel to your nail and cure. then just shape to your liking and top with uv top coat. tutorial here

Acrylic Nails ❤︎︎

every 2-3 weeks, nails are fully grown out after 6 weeks

manicure done with liquid monomer and acrylic powder to build and extend natural nail, then polished with color or just a top coat if desired

Russian Mani ❤︎︎

every 4-5 weeks

essentially a gel manicure, but more invasive. the eponychium is snipped away so polish can be applied more closely and flush to the cuticle. this aids in visuals and longevity

service is seen as risky because the skin is more susceptible to fungal or bacterial infection. this is actually how i do my nails at home.

Body:

Bathing ❤︎︎

2x daily

self explanatory, we all know how to bathe. i have other posts that talk about my shower and bath routines.

use a gentle cleanser then a scented body wash to complement perfume and smell fresh all day.

if needed, you can use body soaps with actives like aha, bha or retinol to exfoliate or treat skin at night

exfoliation - 2-3x/week. using scrubs, loofahs, bath brushes, etc.

Hair Removal ❤︎︎

shaving - 2-3x/week

waxing - every 3-5 weeks

sugaring - monthly

ipl device - a device that uses light therapy to slowly destroy hair follicles and unwanted pigment in skin. i use mine after every 5-6 shaves but i could really use it more often.

Vajacial ❤︎︎

1-2x/month

a “facial” for your lady area

the esthetician will first wax, then cleanse and apply an enzyme exfoliant. then they extract any blackheads or ingrown hairs from the area before applying a soothing mask usually in the jelly form.

Moisture and Hydration ❤︎︎

body cream or lotion - daily right after bathing to hydrate skin

body oil - daily to seal in moisture and protect skin from debris and dryness

masks - weekly to address particular skin concerns

ex. when i was having eczema flare ups on my back, i used a dead sea mud mask every 1-2 weeks to help treat it

done at home or at spa

glycolic, clay, mud, salicylic, etc.

Enhancement Procedures:

the goal is to look younger and balance facial features. all these services are exclusively done by professionals usually in a medspa and are widely considered luxury.

Botox ❤︎︎

every 6-8 months; between brows, smile lines, outer corners of eyes, etc

discourages muscle movement to reduce wrinkles

Lifts ❤︎︎

lasts about 10 years; face, neck, brow, eyelids

skin is lifted to desired look, then excess skin is removed

Fillers ︎❤︎︎

every 6-12 months; under-eye, lips, jawline, wrinkle sites, cheekbones

injects acids (usually naturally occurring) like Hyaluronic Acid and Calcium Hydroxylapatite to add volume to your face

Body Contouring ❤︎︎

every 2-4 months until desired results are achieved

non invasive liposuction to achieve desired physique

CoolSculpting - cryolipolysis freezes fat cells for the body to the metabolize and and remove them

SculpSure - essentially the same as CoolSculpting, but uses heat and laser technology to destroy fat cells

Laser Hair Removal ❤︎︎

every 5-6 weeks; bikini, underarms, legs, arms

touch ups done every 1-2 years

hair growth is inhibited by exposing follicles to light at frequencies that kill them

Building the Regimen 🗒️💕:

when making appointments with your “glam squad” you can stagger your services by week depending on what’s being done. for example you can get your mani and pedi done one week. then your facials, brows and lashes another week.

Things to Keep in Mind 💭💞:

these frequencies won’t be the same for everyone depending on personal wants, budgets, etc. but will most likely land somewhere in the ranges i gave. if you need touch ups or redos any sooner than i mapped out, then the service most likely was of poor quality.

anything done at home may or may not be up to the level of detail and longevity as salon or spa work. if you see yourself doing the majority of your beauty maintenance at home, this can save money but may end up taking more time than professional services. so it’s a give and take.

More Resources:

manage your routines, services and products using a beauty binder

a look at my skincare routine

at home beauty treatments for the summer

my hair care routine at home

pretty on purpose by @shefromhouston

monthly beauty routine by @angeljpg

dream girl routines by me

#the prissy girl agenda #dream girl journey #prissy lifestyle tips 💕🎀#dream girl routines #masterpost #my posts #skincare

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soli-nepenthe · 3 months ago

Text

Searing Touch (rewrite/divergent)

characters: Sylus/fem!MC (though can also be read as GN. 2nd per. POV)

genre: angst/comfort/slightest hints of fluff/vague ptsd?

warnings: angst, mild use of profanity, injury, slight religious reference./ minor allusion to No Way Out story.

word count: ~ 2600!

author's note: This is just my self-indulgent take on how the story could have gone as I felt MC and the banter in the original was disjointed and disappointing. After Sylus's sacrifice, he deserved better treatment than what he got. Hopefully, I amended some of those faults with this attempt. I hope you all enjoy reading!

