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marias-wonderland · 1 year

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I posted 1,508 times in 2022

That's 925 more posts than 2021!

26 posts created (2%)

1,482 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shinzo-no-yami ~<3

@louisfriend-ironsulfide

@funnytwittertweets

@kaoribriefs

@my-mild-ginger

I tagged 966 of my posts in 2022

Only 36% of my posts had no tags

#hellsing - 308 posts

#clarice starling - 236 posts

#hannibal - 204 posts

#hellsing ultimate - 198 posts

#clannibal - 193 posts

#alucard - 156 posts

#alucard hellsing - 151 posts

#silence of the lambs - 144 posts

#integra hellsing - 108 posts

#integra - 97 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#but perhaps try to actually be content with the life you have before start criticizing people that seem actually ok with what they have???

My Top Posts in 2022:

Hello to the 10 people in this site that are clannibal fans! I found (and finished) this EXCELLENT piece of a fanfic and i thought i should share it with the rest of you!

The story is about rewriting the books -silence of the lambs- and -hannibal- but let me tell you, the writter did a superb job at this!

In this scenario: Hannibal meets clarice when she is 18 and he is 38. She is still at the orphanage and wants to become an FBI agent. Hannibal is...well, hannibal, but they develop a special bond (obviously) and change each others perspective about reality. Im not gonna say a lot, only that the last chapters are full of plot twists!! (and yes, there are a lot of clannibal moments in there :3)

only thing though: the fic is in polish so ya have to use google translate.

22 notes - Posted January 14, 2022

*Alucard and Integra making out in her office after a mini fight they`ve had*

Seras who walks in at the wrong time: :O

Pip: Damn, that osculated quickly :3

32 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

Post-SoTL letters

So I've been thinking of writing a post SoTL Clannibal fic in which they sent letters to each other. But because my energy levels reach negative amounts, I never did it. Yesterday i found out about the theory of Solipsism and it seems our good doctor wanted to share it with Clarice (please share with me if you liked it and if you would like to read more.)

Dear Clarice

Please tell me Clarice, are you aware of the theory of Solipsism? If not, it is the idea that only one’s mind is sure to exist and that everything outside of it, external world and other minds, cannot be known and might not exist outside the mind. While it is not widely accepted by the vox populi, I included, I would be certain that you not only exist but also enhance my own world. You are the last virtue that came out of Pandora’s Box, Hope, and I could not be gladder that you escaped of your prison. A militant spirit encompassed with the credulity of a sheep truly makes a memorable existence. But even if the theory is true and you never truly existed, you are my most perfect idea I’ve ever been able to grasp, an entity that I would never dare to abandon. I will keep carrying you within the rooms of my own mind for the rest of my existence.

Prattling sure makes time fly, please share with me your opinion about it and perhaps deign to show me a piece of your own mind palace.

Ps: I promise I will not snoop around the nearby doors but, I highly suggest you lock the ones you do not wish me to find for the time being.

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Dear Dr. Lecter

I would lie if i say i wasn't touched by your remarks about me. As for the theory, my answer is that i didn't know about it, thank you for enlightening me. I find it rather absurd that existence only exists within one's mind, how can the mind of a clueless man produce the reality in which we all more or less live in? I would argue that perception of said reality can be interpreted differently depending on the individual and on what kind of path they've chosen to follow but, this is beyond my understanding.

You said that i represent the freed hope, the embodiment of every virtue that is worthy of being kept alive in this sorrowful world, your most perfect creation. And yet, how did you choose to treat this embodiment? You lied to me and used me for gaining your freedom. You manipulated me and due to that, 2 officers lost their lives. If the theory is correct, why did you choose to center yourself around despair and chaos? Why does your mind only produce horror and sorrow? The theory elevates us one step before God Himself and yet, you chose to almost show me your cruelest face.

Our meeting made me stronger, wiser, better and more confident than before so I have to answer honestly. I would never allow of myself to remain locked within no one's mind, Doctor, no matter if i were a real person or not. Be aware of that.

Ps. It's in your nature to try and unlock the locks of one's mind. You are welcome to remain in the first rooms but i will also make sure the rest of the locks are double locked

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Dear Clarice

Unbeknownst to you, the secrets of your inner mechanisms have been slowly revealing themselves to me. But I suggest we rash for no revelation yet, shall we? The Cartesian egocentric view of the mind and of the physical existence ,Clarice, does not depend on your average Joe for producing the world we are living in. Solipsism rests upon that all experiences are necessarily private to the individual. Because of its “occult” or ephemeral nature, can never literally be shared. No two people can ever be said to have the same experience.( Just like our first meeting one might say. We certainly carry different memories of the same events)You know I would never lie to you (But unfortunately in that case, someone else was the first who betrayed my trust). When I say you are the embodiment of every little good virtue in this man made world I truly mean it, we both spare ourselves the use of vacant statements.You keep asking me these questions Clarice and yet, why do I feel they are directed at someone else? (perhaps someone who enjoys the destruction of the faith of His believers?). I would suggest you start unlocking those locks not for me, but for yourself. Please tell me, what does it lay behind those well kept locked doors, all dusted and hidden? Is it perhaps pent-up anger? at me for betraying your trust which was build in a manner of days or is it directed at your daddy for abandoning you, because he was so caught up with his own image of himself that a couple of hoodlums had to remind him of his place in the food chain?

