#aerated bread

[my-name-is-not-kimmy]

What do you think our friend Jonathan Harker ordered at the A.B.C. on the way home from work?

#dracula daily #my friend jonathan harker #aerated bread #jonathan harker's food tour of Europe #I'm having toasted scones and jams (various)

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

Credits for Interlude 1:

Art by @mayhemchicken-artblog

Story by @thegoatsongs

Edited by @dathen

Image descriptions (alt text) by @dathen, @mayhemchicken-artblog, and @thegoatsongs

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Start reading Episode 1

Dialogue transcripts:

Panel 1

Voice (offscreen): I never thought I’d be nostalgic for English tea and scones.

Shop signs: Aerated Bread Co. Bakery Tearoom Est. 1864

Panel 2

Mina: Well, never hesitate to ask for anything from Arthur. He loves treating his guests.

Irene: He’s said so himself; it’s very sweet of him.

Panel 3

Irene (voiceover): Speaking of sweet, I didn’t expect your husband to ask for my autograph.

Mina (voiceover): Oh, yes, Jonathan loves opera!

Panel 4

Mina: So…when you return home, will you take up singing again?

Panel 5

Irene: We have no home to return to.

Panel 6

Irene: We will find a home here, even if we have to fight for it. I am tired of running.

Panel 7

Mina: You have friends here, now. We’ll make sure you find a place here. Jonathan will help find work for Godfrey.

Panel 8

Irene: You are too kind, Mina. Thank you.

#lxgf #lxgf interlude 1 #story updates #lxgf irene norton #lxgf mina harker #lxgf jonathan harker #we are so back let's get this (aerated) bread

[catwingsathena]

Mutuals come get in the time machine we’re going to the Aerated Bread Company

#dracula #dracula daily #aerated bread company

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

i know we're past this part in the book but i think we should all continue to talk about how the aerated bread company's ties to feminism right at a time in the book where mina is being shoved to the side and treated as weak.... the mention of the company might have just been an offhanded reference just like someone would say that they were going to panera or something but it also continues the idea that jonathan wants him and mina to be on equal footing and... idk i think that's important

#the aerated bread company #dracula #dracula daily

[ourgoodfriendjonathan]

By the way, are mina and VH just swapping out horses whenever they get to a farm? Is that a thing they used to do, are horses that interchangeable? I thought you would have differences between horses, but no, apparently they're more like rechargeable batteries

#dracula daily #November 2 #many things new to me that were normal to the average person in the 1800s #this is the best thing since aerated bread

[leatherbookmark]

quickly caught up with the draculadailys and aaaaaaaghhhh mina!!! on one hand the way they’re excluding her (even though she should get the most credit for getting this whole story to make sense! even though she’s literally jonathan’s wife, they should be concerned for her physical safety, not her delicate feminine self getting scared or something!) is frustrating, on the other i can’t help but want her to get away so that dracula can’t drink from her anymore :( those entries from her diary were so unsettling, it was like the last notes from lucy all over again.

but also dear god they’re all so long! how long is this book anyway?!

#also: aerated bread company...! #shrimp thoughts

[charles-leclerizz]

🏎️ ๋࣭ ⭑ cat-quette

🏁 Pairings : Max vertsappen X fem! Reader

🏁 Warnings : fluffy as hell, suggestive language and one suggestive scene.

🏁 Word Count : 2.7k words (2742 words)

🏁 Summary : Sometimes, a family of 4 needs just one more addition, so you and your boyfriend venture out to find the perfect new daughter

🏁 translations via radio comm below

🏁 credits : word dividers by @gigittamic

🏁 Music player : Winter blossom by Dept, Ashley blossom, nobody like you pat

“Come on Maxie, please” You draw at the syllable at the end of your plea, dancing in your spot in your shared kitchen, “Imagine it, you, me, jimmy, sassy and a third cat, we could name it, kibble or something.”

