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[stepfordbot]

They'd been doing well. The world hadn't ended, five was home, the house was full- they'd celebrated. They'd danced and laughed and lived and had fun as normal families do. They reached out to one another to build a better understanding, they spoke more than they ever did in their youth without the specter of Reginald hanging overhead. It'd been light in the mansion. Full of joy. Potential. For the first time since her creation Grace could say without a shadow of a doubt, she was happy. Without a single qualifier or exception. Happy except for the things she had to endure hearing Reginald say about the children. Happy except for how she wasn't allowed to truly be happy.

She was allowed to feel, to express that feeling. She was allowed to change her appearance outside of the strictly defined aesthetics painted onto her by her creator.



And then the ghost. The specter, the threat of everything she managed to recover, to build being taken away again. Of being pared down to the bare doll of a thing she'd drifted about as just after Reginald's death. Reminded in so many ways she has a place and a purpose and it isn't what she wanted- because she isn't meant to want anything.

She's a tool. There are rules.

It means resuming the old routine. The old appearance. All the lovely clothing the children, her children helped her choose folded away in her closet, unworn. Back to the old swingdresses and pincurls, the carefully painted lips and penciled brow. Back to stiffly, mechanically baking and preparing tea at a certain hour. Back to filling the dessert case, a single deviation from the old programming, because the kids are upset. They snack more when they're upset and cookies make everything better. How many batches she's baked now- she doesn't know. She's lost count. The counter and cooler are full of pies, cakes, and pastry, sweet after sweet kneaded, shaped, baked, and dusted with sugar. Flour on her hand and apron but not a curl out of place- not a single, lilting note sung under her breath. Grace bakes in absolute silence.

Comments

[fireandthread]

Charlie's returned from a shopping trip, buying new fabric for a project she's been filming. She may not be back in Ohio, but the girl has to work. Has to keep those fans on YouTube coming back, watching her videos, liking and sharing.

She's headed to her room to drop the bags off, but the smell of baked goods...it's a lot. She doesn't even have to look to know this is a lot. She can smell chocolate chip cookies, lemon snaps (her personal favorite and ones she will fight people over). Loads of gingerbread, too.

Mom was upset. She didn't need to ask to know. Hell, everyone in the house was upset. Dad was back and while he couldn't be touched, it was still a lot.

So Charlie drops her bags off in her room, posts a quick message on social media that there will be a delay in videos, and then she's in the kitchen, heading over to mom and wrapping her arms around her waist, pressing her head to her back. Just like she used to do as a kid. A surprise hug. It was a game she used to play, just for herself.

She'd sneak up on mom, give her a hug and then say "Got you, mom!" in the most joyful voice a child could master.

Only this time, that phrase had a different meaning. THis time, it was a different kind of 'got you.'

"I got you, mom," Charlie says, voice quiet. She has her, she won't abandon her or let her think she's doing this alone.

"Okay?"

[the_horror]

Things felt like they were falling apart ever since the old man had made his appearance. everyone was on edge again and it felt terrible. The smallest Klaus had found out he had died and that felt terrible as well. Things were a mess.

it was true that they all stress ate. It was true that with Ben being alive again he tended to eat more than he should too. He followed the smell of the baking from the library down to the kitchen, frowning as he saw counters of cookies and pies.

Mom was stress baking.

Though generally he had thought it was 'stress' baking for the stressed out kids. Right now it looked like she had no idea what to do other than bake. She was back in the old style of clothing, her hair done up again and...

"Mom?" Ben said, coming in to the kitchen counter as he watched her take cookies off a cookie sheet. "Mom... what are you doing?"

[ouiking_ouija]

It was incredibly rare that Klaus was glad to have missed something while he was out, but Reginald's return, so to speak, was definitely one of those things. Somehow he had as yet managed to avoid the specter while he was home, though he had been filled in almost as soon as he'd returned the day it had happened, and the knowledge alone had almost been enough to send him into a panic attack. Though he had felt perpetually on the verge of one ever since, a little off-balance, like there was a storm-front rolling in and disrupting his inner ear with the pressure.

He doubted that he was actually keeping it together as well as he wanted to pretend he was, but so far he had managed not to go back to old coping mechanisms, or at least not to the levels that he would have even just a few months prior.

That day, he had managed to get a few hours of sleep, in his own bed, but knew when he woke up that was all he was going to get for the foreseeable future, which was what had him wandering down to the kitchen, realization dawning just from the smell as he got closer, a reminder that the rest of them had actually been there, had actually seen the man in question, which meant that he had no excuse.

It was why he walked into the kitchen already rolling up his sleeves, "What do you need help with, mom? I'm not going to accept 'nothing' as an answer, just so you know."

[n5]

Five has never expected that the smell of fresh baked cookies would make him feel bad. Everyone has their own way to handle stress when they're upset. He gets blackout drunk, his mom apparently cooks until there's no more room in the kitchen to fit a bagel. Overall, stress baking is a very human reaction.

Any sensible person would give Grace space or try to comfort her.

Five is not a sensible person.

He's practical. And he cares, of course, he does. There's nothing in the world that matters more to him than his disastrous family, which is why he knows most of them would get pissed off if they knew what he plans to do. The reasoning behind his plan is that you can't convince someone with words that they are more than a tool, you need to show them. Or better, let them realize it themselves.

There's no more humane reaction than anger.

A flash of blue light announces Five's arrival to the kitchen but Grace seems to be busy with her baking. He studies her for a second, the all too perfect hair and familiar dress, frowning at the view. The next second, the boy's sitting on the table and casually flipping one of the trays full of muffins. He watches as they go flying, the metal tray clanging loudly on the floor and then rolling in an arc before stopping by Grace's feet.

"Oops."