I said to you back then the world is more interesting with you in it, and I still hold that belief. Your place is not being an usurper’s ownership but you belong out there, wherever you wish to be. If there is something I enjoy, it is an intellectual conversation with you. Please, don't hold back the acute criticism you so much wish to hurl at me. Ps: I found the use of the word ‘almost’ amusing. Even at your most confused state, you never dare question my appreciation for you.

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Dear Dr. Lecter

I think it is time to put aside philosophy for a moment because that is not what you truly want to discuss with me. These meta-theoretical ideas were never useful to me, I had to prove myself worthy in different aspects.

You said that I am in a ‘confused state’ and yet, it is you who can not seem to decide in which end of the spectrum you fall in. You keep talking about this indescribable adulation towards me and yet, you refuse to confess you betrayed my trust. A young woman was in the hands of a serial killer you very much knew of and yet, you toyed with me and with the entire FBI for your own delectation. Υou have decried every person that has ever wronged me in your eyes or does not treat me with the respect you think i deserve and yet, you are no different than them. They view me as a fragile defective girl, not potent enough for the world of men but unfortunately to them, i proved to be more adaptable to change. You, on the other hand, also dehumanize me. They did it for the sake of their vested interest, you did it for completing your self made image of an idealised woman.

If there is anger within me, it is for the ones who wish to deceive and harm the innocent. For those i hold no remorse or sympathy. I loved my father and no one can make me question that. And since you patronised me to do not hold back my critism, i find your speculations about me poorly executed, especially for someone who claims he has started understanding my inner world.

Let me unlock a door for you. I wish to find a person who views me as I truly am. No country girl or wounded entity. Just my name would be enough. Just Clarice. Do whatever you want with this piece of information. I have never shied away from myself and i will not start now. Ps: Our conversations can truly be meaningful when you don’t wish to stir up past emotions and regrets

38 notes - Posted November 28, 2022

I did something (feel free to add more)

88 notes - Posted September 13, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

110 notes - Posted November 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #i feel proud for this #my blog is simply for alutegra and clannibal stuff #and for talking with my cousin #γεια σου σταυρουλα!! ειδες που εχεις πρωτη θεση στο blog μου; απο σενα εκανα τα περισσοτερα reblogs xD #οι υπολοιποι να χάνε να λέγανε να χάνε να πουνε... τα ορφανα πορεύονται και οι χήρες κονομιούνται xD

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aswithasunbeam · 6 years

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Finding Forgiveness, Chapter 1

Rated: T and Up

Summary: Eliza Hamilton can't keep punishing her husband forever. If she didn't intend to leave him, she would need to find a way to forgive him. But how? The Reynolds Pamphlet aftermath

[Read on AO3]

September 1797

Soft footsteps padded down the hall, alerting Eliza that her husband was approaching the bedroom earlier than usual. Hastily pushing the pamphlet under her pillow, she closed her eyes and tried to force her breathing to sound even. The bedroom door opened. The footsteps stopped short of the dressing room.

“Eliza?” She heard him take a step towards the bed.

She stayed still, making herself relax and keeping her breathing regular.

He sighed. The blankets were adjusted over her, covering her shoulder, and she heard him blow out the candle beside the bed. Then he stepped away, into the dressing room. The sound of rustling cloth followed as he changed for bed. The thunk of her old chest closing told her he’d collected a quilt again.

The bedroom door closed with a soft snap.

She waited another moment, to be sure he was fully settled downstairs, before she pushed herself up and relit the candle. Pulling the crumpled papers out of their hiding place, she opened to the place she’d left off. “I inquired for Mrs. Reynolds and was shewn up stairs, at the head of which she met me and conducted me into a bed room. I took the bill out of my pocket and gave it to her. Some conversation ensued from which it was quickly apparent that other than pecuniary consolation would be acceptable.”*

She closed her eyes. Angelica had been right: she shouldn’t be reading this. But how could she not? How could she avoid it when everyone else in the city had read it? When everyone whispered about it as soon as they believed she was out of earshot? Not knowing what he’d written had been driving her mad. So earlier in the day, when she’d been out running errands, she’d paid a young lad a few coins to procure a copy for her.

She still firmly believed that she was better off knowing. Even so, reading the scandalous document still wasn’t any easier. Seeing her husband’s public description of his betrayal hardly made the awful truth more bearable.

She’d had many images of the girl in her mind ever since his confession. Sometimes Mrs. Reynolds was scantily clad and overly made up, stinking of perfume as she lured Hamilton into her bedroom. Other times she wore a modest, oft mended dress, and a frightened expression, clearly searching for a hero to rescue her from her dreary circumstances. Sometimes she was blonde, other times brunette. Sometimes she smirked lasciviously; other times, she wore an expression of wide-eyed innocence, perhaps with a bruise marring her creamy white complexion.

After several nights of her imagination flipping between these images, she had considered asking Alexander to describe the girl for her. Then she decided against it. It didn’t matter. Whoever the girl was, whatever version of her was real, was wholly beside the point. It did nothing to exculpate her husband.