Max looked at you with a worried expression, one brow arched in questioning, “Kibble?” He continued to knead the bread dough in front of him, slamming his hands into the mixture that sat fluffy and aerated on your marble counter, “You just demonstrated why we can’t get a third cat, you’re gonna make it depressed in the first 2 days.”

“Now that’s mean.” You cross your arms over and harrumph, going over to the stove to stir the searing vegetables in the pan.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him wash his hands free of the dough that remained on his fingers before going back to the olive oil doused ball and placing it into a wooden bowl, he then laid a fresh white cloth over the dough and transferred it into the fridge for it to rise for about 40 minutes.

You then felt his presence behind you, then you felt his hands snake around your waist and then his head followed suit, nuzzling into your neck before placing a soft kiss on your skin, “I’m sorry schat.” He mumbled, tickling your ear with his soft tufts of blonde hair.

“Y’know,” You paused briefly in between your enraged sauteing, stainless steel spatula in the air, “I don’t think you are.”

“But I reeeaaallly am.” He copied your elongated whine, shifting the two of you by guiding you side to side, oscillating gently as though you were the dough and he was trying to knead the forgiveness out of you, “How about this..” he started, laughing inwardly when your ears perked up and you attempted to discreetly turn off the gas so you could spin in his hold. Looping your arms around his neck you prompted him to continue, “We could go to the pet shop tomorrow.” He murmured, looking up into the air, despite your vice like grip on his head as though the particles would answer him and not your already giddy form in front of him.

“Yeah?” You danced slightly in his hold, wiggling your hips like a hyper child, “You promise?”

“You can drive pista if I forget.” He nodded solemnly.

“Oh shit-“ You lean back, impressed with his dedication, “You really are sorry”

“dat is alles wat nodig is?” He blubbers, eyes wide for dramatic effect, as you would like to call it, “Your standards are low, real low my love.”

You furrow your brows, playfully hitting the underside of his head before leaning up to kiss his grimaced lips, "What else is new? How else do you think this happened?” You gestured between the two of you.

Max hummed, leaning down to kiss your cheek before trailing down to your jaw, he grinned against you when your breath hitched and you pulled him closer, if that was possible, “I wooed you?” He tried; you snorted in response.

“Yeah, you wooed the heck out of me, yee old Maximillian Verstappen, one foul scowl at me and bam four years later here we are.”

You yelped when he bit your neck.

“Hmm, I’m just so so handsome?” He couldn’t hold his laugh back at this claim.

“I first met you when you were a scrawny 18-year-old, but yes, you are very handsome.” you coo at him whilst caressing his face.

Max hummed in agreement, “I know.”

“You’re not going to compliment me?” You asked.

“Hmm…nope.” He shrugged.

You gaped at him for a beat before lunging at his face and taking the soft skin of his cheek between your teeth, holding it there and growling playfully. Max yelped and laughed at your pseudo-attack before pushing you away and taking your lips captive with his as revenge, “You’re much prettier than me geliefde.” He added before his tongue slipped between your lips.

“Max... the food” You helplessly remind him when he finally detaches from you, only to lift you into his arms and move to the left to sit you down onto the counter, slotting himself in between your pliantly open thighs you draw him closer despite your objections.

“Fuck the food...” He murmurs against your ear, kissing behind it and trailing his mouth lower and lower until he reached your baby blue, silk camisole. Max looks up at you briefly, his bottom lip just barely breaching the collar of your flowy top, you stare down at him eyes heavy and threatening to flutter closed with every hot breath of his that fanned over your chest.

You bring one hand away from his neck to drag down his face, your middle finger just barely anchored on his mouth, pulling down his lip until he stopped your journey south and took the soft digit into his mouth, “Yeah, that sounds fair.” You breathed out, already jumping back into his embrace, preparing yourself to slam the bedroom door closed with a breathless laugh.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” You ask him, plugging in your hairdryer and drawing out a large barrelled round brush from the containers that sat on your counter. The bathroom door was wide open as you waited expectantly for Max to emerge from the walk-in closet on the opposite side of the room, the only divider being your bed and a half-length wall.