Somewhere in the Northern District, Linkon City.

Sylus’s Apartment.

It was 3:00 AM by the time you decided to give up on sleep.

What should have been an infernally tedious Monday night had haphazardly turned sideways.

In theory, it had been a simple surveillance and retrieval mission – nothing outside of your hunter’s repertoire. According to your team’s intel, it was a clean smuggling setup with two main parties….

Hours later, you sat in the dimly lit living room of one of Sylus’s secure hideouts, still fretting over the small details of how you mishandled the evening. Sleep evaded you now, as it sometimes did, whenever you felt overwhelmed. If the mission wasn’t an outright failure–it was due to his interference. And the reason you could still mull over it—well, that was also because of him.

Closing your eyes, you recalled the terrible impressions shard by broken shard – the oppressiveness of the white smoke from the stunning device as it blotted out your surroundings to the staccato of gunfire from different directions, and then the weight of his body rolling over yours as he shielded you from further harm.

You knew the reasons why he waved off your concern of going to the hospital, but still, you worried for him. Without question, he had gambled his life for yours. And you felt miserable and thankful all at the same time. Of course, the life of a hunter straddled the border of life and death on any given day, but this was the first time a routine mission without Wanderers would have cost you greatly.

You recognized that your thoughts were starting to take a dangerous turn….

There was no comfort in a “what if”.

Rising from the couch, you went to look for where he might be.

All three bedrooms turned out to be finely furnished but devoid of his presence.

The sound of running water behind a closed door soon drew your attention. Getting no response from knocking, you ventured to turn the knob anyway.

He had his back to you when you entered, the steam curling away to reveal bloodied rags and gauze littered about him as he blindly struggled to clean his wounds.

Another anvil settled heavily on your heart at the desperate sight.

You blinked back the stinging sensation building behind your eyes and clawing up your throat, trying to find that sangfroid you had always prided yourself on. Turning to find a light switch on the wall, you pressed it, where it automatically raised the blinds to the only window in the bathroom.

Cool, silvery moonlight poured in, bathing half of his naked torso, his pale body now emulating the appearance of sculpted marble. The only difference, of course, were the scars and open wounds–your own personal Saint Sebastian.

“Sylus…let me help you.”

“Ah, kitten. I…I had a feeling…. you would come around.”

His voice sounded strained though you could tell he was trying to be jovial, perhaps for your benefit.

The lights above the vanity flared brighter once you found the right switch.

“Tell me, what can I do to help?”

He fumbled with the gauze in his hand, dropping the roll into the sink.

“Think….ugh…you can help me…take out this shrapnel?”

Out of habit, you nodded, knowing that he couldn’t possibly make out your gesture of assent. Taking the tweezers carefully from his hand, you guided him to sit on the edge of the tub while you made a quick assessment of the items you would need from the open first aid box.

Your knowledge of wound care was rudimentary at best, but you decided that you would do all that you could if it would ease the deep furrow of his brow or erase the grimace he tried to disguise as a cavalier smile.

After rinsing your hands and prepping the tweezers, you resolved to keep in mind Zayne’s advice regarding situations like these— a level head will serve you better; try to always be calm.

“Stay as still as you can. And move only when I tell you to. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Very well.” he rasped, uncharacteristically obedient. “Wish I could…appreciate the sight of you as my personal nurse, heh.”

Apart from his pained but steady breaths, removing the pieces of shrapnel and cleaning and bandaging the wounds was slow, silent work. You half-expected him to playfully chide you for being so grave and meticulous in your ministrations, but sensing the seriousness of your intent, he did nothing to break the fragile stillness that encompassed you both.

You only hoped that your efforts would help him self-heal faster.

It was almost the same that time too…

Your hands had almost faltered on the last wound—a particularly nasty one–but despite how nervous you felt in suturing the gash, he encouraged you instead of pushing you away. Though you shared a small history together from varied run-ins these past few months, no one could deny that you both had been through quite a lot together. The vulnerability he showed you now was worlds apart from before.