His words seemed to taunt her, ringing in her memory. The scene played out in her mind’s eye. Maria Reynolds accepted the bank notes, placing them on her dressing table, then turned back to thank him in a breathy tone. Her eyes would be hooded with desire. Hamilton leaned in, his face tipping close to hers, his hands running down her waist.

She opened her eyes, focusing in the wall opposite her. She felt sick. Closing the pamphlet, she stuffed it back underneath her pillow and blew out the candle. Too late. The words were burned into her memory. A long, painful night stretched out before her.

~*~

The bedroom door woke her, the faint light of dawn just visible between the crack in the curtains. She felt exhausted. Between that memory of the cursed pamphlet and waking to nurse William, she’d slept very little. She was careful to lie still again while Hamilton dressed and replaced the quilt in the old trunk. When he exited the dressing room, she felt his eyes on her. He stood there for a long minute, watching her, before he finally left the room.

She rolled over in bed when he’d finally gone, blinking owlishly at the floral canopy overhead. Her mind was blank, numb with exhaustion. Fragments of dreams floated around her memory, just out of reach. Tangled limbs and red lips.

William gave a wail.

She squeezed her eyes shut, exhaled slowly, then sat up to begin her day. Baby William was fed and changed first, his wails finally dying down to hiccuping breaths as Eliza carried him downstairs, calling for Johnny to follow. She tugged gently at the baby’s foot as she entered the front room. His large, shiny eyes flitted over her for a moment, before moving on, hungry to take in his surroundings. His chubby little legs jerked, kicking aimlessly at the air. She kissed the top of his head tenderly.

The maid had already set the table for breakfast. Eliza placed William into his bassinet and sat at the head of the table, slicing the bread as five year old Johnny waited patiently beside her. She nodded to the books on the side table. “Some of Goldsmith’s Rome, today,” she directed.

“Yes, Mama,” Johnny agreed. He collected the volume and opened it to the page he’d last left off, squinting at the words before he began to read aloud. “While the Romans were engaged with Hannibal, they carried on a…a vi…” he hesitated.

She craned her neck to see the word. “Vigorous,” she read.

He nodded. “A vigorous war with Philip, king of Macedonia,” he over-pronounced the syllables of Macedonia, a word Hamilton had helped him with weeks ago. She nodded approvingly as she buttered the slice of bread and placed it on the plate.

Johnny read about half the chapter before she allowed him to stop and sit for breakfast. She directed the maid to fetch her elder children and her husband. Her children were all seated and helping themselves to the bread slices by the time Hamilton entered the room.

“Good morning,” he wished, smiling at them all as he sat at the opposite end of the table from her.

His eyes were deeply shadowed and his face was pale in the bright morning light. She wondered if he, too, had found sleep difficult last night. He had an ink smudge on his chin, she noticed. An alternate day, a day before her life had become the mess it was now, suddenly flashed through her imagination: she would stand, lick her thumb, clean off the ink, scold him gently for working too hard, and kiss him softly. How she longed for that old, lost time.

“Morning, Papa,” Johnny greeted happily as he reached for another piece of bread.

Hamilton’s smile stretched a little wider, then faded when no one else at the table offered a greeting. Eliza glanced at Philip, who sullenly stared at his plate. Angelica was avoiding looking at her father, her bright eyes sneaking glimpses of her older brother. Alex and Jamie also seemed to be taking Philip’s queue to ignore their father.

Hamilton looked at their eldest and queried, “Are you feeling better, Pip?”

Philip raised one shoulder in a shrug.

Alex’s eyes tracked between his brother and his father. “Morning, Papa,” he said belatedly. Hamilton gave the boy a thin smile in return. Eliza glimpsed Philip raising his gaze at last to glare at his younger brother. Her husband didn’t seem to notice.

“Tea, sir?” the maid offered as Hamilton began to fill his plate.

He frowned. “I’d prefer coffee.”

“I…I’m sorry, sir…I—”

“We’re out of coffee,” Eliza supplied for the girl.

“I thought our order from the grocer came yesterday?”

“It did.” Her voice was carefully neutral, but the statement still found it’s mark. His face closed off, attempting to cover the obvious hurt as he finally understood this was the latest in the string of little punishments she’d been doling out over the past weeks.

“Sir?” the maid asked tentatively.

“Yes, I’d like some tea,” he said, giving her a tight smile.

Breakfast descended into a strained silence. She tried to fight down feelings of guilt. The children were only acting as they were because they sensed the animosity between her and Hamilton. She never wanted to involve them in this, or to make them choose sides. Angry as she was, she knew Hamilton adored their children. Even so, she didn’t know how to pretend more than she already was.

The doorbell sounded loud in the quiet of the room, and they all turned their heads to look towards the foyer as the maid hurried to answer the door. “That must be James,” Hamilton remarked.

Sure enough, James Inglis entered carrying a stack of papers and books that went to his chin.

“Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” the law clerk greeted. “I have the briefs you asked for, and the books from Mr. Morris’s library that you wanted to borrow.”

“Thank you. Just set them in my office,” Hamilton directed.

“Won’t you stay for breakfast, Mr. Inglis?” Eliza offered.

The young man nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes, thank you ma’am.”

As he scurried off to unload his burden, Hamilton gave her a wry smile. “He only meets me here instead of my office because you always feed him, you know. He’s like a stray puppy.”