“What? What did I forget?” Your boyfriend looked down at his phone, waiting for a calendar event to remind him, when that didn’t happen, he looked up at you.

You remained still, just flicking on the contraption in your hands and drowning out his obliviousness with the sound of luke-warm air drying your hair.

“Babe?” he tried once.

“Babe?” He tried again.

“Babe?”

You finally snapped, large brush still wrapped in your hair as your hand pressed your silky strands into the bristles and hair sprayed the volume into it, “Max, you’re shitting me, right? That’s it, keys to the pista.” You ordered, tapping your nail against the counter space next to you.

That’s when the realisation hit the driver in front of you, his face blanched and he rushed up to you, “See, I didn’t forget I conveniently played stupid?” He tried; eyes slightly lit up with hope.

“You’re right-“ You start, snorting at the badly veiled victorious expression on his face, “You are stupid.”

By this point, Max had reached the threshold of the bathroom and had slumped forward, the only thing stopping him from face-planting the expensive tiled floor were his hands braced on the doorframe, “Not the pista, baby, anything else.”

“What about one of your Aston Martins ?,” You faced him, tearing your eyes away from your reflection in the large mirror ahead.

Max’s face fell at the mention of his beloved collection of Aston’s, “Okay, so maybe we take the Pista…”

You pouted at him, swiping on a generous amount of pink lip-gloss, “I knew I should’ve been on top last night.”

The rollers in your hair fell one by one as you undid them, smiling cheekily to yourself when Max choked on his own spit, “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Don’t ask questions, that you don’t want to know the answers to.” You pass by him in the doorway, pinching his cheeks together and pecking him quickly on his duck-lips.

“So it’s the Pista?” He hollered from his place, craning his neck to where you had turned into the closet.

He heard you snort, and the rustling of fabric before you answered him, “It’s the most expensive Aston Martin you own!”

You ended up taking the pista.

But your resignation was soon vindicated when you broke the speed limits the whole drive from your apartment to the best pet store in the city.

“Heer, red mij” Max prayed, hand braced on the ceiling of the sports car as your heeled foot pressed even harder onto the accelerator, the car purred happily whilst you cruised along the mountain road, the view of the crashing waves almost therapeutic, until the serene scene was broken with a-

“BEN JE NET 150 KM/U BREKEN? HOE?” A shaky finger followed promptly afterwards, tapping the speedometer a few times.

You blow a nonchalant breath through your lips, “You’re a formula one driver Maxie, why are you so scared?”

“We don’t normally drive like hooligans, it’s precise and practise-“

You interrupted his rant by miraculously increasing your pace and speeding down the empty highway ahead, Max slammed one hand against the window as an ungodly screech erupted from the 3-time world champion.

Safe to say, you arrived at the pet store in a safe condition.

Never mind that Max had rushed out of the passenger’s seat to press a kiss to the hood of the car, before running to a few nearby bushes and attempting to uproot his breakfast.

Though, with no such luck of evacuating the contents of his stomach, he waddled over to where you stood unimpressed albeit also concerned to knit your hands together, pecking your forehead a few times he allowed you to guide him into the shop.

“Oh my god Maxie, look!” You squealed, rushing up to the large glass display of a dozen or so hamsters, the various coloured furballs rolled around the spacious enclosure as you cooed down at them.

Max bent down as well, but soon caught eye of the “HALF OFF” sign and stood straight, “’M not sure geliefde, maybe not hamsters, jimmy, and sassy like the taste of em.”

You nodded once, wrenching your gaze away from one of the hamsters that you had already grown fond off to hold your boyfriend’s hand once more, “You could be less crude about it.” You mumble inwardly.

“You’re telling me, about being crude.” He scoffed down at you before looping his arms around your neck and tucking you into his side.