As you finished cleaning up, you tried to regain some sense of equanimity back, if only to string together a few commonplace words.

“All done. You…should be fine. I hope.”

Without meaning to, you stumbled backwards in the direction of the sink, but he reached for you with his good arm before your back could hit it. He pulled you to the safety of his warm body.

“Kitten, you’re shaking.”

He was looking down at you, his expression twisted in concern for you.

“I’m sorry. Maybe…maybe things are starting to catch up to me now.”

“Come with me then.”

You weren’t sure if it was just muscle memory or if his sight had returned to normal, but he led you with little difficulty to his bedroom. He sat you on his bed.

“I’ll get you some water.”

“Are your eyes better now?”

“I can make out shapes in the shadows, more or less. Don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

As you waited, you took note of the twinkling city lights from his bedroom window where they suffused the room with a weak, ghostly light. The moon was hidden now by dark wisps of cloud. From up here, it was hard to believe that such a beautiful view could hide a sinister web of greed and lawlessness…

Once he returned, you took long sips of water from an ornate glass meant to hold liquor.

When you were done, you set it on the nightstand next to the bed.

“How are you feeling?” The kindness in his voice had tears welling up in your eyes.

That honest question alone had always been and would always be your undoing, no matter who asked it.

“Ahem, well…less thirsty,” he sat close to you, extending his good arm to rub small but comforting circles on your back, “but mostly repentant. And thankful, of course.”

You rubbed away the tears that had annoyingly come in full force now, despite your wish to hold back the deluge of emotions.

“I’ve told you this already,” he reached out with his wounded hand to catch your tears, “...don’t ever feel ashamed to be yourself in front of me. Cry all you want. You need to.”

“I don’t know…how….how can you be so…?”

You paused, failing to hold in another sob.

You understood his point about catharsis. But logically, it made no sense to you how the person meant to comfort was now being comforted. There were so many things that you had wanted to say, things that he needed to hear from you, but something inside held you captive from uttering a word.

Unsure of why, he seemed to you like a bright flame amidst the shadowy dark. A lifeline you could hold on to. For a long moment, you pressed a hand against the solidity and heat of his form before tracking a path from his throat all the way down the palimpsest of his body. Each barely-visible scar that marred his skin was a memory. Your fingers traced over the faint lines and uneven contours of wounds that didn’t smoothly heal. No doubt there was pain and fear for each trial he lived through…and he faced each one alone, hadn’t he?

He did nothing to impede your movements, his even breathing hitching a little as your hand drifted up, finding the surge of blood fluttering rapidly under your palm. There was no scar here. No marker that indicated this place where you had hurt him once, albeit unwillingly.

Funny thing.

Your vision blurred with hot tears as you clung to him, finally allowing yourself to have a good long cry.

He was enduringly patient with you.

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Sylus.”

The solemnity of your name falling from his lips emboldened you to say more.

“I truly am grateful. Not just for tonight. But to have you in my life. I mean it.”

You felt his body tense slightly against yours before pulling you closer in a half-embrace, a moan-like sigh escaping his lips. He settled his chin atop your head, breathing in your scent.

His voice was above a hushed whisper when he decided to break the silence.

“Rest now. I’ll stay for as long as you need.”

He moved the both of you near the headboard, entwining your fingers with his as you settled into a more comfortable position against him. In the wakeful hours where insomnia would normally be a torment for you–nothing of the kind happened this time around. A mysterious feeling of peace seemed to quell all your worries and doubts when he held you in the shelter of his embrace.

You were safe. You were both safe. And more importantly, alive.

In no time at all, you drifted into the blessing of a dreamless sleep.

Somewhere in the Northern District. Linkon City.

Tuesday. 1:15 PM.

The sensation of something golden and warm brushed against your eyelids, stirring you from sleep. A chink of sunlight had managed to slip through the now drawn curtains. You awoke to find your companion had long since left the bed, but not without propping your head with a pillow and covering you with a knitted blanket that smelled faintly of vanilla. Checking your hunter’s watch, you noted the time and the voicemails that awaited your attention–they were all from Captain Jenna.

Fuck. Of course. Headquarters would want a full report concerning all the details of the botched transaction. Your vigilance had faltered. Pride before the fall, indeed. You raked a hand through your disheveled hair.

With a heavy sigh, you steeled yourself for the unpleasant conversations that would follow.