She softened her expression, though she didn’t quite return his smile. “I like puppies. Besides, he could do with some fattening up,” she replied.

Hamilton nodded in agreement.

The clerk barreled back into the room, heedless of the previously strained atmosphere. He settled into the empty set place beside Hamilton and happily scooped food onto his plate. Swallowing a forkful of food, he gave Eliza a wide smile. “It’s delicious, Mrs. Hamilton.”

She smiled and shook her head at him.

“There’s an insurance contract on my desk I want you to read over. Prepare some case briefs and write up a memorandum on how the company might attempt to avoid a payout. I’ll meet you at the office later today,” Hamilton told his clerk as they ate.

“Will you be in court this morning, sir?” Inglis asked.

Hamilton nodded.

“Do you have a trial today?” Eliza asked.

“No. Just some motions,” he answered, looking over at her. She saw the way his eyes lit with hope that she had addressed him at all. “I’m trying to get a suit dismissed for failing to state a cause of action.” His eyes landed back on his clerk. “Which is called?”

“A demurrer, sir,” Inglis answered, voice muffled by his hand covering his mouth after he’d forcefully swallowed his mouthful of food. “A responsive pleading used to test the sufficiency of a complaint or counterclaim, distinct from a motion to strike.”

“Which is the appropriate motion in what circumstance?”

“To challenge an answer, sir.”

“Or any defensive pleading. But very well done, Mr. Inglis,” Hamilton praised. “I need to go to the records room after court to do some title work. I should be at the office in the late afternoon.”

“Yes, sir,” Inglis nodded. “I’ll have the case briefs completed for you before then.”

Hamilton pushed back from the table and stood. “Well, time for school and work, I think.”

“Come on, Jamie. I’ll walk you to school,” Philip offered, brushing by his father without a glance. Jamie eagerly scrambled after his big brother. Alex rose to follow them, but paused, giving his father a hug.

“Good luck with your demur, Papa,” Alex said.

“Demurrer,” Hamilton corrected gently, placing a kiss against Alex’s forehead. “Thank you. Now off to school with you. Catch up with Pip.” The little boy obeyed, trailing after his brothers.

Inglis shoveled one last fork full of food into his mouth before standing himself and following the boys into the foyer.

Hamilton hesitated at the head of the table. He always used to kiss her goodbye when he left for work. The habit was ingrained enough that he’d taken a step towards her without thinking. Rather than stop, he strolled over to the bassinet and smiled down at their baby. He stooped over and picked him up, holding him high in the air.

“Who’s my sweet boy?” he cooed.

William’s arms waved in the air and a pudgy hand landed on Hamilton’s nose. He laughed. William’s big eyes stared down at his father in wonder. Eliza caught herself smiling as Hamilton lowered the baby back into the bassinet. He placed a tender kiss to the baby’s cheek.

Swiveling to the table, he gave another kiss to Johnny, who twisted in his chair to hug his father. “Love you, Papa,” Johnny declared, his little arms wrapping tightly around his father’s neck.

“I love you, too,” he answered.

When Hamilton leaned over towards Angelica, however, the girl shrank away. He simply patted her on the shoulder instead. As he moved away, Eliza noticed her daughter looking after her father sadly, almost regretfully, as though even as she rejected him she wished for a kiss goodbye.

“Don’t forget Angelica and John’s dinner tonight,” Eliza reminded him before he could leave the room.

“I won’t,” he assured her, turning back. He looked like he wanted to say more; he stared at her for a long moment. “Have a good day, Betsey.”

She nodded and returned her gaze to her breakfast. He waited a beat before turning to leave once more. Placing a finger to her mouth, she told herself she was glad he still hadn’t tried to kiss her.

Her day settled in to her familiar routine. Angelica’s tutor arrived shortly after the boys had gone, and Eliza set Johnny to his reading. She cared for William, oversaw the servants and assisted with the household chores, and looked in from time to time on Johnny and Angelica, to be sure they were attending their studies. She kept herself busy, fully occupied with work and the children so that she might not dwell on the unpleasant reality of her life.

~*~

The gentlemen had all almost immediately retired to a separate parlor for a game of loo. A collective groan caught Eliza’s attention as she walked by the room, the cards in the men’s hands nearly obscured by a thick cloud of tobacco smoke. They all had a glass of brandy near to hand.

She shook her head and moved on, nearly bumping into Angelica. Her sister was dripping with diamonds and wore a dress Eliza was tempted to call indecent, no matter how many times Angelica insisted it was the height of fashion in London. The flash of jealousy she’d felt when Hamilton’s eyes had lingered on her sister’s figure had been entirely new.

“Oh, Betsey, there you are. I’m just going to check on the hors d'oeuvres. Will you go make sure everyone is having an enjoyable time?” By which Angelica meant she should make sure all the ladies had a full glass of wine.

Eliza shook the dark thoughts from her mind and smiled. “Of course.”

“Oh, I don’t know how I survived without you,” Angelica grinned, kissing her cheek as she glided away down the hallway.

“I think it’s admirable,” Jennet Goulet Troup whispered as Eliza approached the doorway to the parlor where the ladies were sitting. “I never would have been able to come to a social function so soon after such a scandal.”

“Oh, I know,” Mary King whispered back. “The poor dear. Having to smile and converse, knowing everyone had heard. I simply cannot imagine.”