The pair of you continued to walk around the retail, swerving into and out of isles whilst browsing each selection of pet that could potentially enter your home.

Max had to continuously drag you away from the more exotic selection that there was on display, that was after you had convinced the store clerk to wrap a domestic snake around his neck.

“You look like you’re about to throw up” You giggle, pointing your phone at Max, who’s face had turned an alarming red as the docile snake snuggled up to his thick neck.

“I’m about to faint, no shit right now, this is not babygirl schat, this is abuse.” He hissed, quoting what you had said to convince him in the first place, he brought one shaky hand up to pet the reptile, a laboured “shhh” noise escaping the dutchman as though he were coercing the docile animal to not strangle the life out of him.

Luckily, the over-amused store clerk unwrapped the snake from his shoulders before Max simultaneously shit himself and cried.

“Maxie, look” You rushed over to another enclosure, this time, it was a large area on the floor walled off with pet gates, plush pillows were propped up against the black grate along with tumultuous cat toys spread across the floor. Luckily, to match the mess, there were at least 15 kittens, all different breeds, some were sleeping on their tummies, fluffy eyes closed as their four limbs spread out oddly whilst others were being entertained by other enraptured patrons.

“Hi guys,” You whispered, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs as your crouched down again, coming eye to eye with the adorable animals, “You’re so cute,” Max had joined you promptly, hitching up his jeans as he lowered himself next to you, large blue eyes following the cats.

A worker noticed the two of you and left their previous customers, a couple, much like yourselves, the two people cuddled a soft brown kitten who nuzzled into their shared embrace.

“Hi! Can I help you?”

You looked up at her, smiling, “My boyfriend and I were looking for a new addition to our family, I would love to bring home one of these guys.” You gestured to the large play pen.

“Well, that’s just lovely! But the cat’s choose you guys, not the other way around.” The middle-aged woman laughed, her olive skin stretching as she unlocked the gate and ushered the two of you in, “That’s how me and my husband got our cat.”

“Oh...” You stood eerily still as multiple odd fluff-balls came and sniffed your heels before trotting away, “What if none of them like me?” You whisper to Max, who already housed at least 3 kittens by his feet, “Nonsense, you just have to be patient darling.” He kissed your cheek and rubbed your arm comfortingly.

After about 10 minutes of you gingerly attempting to welcome a companion into your embrace, a smaller, more fur decadent kitten walked out from behind the small playhouse that sat in the far corner of the enclosure. It cocked its head curiously at you before yawning and shaking its back, and rump, its snow-white fur oscillating with its movements.

“Hi honey,” You whispered, bending down to allow it to clamber sleepily into your lap, you squealed internally, standing up once again with the kitten safely embraced into your arms, its back angled comfortably on your forearms and head rested on your chest whilst it blinked slowly at you, pale green eyes shining happily.

Max grinned serenely at the pair of you, watching as you brought a hand up to rub gently on the pink nose of the animal in your care, “I think you just got chosen.” He laughed quietly, his chin resting on your shoulder as he gazed down at the sleepy cat.

“Her name’s pookie.” You declared giddily as you approached the car, holding out your hand for the keys to the expensive car. Max stared at you, fear evident in his eyes.

“You can name her whatever you want, but you are not driving the car, we have precious cargo now,” He petted pookie behind her ear.

“Fine, come here baby.” You barely pouted, already taking pookie and her small, shell shaped bed into your arms. She rested peacefully in your lap, purring contently as Max hauled the other pink cat care items you had bought, into the back seat.

“So, I just had to buy you a cat?” Max inquired; hand braced on the back of your headrest as he backed out of the parking spot.

You lean over the dash to kiss Max’s stubble covered cheek, “It’s so easy to please me, my love.”

“Well….” He squeaked, looking over at you suggestively.

“You perv,” You smacked his forehead but laughed nonetheless, “There’s children present.”

“So, Max?”