Unlucky missions like last night, though few and far between, truthfully made you question whether your purpose had been misplaced. And yet, there was no room to entertain self-doubt, not when you had duties to attend to. Once you tied up these loose ends, you would check in with Sylus, and not merely for an update on the smuggled goods that he assured you his people would take care of.

There was something heartening in finding him preparing a late breakfast –more like brunch– for the two of you in the open kitchen, seemingly back to his old self. He was humming a pleasant melody when you walked in. You inwardly prayed he had gotten some form of rest.

“Morning…er, Good afternoon, I mean.”

He slowly turned to face you, his lips crooking into an easy smile. A real one. You much preferred him like this.

“I take it that you’re okay now?”

The lilt in your voice was hopeful as you followed him to the café-style breakfast nook where he plated Belgian-style waffles, an assortment of fruit and cream, honey and jam, along with a pot of steaming coffee and an assortment of teas. The gold trimming on the china glinted in a welcoming way as it caught the afternoon light.

“As good as new, thanks to you.”

He even turned around so that you could appraise him, his motions free from any semblance of stiffness or pain.

“I’m so glad.”

His garnet eyes twinkled with mirth as they beheld yours.

“Actually, I have.… something for you–” he gestured to a black suitcase on the coffee table in the living room, “it should help you neatly wrap up your investigation. I hope.”

It dawned on you yet again how much you owed him for his help. More than likely Luke and Kieran were also involved; you would have to make it up to them as well. As if reading your mind, he stifled the apology that was on your lips.

“If anything, I bear some of the blame for not being honest the moment I contacted you…”

“What do you mean?”

Your hands grasped the back of the chair in a small attempt to brace yourself.

“Last night was an ambush. My sources confirmed that. Unfortunately, misinformation can have its consequences. And I was worried…so worried that I couldn’t let other people deal with it.”

The notion that you were fed tampered information or that you were made to believe that the assignment was nothing more than standard fare as far as protocore smuggling was concerned had not even crossed your mind. As the leader of Onychinus, his information network had to be extensive, and as such, it was easier for him to ascertain traps….including the one meant for the Hunter’s Association last night.

His unexpected presence was far from being the nuisance you deemed it was the moment you heard the husky notes of his voice through your earpiece. An illicit deal in the cover of night in the hinterland of Linkon’s borders (yet across the river from the N109 zone’s jurisdiction) was beneath his notice. And yet, he came, for you.

Just for you.

Your hands gripped the back of your chair harder, your gaze locked on his own.

“I’m selfish. I’d rather risk exposing my weaknesses when I protect you than see you injured.”

“Sylus…”

“It’s not enough to make amends, but will you stay a little longer, and share a meal with me before you go?”

He offered you his hand in earnest supplication.

Somehow gathering enough composure to walk up to him, you cradled his hand in your smaller ones.

“Of course. I can make some time for you.”

He bent forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger there before reluctantly pulling away.

“Wonderful. Shall we?”

While the food he prepared smelled sweet and enticing, making your stomach gnaw in actual hunger, all you could do was stare at him, quietly reflecting on the significance of all the small details. It wasn’t surprising when he finally noted the intensity of your steady gaze, elegantly setting down his cup of coffee on the table. Maybe he did have some kind of otherworldly presentient ability in that protocore eye of his, because at the moment you thought it, he extended his right hand across the table.

Without hesitating, you delicately weaved your fingers with his. Despite the desire to be mindful of his bandages, he flexed his fingers about yours, as if testing the give of your hand against his. There was no feeling equal to it; all you knew was that your heart felt lighter than it had in a very long time.

Normally, you would have considered your current actions as reckless and unprofessional, but in your view, trading away this rare fragment of time with him would have felt more than just criminal.

Whatever the fallout might be, you would handle it in some way or another, like you always did.

For now, all that mattered was the present, and the things that passed between you as you enjoyed each other’s company on a not-so-everyday Tuesday afternoon.

END.

author's final notes:

There are probably a thousand directions this could have gone, but I hope no one minds the heavy dose of angst and comfort combination. This is just how it seemed to unfold for me as I wrote this. It's just a little sad that MC treats him better as a cat butler in the event than in this story....

Once again, to reiterate, this was very self-indulgent take.

Anyway, thank you so very much for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed it! Have a lovely day!

(NB: * Please don't feed my work into AI. )

#my writing #lads fanfic #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #angst and comfort

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