Eliza shrank back from the entryway, leaning against the wall. She couldn’t do this. Hearing the whispered pity was too much. Taking a deep breath, she stepped back to the parlor where the men were at their card game.

“Alexander?”

He looked up from his cards with a frown. “Yes, dear?”

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well. Might we go?”

His eyes widened and he nodded, pushing back from the table. “I’ll have the carriage brought around immediately. Please excuse me, gentlemen.”

“Would you like to lie down upstairs? I could send for a doctor,” John offered.

“No, thank you. I’d just like to get home.”

Hamilton moved past her, careful not to touch. John rose from the table as well, coming to stand beside her. He placed a caring hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you? Some water?”

She smiled and shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Angelica asked, coming back from the kitchen.

“Eliza’s feeling unwell,” John informed his wife.

Angelica hurried to her side and felt her forehead. “No fever. What’s the matter?”

“I’m just feeling a little out of sorts,” she pleaded, easing away from her sister.

Angelica frowned deeply and seemed to intuit what was wrong. “Did someone say something to upset you?” she whispered, her lips barely moving so no one around them would hear.

Eliza shook her head. Tears of anger and humiliation burned her eyes, but she refused the let them fall. “I just want to go home.”

“The carriage is here,” Hamilton announced, walking rapidly back down the hall towards her.

She pushed past the three of them, desperate to get away. Clambering into the carriage, she leaned against the far door and stared out the window, studiously ignoring her husband as he settled across from her. He stank of tobacco smoke. He knocked on the wall and Robert, their driver, snapped the reigns. The horse’s hooves and the carriage wheels clattered over the uneven road.

They rode in uncomfortable silence for a time. Eliza kept her eyes trained on the empty New York streets. The tears began to leak out and she brushed her hand over her cheek hastily to hide them.

Her husband sighed. “Betsey,” he began.

“Don’t.”

“What happened?”

Anger rose up within her. The gall of him, to ask such a question. She snapped her gaze to him, his bright blue eyes visible for just a moment in the light of a passing street lamp. A derisive chuckle fell from her lips. “What happened?” she repeated with disbelief.

“Did someone say something to upset you?” he asked, unknowingly mimicking her sister.

“I’m not upset,” she said sharply. “I’m livid. I’m humiliated.”

“Eliza,” he started again.

“You embarrass me.”

She regretted the words almost before she finished saying them. She’d meant to lash out, to hurt him, but she knew that statement would cut him deeper than she intended. With three words, she validated every insecure thought he’d ever had, undoing a lifetime of reassurance. The image of her sweet husband lying beside her in bed in the early days of their marriage came to her. “I just want to make you proud,” he’d whispered to her in the dark.

More tears leaked from her eyes. She didn’t bother to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

She ignored him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ll never cease to condemn myself for making such a mistake.”

Her fists clenched in her lap. “A mistake,” she echoed coldly, her temper flaring. “A kiss in a moment of passion might be called a mistake. You were sleeping with her for a year. Giving away our savings to pay for your trysts. Then you wrote more than ninety pages on the subject and published it for the world to read. You were acting with calculated intent. That isn’t a mistake.”

“I know. I know,” he said. She heard him take a shuddering breath. “I just…I thought things were getting better. That we were getting better.”

She snorted derisively.

He stayed quiet for several minutes. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded tight. “What do you want me to do, Betsey?”

She kept her head turned to the window.

He let out a long exhale. “This isn’t working. You aren’t happy. But I don’t know what to do.”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“Do you want me to leave? Do you want a divorce? Just tell me what to do. What can I do to make things right?”

“Nothing,” she replied flatly.

He fell silent for the rest of the trip.

When they arrived home, he held his hand out to assist her from the carriage. She glared at him until he stepped back. She pushed through the front door and went straight upstairs, closing the bedroom door with a decisive snap and leaning against it. Tears were still leaking from her eyes. She rubbed her hands over her face.

After a few deep breaths to calm herself, she pushed away from the door and retreated to the dressing room, where she fought her way out of her expensive gown. Changing into her night gown, she sat at her vanity and began brushing out her hair. A pale face and red eyes stared back at her from the mirror, misery etched in every line.

She hated this. She didn’t want people talking about her, pitying her. She didn’t want to be angry with her husband. She didn’t want to hurt him or to punish him. She just wanted her life back.

They can’t go on this way. She’s miserable: he’d been right about that. Staring at her reflection, she asked herself seriously: did she want a divorce? She’d refused immediately the last time he offered, but perhaps she should have considered it more carefully.

She tried to imagine what her life would be like without him. Taking the children to Albany, never to see him again. What would she do for money? Placing that burden on her parents and siblings seemed a bit much. Perhaps she could marry again. She was young still, in her child bearing years with an affluent family name. She wouldn’t want for a husband long, she supposed. One of those great landowners she’d been meant to marry in the first place.

Nausea surged through her at the very thought of it. And what about Hamilton? She doubted he’d survive losing her and the children.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t leave him.

For better or worse, her Hamilton was a part of her. Her love for him was so deeply rooted within her, she doubted death itself could fully disentangle his soul from hers. But where did that leave her?