The driver perked up at his name, flipping the microphone in his hand to answer the question, he leaned back against the white sofa where he was joined by a few other of his fellow colleagues all of whom turned to the questioner in the sea of reporters.

“We’ve heard you have a new addition to the family?”

Max laughed into the mic, before adjusting the cap on his head and nodding, “Very true yes, the missus and I just got a new kitten into the house.” He plucked out his phone and held up a photo of you and Pookie, both of whom were turned away from the lens to face the large window showing of the Monaco coastline.

A flurry of ‘awws’ escaped the people present, and Charles who also swooned at the photo spoke into the mic, “Do you guys have a name yet?”

“Kind of, she wanted to name it ‘pookie’ and I just think that when I talk about the kitten, I’ll sound like an idiot, it doesn’t feel right with my accent.”

Charles popped his mouth open, “Wait- you call me pookie?”

Back at home, you had snuggled up to Jimmy and Sassy, both of whom had settled with laying their heads onto each of your legs whilst you held Pookie close to your chest, caressing her cheek, “That’s what you get leclerc.” You snarl at the screen, “Stealing my boyfriend, leaving our children fatherless, you whore.” You joked, filming your commentary to send to Max, who on the television screen was already justifying the similar names between his new daughter, and his work wife.

Pookie blinked up at you, and you swore, that she smiled at your determined face.

📻 Kcccchh.... come in.... come in...translatiion available...over

📻 Kchh...Dutch....to english....over

dat is alles wat nodig is ? - that's all it takes ?

Geliefde - Love [r]

Heer, red mij - Lord, save me

BEN JE NET 150 KM/U BREKEN? HOE? - DID YOU JUST BREAK 150 KPH? HOW?

schat - Darling/Love/Babe [term of endearment]

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #Max Verstappen #Max Verstappen imagine #Max Verstappen x reader #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 smut #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1 x female reader #Max Verstappen fanfic #Max Verstappen fluff #Max Verstappen blurb #Max Verstappen smut #Max Verstappen x you #f1blr #[darlingwrites] #Spotify

[warrioreowynofrohan]

As the latest round of Dracula Daily is about to begin, some reflections on last year’s Tumblr Book Club of it. Fair warning for new readers - this has spoilers for the book.

I’ve loved the novel of Dracula for years, so I was both excited to see how other people on tumblr reacted to it, and nervous that they wouldn’t like it. It was delightful to see people embrace the books amd the characters, and realize how different they were from common tropes and adaptations - and wonderful to see how enthusiastically they dove into context that I’d never thought about before, like the Aerated Bread Company.

One of the things that struck me the most, though, was the reaction to Lucy. I’d largely regarded her simply as a literary contrast to Mina - passive and valued for ‘purity’ and sweetness rather than active and valued for talents and abilities and achievements, the Victorian woman compared with the Edwardian one. And I’d expected tumblr to largely dismiss her as an image of sterotypical Victorian femininity. What I had not expected was for readers to enthusiastically embrace and rally round her and empathize powerfully with her as a sufferer from chronic illness - a characterization that is accurate, but that had never occurred to me in my frustrations with Victorian ideas of female frailty and the era-common trope of the ‘ill girl’. People’s empathy and frustration with Lucy “not wanting to be a burden”, anger as her sufferings went unseen, and satisfaction at Van Helsing’s statement that “not to be all well is an illness” (paraphrased) showed how strongly she’d connected with people who had experienced patronizing attitudes or disregard from the present-day medical community.

In summer of 2021, I’d acquired a chronic illness that left me feeling weak and very easily tired, which was a new and frightening experience to me; I was frightened of what things I wouldn’t be able to do, and frustrated with my inability to meet my previous standards, particularly in terms of my work. By May 2022 I was very much on the mend (I was fortunate to have a diagnosis and prescription process much faster and smoother than many other people with chronic illness), but seeing how people reacted to Lucy still affected me strongly. I’d loved Mina - intelligent, active, contributing Mina - since my first read of Dracula. I didn’t dislike Lucy, but I didn’t care much for her beyond her literary role as a contrast. Seeing tumblr fall in love with her in all her vulnerability helped me see her in a new way, to be more compassionate and empathetic to her - and in consequence, more compassionate towards myself in my own weakness. And I want to thank all the Dracula Daily readers for that.