His question from the carriage came back to her, his strangled plea for her to tell him how to make things right. Her answer had been true, she realized. Nothing he could do would make up for his sin. No amount of groveling would undo his betrayal.

She can’t keep punishing him forever. He can’t remain the villain who broke her heart for the rest of their lives. There was only one way forward.

If she didn’t intend to leave him, she would need to find a way to forgive him.

But how?

She climbed into bed and pulled the pamphlet from its hiding place beneath her pillow. Opening to the first page, she started it again. His violent insecurity and defensiveness screamed out at her once more, hardly concealed by his clear attempt at dispassionate, logical persuasion. She reread his account of the Congressional investigation that had nearly killed him. She recalled holding him in her arms as he collapsed into bed each night, emotionally and physically exhausted from trying to prove his integrity to men who would never be satisfied.

“I can never cease to condemn myself for the pang, which it may inflict in a bosom eminently intitled to all my gratitude, fidelity and love. But that bosom will approve, that even at so great an expence, I should effectually wipe away a more serious stain from a name, which it cherishes with no less elevation than tenderness.”*

She had barely marked the passage the when she’d first read it, ignoring it as a token apology. Her heart clenched as she read the words now. An apology, yes, but also something more. He’d been reassuring himself of her love, telling himself she would understand the need to protect his professional reputation.

Footsteps padded down the hallway later that night. She’d blown out the candle some time ago, but she was still awake when he opened the door. She feigned sleep as she had every other night, forcing her breath to be even. She listened to him change into a nightshirt. The dull, familiar thunk of the trunk followed as he collected the quilt to sleep downstairs.

He was tip-toeing out of the room when she turned over.

“Alexander?” she whispered in the dark.

He froze in place. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Are you coming to bed?”

“What?”

“Come to bed.”

He didn’t move at first, waiting, as though this were a set up for a cruel trick. Finally, he stepped over to the bed, hung the spare quilt over the foot, and slowly slid in beside her. She turned away, not able to touch him quite yet. The mere inches between them felt like a bottomless chasm.

“Alexander?”

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t true, what I said.”

“What?”

“You don’t embarrass me.”

She felt him adjust onto his back.

“Yes, I do,” he whispered.

She sighed. Flexing her hand once, she slowly reached back without turning over. Her fingertips brushed over his hand, and she clutched on to it. He clutched back tightly, almost painfully, as though he were dangling from a precipice with only her hand to keep him from falling. She ran her thumb along his knuckles.

She didn’t know how to fix them any better than he did.

But this felt like a start.

* Italicized portions are quotations from the Reynolds Pamphlet and Goldsmith’s Rome respectively.

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamliza #historical hamliza #reynolds pamphlet #affair #aftermath #forgiveness

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instantdeerlover · 4 years

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Where To Eat When You’re With Your Dog added to Google Docs

Where To Eat When You’re With Your Dog

You love your dog. Your dog loves your food. So it’s only natural that he or she wants to join you when you’re going out to eat. And you want the same. But some restaurants are fussy. Others aren’t friendly to those with fur. And some simply aren’t equipped to deal with more than one insatiably hungry species.

That’s why we’ve put together a list of the best places in London you and your real best mate can go. Because they’d feed us a crafty sausage under the table if the roles were reversed, wouldn’t they?

the spots Flour & Grape £ £ £ £ Pasta in Bermondsey ££££ 214 Bermondsey St 7.8 /10

The pasta at Flour And Grape will give you a lot of feelings. Think Lassie reunion scene level, or ‘oh dear God I forgot the poop bags... no wait, wait, bloody yes, there’s one in my pocket’ level of feelings. This spot on Bermondsey Street serves excellent handmade pasta, has a gin bar downstairs, and, because dreams do come true, is also dog friendly. Don’t miss the pork shoulder tortellini.

Maggie Jones's £ £ £ £ British in Kensington ££££ 6 Old Court Place 8.7 /10

The menu at Maggie Jones’s is full of British classics, there are nick-nacks everywhere, there’s lots of candlelight, and there’s a pretty iconic portrait of a British bulldog downstairs, so it totally makes sense that it’s also dog-friendly.

Bistrotheque £ £ £ £ French in Bethnal Green ££££ 23-27 Wadeson St 7.8 /10

Bistrotheque is the sort of restaurant where every person sitting at the counter will have a Barbour jacket to match the one their dog lazing below them is wearing. And that suits us just fine. This Hackney restaurant is perfect for a drink and a snack, or a stop-off post Victoria Park. It’s open for brunch on weekends as well, so whether you want a bloody Mary or a beef pie, it works.

Bubala £ £ £ £ Vegetarian , Middle Eastern in Spitalfields ££££ 65 Commercial Street 8.5 /10

Do we love the halloumi with black seed honey at Bubala as much as your dog loves that toy it’s had since it was a pup? Trick question. No one loves anything as much as your dog loves that decrepit teddy bear, but honestly, our feelings for the middle eastern small plates at this all-vegetarian spot in Spitalfields are pretty close. You’re definitely going to want to get involved in the confit potato latkes, hummus, and fried aubergine - just be aware that it’s a small space, so this isn’t the place for any St Bernards.