#dracula daily #dracula daily spoilers #mina murray #lucy westenra #chronic illness

[thethirdromana]

As to the tall, curly-haired man, I suppose it was the one who was with me at the last Pop.

Brace yourselves, I'm about to provide way too much detail on literally one word of this entry.

A "Pop" was a popular classical music concert; specifically, part of a series held at St James's Hall. I suppose the word "Pop" might have been used by other places? But the concert series at St James's Hall was very well known and well established, so I think it's fair to assume that's what Lucy is referring to.

St James's Hall was located between Regent St and Piccadilly where the Dilly Hotel now stands. It opened in 1858 and was demolished in 1905.

The first two images are sketches of the hall when it opened in 1858; the final image is a photo from 1885. You'll notice that it's next door to the Aerated Bread Company; here's their menu.

Apparently the interior is in the style of the Alhambra, but it's a bit hard to tell.

Pops were chamber concerts, held on Monday evenings and Saturday afternoons. Tickets started at a shilling each (source, p139), which was affordable for anyone on a middle-class salary (it's about a week's coal bill for a poor family). I'd assume Lucy and Arthur paid more for better seats.

At the Pop reviewed by Werner's magazine in 1893, the programme was:

Schubert, String Quartet in A minor, op. 29

Brahms... I have no idea what the convention is when there are slurs in the titles of classical music? Let's call them Brahms' folk songs, op. 103

Beethoven, Sonata in C minor, op 111

Schumann, Quartet in F flat, op. 47

Henschel, Five Quarters, op. 51

A less detailed review in the Athenaeum (here, p477) suggests that this was a reasonably typical programme.

I had assumed that a Pop would be all crowd-pleasers, given the name and pricing, but I asked a musician friend for his thoughts (since I'm not qualified to judge) and he says it's not; the programme above is highbrow and relatively abstruse, and it was performed by notable musicians.

I don't know how much this actually tells us about Lucy and Arthur's taste in music. But since we don't have much else to go on, I'm going to headcanon it as a genuine enthusiasm that they share.

#dracula daily #lucy westenra #arthur holmwood #historical context #may 11

[my-name-is-not-kimmy]

It was now dark, and I was tired and hungry. I got a cup of tea at the Aerated Bread Company and came down to Purfleet by the next train.

The Aerated Bread Company Ltd (A.B.C.) began as a bakery in 1862 and then was known for a chain of 250 tea rooms, which the company began opening in 1862.

Dr. John Dauglish started ABC to market his bread, made by a revolutionary new method. Dr. Dauglish thought kneading bread was less than sanitary. In those days, bakery workers might use both hands and feet to knead dough. Dr. Dauglish developed a process to "aerate" or add carbon dioxide to bread to leaven it, rather than relying on the gas produced through fermentation.

This method was lauded by the scientific journals of the time as being cleaner and more wholesome than traditional bread-making methods. Because of this many doctors of the day endorsed this healthy bread. It was used in hospitals because of its perceived cleanliness.

Dauglish described his technique as avoiding the "destructive influence of fermentation." He said that the bread contained "all the gluten and all the albuminous food of the wheat" which would be changed by fermentation by normal methods.

#dracula daily #aerated bread #my friend jonathan harker

[wheresjonno]

Mina tells us today that Jonathan is out and won't be home for lunch. So...

#dracula daily

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

Blorbocore Activities for Dracula Characters

Jonathan:

Treat yourself to a cup of tea at the aerated bread company. Or, you know, a modern cafe. Or just at home. 

Write your significant other’s name over and over in glitter gel pen. Shorthand optional

Appreciate a scenic vista. Write it down in the most flowery purple prose you can manage

Try a new food. Bonus points if it’s spicy. 

Choose vengeance. 

Mina:

Write in ink or on a typewriter. Try shorthand for bonus points

Find a cool graveyard to chill in. Old man with an indecipherable accent is optional

Memorize something random, just for kicks

Similarly, adopt or hone a skill that could come in handy one day, but is otherwise just some fun tidbit 

Be an unapologetically goth queen

Arthur:

Hang out with your pets!

Take a leaf out of his dating notebook (fishing, tennis, outdoorsy stuff) 

Finally let your emotions overcome you and express them by sobbing inconsolably onto your sister-by-choice’s shoulder

Tell people you value how you feel about them, but phrase it in the context of their imminent demise

Dress up nice for no real reason

Jack:

Record an audio diary or “podcast” of your day. Imitate people’s voices to the best of your ability. 

Stare melodramatically into the middle distance, ideally looking pensively into the sunset

Is there something you can spend hours doing and never get bored? Do it. Now.

Learn a few Latin phrases to sprinkle into your conversations 

Listen to emo music. 

Quincey:

Have a campfire to roast marshmallows and spin yarns around

Put on your most exaggerated cowboy voice and talk slang for the day.  

Flee from a pack of wolves with your friends

Be the spontaneous friend! Shoot a bat. 

Be rootin, be tootin, be shootin, but most of all be kind

Van Helsing:

Do something supportive for your friends if they need a pick-me-up!

Embrace dark comedy. Bow before King Laugh. 

Mangle as many metaphors as you can in one conversation. The more times you mention corn, the better. 

Read up on mythology and folklore

Try to convince your most skeptical friend that ghosts are real. 

Lucy:

Keep a diary in emulation of your Good Friend Mina

Go for an evening stroll. 

Have a sleepover with your friends! They can try to stop you from sleepwalking out of the room. 

Dye your hair a new color on impulse

Donate blood. 

Renfield:

Find a non-aesthetic bug— not a butterfly— and examine it closely

Sing or hum in your room and ignore guests

Debate philosophy. 

Jump out a window and run over to bother your neighbor in the dead of night

Absolutely pummel a punching bag, pillow, or psychiatrist. 

Dracula:

get hit in the head with a shovel. 

#Dracula #dracula daily #Mina Harker #Jonathan Harker #arthur holmwood #jack Seward #quincey morris #Van Helsing #Lucy Westenra #rm renfield

[marisatomay]

you’re just jealous because my bread has a tangy flavor and irregular aeration and yours doesn’t

[ineffable-gallimaufry]

the aerated bread company. thinking about it again. the way it was both a starting point for wider rights for women in victorian society but was also a giant corporation and kinda evil because of it. like it's weird to think about

#the aerated bread company #sorry this company is just interesting to me #like. they should write books on this for me to read #i need the niche knowledge now

[see-arcane]

There's also the fact that Joanthan would visit her at her school where she taught

It inspires the lovely image of Jonathan 'Down to Make Out with his Fiancée/Wife in Front of Anyone' Harker showing up to ask her out for lunch. Which is sweet! She loves that!

But at the same time, she knows she's walking a thin line between, 'Okay, need to be composed in front of my students or I'll be a hypocrite in their eyes,' and, 'Ohhh but LOOK at him, I can't just NOT give him my arm and maybe share a kiss or two or three...' Like--

Jonathan: Lunch date? Hold arm? Kisses? c:

Mina: Lunch yes, the rest no.

Jonathan: :c

Mina, trying to dodge the many interested gazes of her girls from the door: Jonathan, the students.

Jonathan: <:'c

Mina, sweating: Look, maybe once we're away from the building...