Giulia Verdinelli Levan £ £ £ £ Modern European in Peckham ££££ 12 Blenheim Grove 8.8 /10

Sitting at Levan, comté fries on the counter, some soft, 2007 indie hit playing in the background, and your best mate gazing up at you as if you’re their absolute hero - well, life doesn’t get much better than that. You might as well just lay down on the floor of this achingly cool and charming all-day Peckham wine bar next to Buddy with a big, excellent glass of pinot noir and kiss the world goodbye. You’ve peaked.

Westerns Laundry £ £ £ £ Seafood , Mediterranean in Highbury ££££ 34 Drayton Park 8.2 /10

On paper, going for a meal in an old garage with your dog sounds bleak. Very, very bleak. Cup-a-soup for dinner bleak. Thankfully, Westerns Laundry is very much a tarted up garage. This Highbury small plates restaurant is a lovely spot for those on two legs and four legs alike. It’s got massive open doors that gives everything a bit of a holiday vibe, and the mainly-seafood menu suits this feel as well.

Minnow £ £ £ £ British in Clapham ££££ 21 The Pavement Not

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We can’t think of a single thing that’s bad about owning a dog. Except maybe those particularly rainy walks and the fact that you’re 99% sure that person from Pawshake who watches them steals your nice soap. But you’ll forget about any of those teeny tiny negatives after a quality meal together at Clapham’s Minnow. Expect interesting takes on modern British dishes, more mint green than a toothpaste advert, and a charming back patio that’s perfect for those sunny days.

Colbert £ £ £ £ French in Chelsea ££££ 50-52 Sloane Sq 7.5 /10

Do you own a French poodle? Or do you have a suspicion that when your pup does that twitchy run thing in their sleep that they’re dreaming of legging it through the Luxembourg Gardens wearing a tiny beret? Perfect, it’s time for you and your chien to head for Chelsea’s Colbert. This all-day brasserie serves classic French fare like steak tartare, onion soup, and fresh macarons. Plus, in true Parisian cafe style there’s also some pretty lovely outdoor, terrace seating.

Little Duck The Picklery £ £ £ £ Dalston ££££ 68 Dalston Road Not

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“Shall we take Pip and Shackleton to Little Duck?” is probably the most gag-inducing sentence in history. Swallow it up though, ’cos Dalston’s all-day fermenting kitchen is actually a lovely place to hole up for an hour or two. It’s open from breakfast till dinner (with a very good £10 plus wine lunch deal) and is a simple and tasty option for anything from pappardelle to pie.

True Craft £ £ £ £ Pizza in Tottenham ££££ 68 West Green Rd 8.0 /10

You understand envy. Afterall your pomeranian has 846 more followers than you. That aching form of jealousy is exactly how we feel every time we happen to walk past True Craft and see someone eating their excellent sourdough pizzas. This Tottenham local is a five-minute walk from Seven Sisters station, and we’re big fans of the friendly, laid back atmosphere and cool, industrial beer-den look. Despite being a casual situation you shouldn’t underestimate their sourdough pizzas, the balsamic bang pepper number is particularly excellent.

The Coach £ £ £ £ French in Clerkenwell , Farringdon ££££ 26-28 Ray Street 7.0 /10

When you’re out and about with your dog, all you want is somewhere comfortable. Somewhere that isn’t going to be highly strung, nor have the kind of customers who are going to shriek at something barking at a crisp packet. The Coach is just the place. The pub-ish atmosphere makes it very comfortable - plus everyone is welcome in the dining room.

Daddy Bao £ £ £ £ Taiwanese in Tooting ££££ 113 Mitcham Road 8.4 /10

You know that look of pure, intoxicated glee your dog gives you when they see a fresh pile of fox turd to roll in, that’s how we look when Daddy Bao’s shiitake mushroom bao arrives at our table. This cute and casual Taiwanese spot in Tooting is not only serving some of the very best fried chicken and bao in London, they also lowkey have a plum-wine negroni we’d go all bubble-eyed for.

Pique-Nique £ £ £ £ French in Bermondsey ££££ Tanner St Park Not

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Pique-Nique serves the kind of hearty French food that smells so good that you’re bound to see a lot of any-for-me-dear-master head tilts from your four-legged friend. This Bermondsey restaurant is all about foie gras, cheese, duck, and French digestifs. If you happen to live in the area, they’re also open for breakfast on Saturdays, which might make getting up at 8am on the weekend to walk Fluffy a bit less agonising.

Greyhound Cafe £ £ £ £ Thai in Fitzrovia ££££ 37 Berners Street 7.3 /10

You’d think, what with it being named after a type of dog and all, that Greyhound would be teeming with the things. All shapes and sizes. Like 101 Dalmations but with Thai food as well. Unfortunately that’s not the case. But they do allow dogs on their big old terrace out front, which makes for an excellent option in good weather.

Sodo Pizza Cafe - Clapton £ £ £ £ Pizza in Clapton , Hackney ££££ 126 Upper Clapton Rd 7.7 /10

Nothing, absolutely nothing, will ever make you as happy as your dog is when you say ‘walkies’. Except maybe, eating pizza. Sodo Clapton serves sourdough pizzas and natural wine in a space that’s perfect for a catch up with friends (of all species) or a casual, candlelit date night. And no, we’re not judging you for bringing your dog on a date. It’s one of life’s great power moves.