Jonathan, full 🥺: Mina...hates Jonathan? Mina is unyielding? Mina is incapable of loving Jonathan? I am running away. I am packing my little law books and going out to the Aerated Bread Company as an unloved solicitor's clerk. I can no longer stand the heartbreak.

Mina: ...

Mina's etiquette students: :)

Mina, after letting Jonathan take her arm and sharing a kiss: Our next lesson will be on when to ignore the lessons. Extra good marks for everyone who breathes not one word of it beyond the classroom.

Mina's etiquette students: Yes, Miss Murray. :)

Later, Mina will red-facedly report to Jonathan that he is responsible for a minor insurrection among her class, what with them all now distracted by questions less to do with decorum and more about their own courtship, and do they kiss in public all the time, and demanding to know if he has an available younger brother and the like.

She hopes he's proud of himself.

(He is.)

#in which the Harkers proceed to ruin romantic expectations every time they walk outside #god and imagine having to endure it after the post-Transylvanian white-haired prettyboy love-powered warrior makeover #how are these girls supposed to just settle for whichever random boy their parents try to set them up with #when their own teacher is married to JONATHAN HARKER?? #it's like trying to be satisfied with half a stale chocolate bar while your instructor is going to town on a triple-decker gourmet cake #it isn't FAIR damn it #mina harker #jonathan harker #dracula #dracula daily #holiest love

[mintmatcha]

“Hey, boss.”

Tendou barely looks up from his work, the silken batter finally starting to aerate. His employee waits in the doorway, hands on his hips and foot impatiently tapping. When he doesn’t respond, Peter repeats it, “Hey, boss-”

 “Can it wait a sec’?” Tendou hums, “Papa’s kind of busy.”

“Please, stop calling yourself that.”

“What? It’s not sexual- I’m your business father. Your paycheck pop!” he hits the P’s hard, letting them pop.

Peter groans, “I’m trying to tell you that your girlfriend dropped off lunch for you, but since you’re being like that-”

That makes Tendou stop. In fact, he stops so abruptly he almost drops the bowl; part of the dark batter paints the front of his chef whites. “What?”

“Yeah, she just left.” Peter holds up a tiny, metal box- a bento. Tendou hasn’t seen one since he left Japan, “Said to make sure you take a lunch break.”

Tendou places the bowl on the counter and heads straight for his employee, mostly in confused shock. Really, he should have seen this coming.

‘I don’t think I’ve had lunch since I moved to France,’ he had mentioned casually one night, ‘My mom used to make me these bentos with little hotdogs cut like octopus and plum hearts- it doesn’t taste as good when I make them.’

“Are you messing with me?”Tendou takes it from him with both hands, studying the box suspiciously. It’s familiar. Strangely, perfectly familiar.

“Why would I lie about a lunch from your girlfriend?”

As soon as the metal is in his hands, Tendou knows Peter couldn’t fake this; the dented side, the scratched up cap, the gnawed on chopsticks: this isn’t just a bento box. It’s his-- the same one he used in high school. He imagines you must have called his mom, begged her to ship it all the way here.

The most damning evidence is a handwritten note, taped down furiously with packing tape. Eat your vegetables! >:( is written in soft, bubbly kanji. It takes a second for his brain to register exactly why it makes him so unusually emotional, why his eyes suddenly burn with longing and love-

It’s just been so long since he’s seen his mom’s handwriting.

Tendou cracks the top. You’ve cut a plum -a fresh one, not pickled, a folly he can’t help but laugh at- so the half looks like a heart and tucked it between the bits of breaded pork and vegetables.  The rice is undercooked, he can see the inner kernel is still pearly white, but it smells like vinegar, black sesame, and childhood.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks, more confused than concerned, “You look like you’re going to cry.”

“Papa’s fine!” Tendou sniffles, “Just realized that I’ve been homesick for a while. Do-”

He jerks a thumb to his concoction on the stove, “Do you mind finishing this while I take a break?”

“Whatever,” Peter shrugs, “Anything you want, dad.”