Greenberry Cafe £ £ £ £ Modern European , Cafe/Bakery in Primrose Hill ££££ 101 Regents Park Rd 7.9 /10

Your pet labrador has spent the past two hours nuzzling your leg and offering you their paw, which can mean only one thing - they’ve gone all Hannibal Rising with one of your favourite pairs of shoes and you just haven’t found them yet. Head for Primrose Hill’s Greenberry Cafe, a bright and cheerful all-day cafe and restaurant where it’s basically impossible to be upset about anything. Even the fact that your Nikes probably resemble Picasso’s The Weeping Woman right now.

The Anchor & Hope £ £ £ £ Pub in Southwark ££££ 36 The Cut 8.6 /10

We know what you’re thinking. Just. Another. Pub. Suggestion. Well yeah, but so what? When a pub is as good as The Anchor and Hope, why wouldn’t we include it? This Southwark boozer is everything you and your hairy pal want from a pub. It serves seriously, seriously good Mediterranean-style food, using only seasonal produce, and is the kind of place you can stay in for anywhere between one hour to a week.

Karolina Wiercigroch The Duck and Rice £ £ £ £ Chinese , Dim Sum in Soho ££££ 90-91 Berwick St 7.5 /10

A pub and a Chinese restaurant is a hybrid that’s good for human and dogs alike. The Duck and Rice is an excellent option in Soho when you’re wandering about wondering where to go together. It’s a casual gastro-pub atmosphere downstairs, and there’s dim sum, bao, and an array of Cantonese duck options for you to choose from.

Kudu £ £ £ £ Peckham ££££ 119 Queen's Road Not

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Yet

Kudu is the sort of restaurant that every neighbourhood in London needs. It’s a casual but classy South African restaurant in Peckham that’s good for dates, mates, and most importantly, dogs. Don’t miss out on their bread whatever you do, it comes with either melted bacon or seafood butter, and it is very good. Walkies in Peckham?

40 Dean Street £ £ £ £ Italian in Soho ££££ 40 Dean Street Not

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Yet

It’s been four days since you gave them a b-a-t-h and they’re still acting like you announced a worldwide ban on tennis balls before calling the neighbour’s pug ‘a good boy’ in front of them. You traitor. It’s time for some relaxing quality time for the both of you, and at 40 Dean Street that means a cosy sit down for them, and some pasta and negronis for you. From the homely, family restaurant feel to the all-day £16.90 two-course set menu, this place is a proper charmer.

The Drapers Arms £ £ £ £ Pub in Islington ££££ 44 Barnsbury St Not

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Yet

The Drapers Arms is easily the best pub and pup location in Islington. The food is of very high quality, and it’s perfect for a snack and a drink, or a full sit down meal of simple and classic food. Think crusty pies, fish stews, and baked camembert. There’s a garden as well, so your dog can sniff around while you get on with eating.

The Camberwell Arms £ £ £ £ British , Pub in Camberwell ££££ 65 Camberwell Church St 8.4 /10

Heading to the Camberwell Arms isn’t like heading down to your local for a packet of crisps while your dog wanders around to general adulation. No, it’s heading to the pub for one of London’s best Sunday lunches. Or maybe an excellent bowl of pasta, or salad, as well as lots of general adulation for your dog. This place is everyone’s best friend.

Hoi Polloi £ £ £ £ Modern European in Shoreditch ££££ 100 Shoreditch High St 7.4 /10

The Ace Hotel’s trendy restaurant may not seem like the most obvious choice to bring something that eats, sniffs, and licks at will, but if you grab or book a booth then it’s the ideal Shoreditch option. It’s a no brainer kind of place - gnocchi, fish and chips, and roast cauliflower all feature on the menu - if you’re with a group of people and/or dogs.

Marksman £ £ £ £ British , Pub in Shoreditch ££££ 254 Hackney Rd 8.1 /10

There’s something intrinsically perfect about seeing a dog roam alongside a wooden bar, pints being pulled, and stranger’s ankles being licked. The advantage of this happening at the Marksman is that you’ll be eating some hearty and delicious food while watching this go on. With the smells of everything from curry to fried potatoes going around here, you’ll both be salivating.

Aquavit £ £ £ £ Scandinavian in St. James's ££££ St James's Market Not

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Yet

If your dog is a prince or princess who is only used to the best, then Aquavit is where you want to be taking them. This Nordic-style restaurant is a little bit swish, but a lot tasty. Plus there are very affordable set menus for lunch and dinner time. Note: you won’t want to share the meatballs, no matter how much you love your dog.

via The Infatuation Feed https://www.theinfatuation.com/london/guides/dog-friendly-restaurants-london Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://trello.com/userhuongsen

Created March 9, 2020 at 06:05PM /huong sen View Google Doc Nhà hàng Hương Sen chuyên buffet hải sản cao cấp✅ Tổ chức tiệc cưới✅ Hội nghị, hội thảo✅ Tiệc lưu động✅ Sự kiện mang tầm cỡ quốc gia 52 Phố Miếu Đầm, Mễ Trì, Nam Từ Liêm, Hà Nội http://huongsen.vn/ 0904988999 http://huongsen.vn/to-chuc-tiec-hoi-nghi/ https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1xa6sRugRZk4MDSyctcqusGYBv1lXYkrF

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