Scream cheese muffins have always been something of a struggle for Grim.

They’re an easier hurdle than bread, but they present more of a challenge than the typical cake. Even more so when you decide to incorporate red velvet.

“Why is your dough screaming?”, Tanner asks, clutching his bowl of something that smells like yogurt and lemon juice.

Grim just hums to himself, lips pressed tightly together as he drops in an extract of misery. Once he’s got a good mix, he holds up a spoon for Tanner to taste before explaining, “Scream cheese mix always screams. Hence the name”.

“No kidding?” After a moment’s apprehension, Tanner takes a lick of the spoon before letting out a burp that gives way to a high-pitched scream. He then snickers, a hand coming to rest on his hip as he looks up at Grim. “That’s awesome. Can I get the recipe for that? I wanna leave some scream cheese bagels in the library and freak everybody out.”

Grim just lets out a ghostly smile as he adds the red velvet emulsion to his batter. “You know my recipes are a trade secret.” Tanner simply lets out a huff, blowing his bangs out of his face. Once he’s slammed his lemon meringue muffins into the oven, he pulls out his phone, leaning against Grim’s desk as he pulls up a video of Chef Sucrose. Upon spotting the lemon meringue pie he’s making, Grim hums to himself. “Is he a source of inspiration for you?”

“If I’m gonna be inspired by anyone, I’m gonna be inspired by the best”, Tanner explains, completely engrossed in his video.

Grim hums to himself, then casts a glance at Angela before asking, “What do you think of Chef Sucrose?”

Angela just shrugs. “What’s there to think?”

“...Well, I was merely wondering if you are also fans of his?” Grim tilts his head to the side, curious. “Sucrose is respected even in the Underworld.”

A quiet sigh escapes Angela, her shoulders falling as she pulls her caramel butterscotch muffins out of the oven and mumbles, “He’s probably the best baker in the world, so I guess that makes sense”. With that, she marches her muffins up to Chef Coco and places them on his desk, then leaves without another word.

“It’s not your fault. Well, not really”, Tanner says as he pats him gently on the back. “Rumor has it she tried to get a job with Sucrose once, and he turned her down because she refuses to work outside of caramel.”

He passes one such screeching pastry to Tanner, a sigh escaping him. “I recall neither baking nor socializing being this difficult.”

The thought is still on his mind the following morning as he prepares breakfast for the twins. Lips pressed tightly together, Grim slides his spatula underneath the last waffle in the skillet, humming lightly to himself when he at last brings it to rest upon a plate of sizzling eggs and sausages. 

“I am trying something different today. I would like you to be as honest as you can.” He turns off the burner, then scoops up the plate and brings it to rest before Demona, who very promptly tears into it with razor-sharp teeth. 

All the while, her mother just watches her fondly for a moment before she forks a piece of her own waffle into her mouth and nods to herself before she says, “These are good. What’d you use this time, griffin?”

“Eww, I hate griffin eggs”, Demona says as she reaches for her glass of orange juice. “They taste nasty.”

Boo just hums to himself as he swings his legs back and forth. He spoons a helping of oatmeal into his mouth before taking a bite of his veggie bacon. He’s just lifted a napkin to lightly dab at his mouth. “They smell funny.”

“That is because they are neither phoenix nor griffin.” Grim unties his apron, then brings it to rest upon the back of his chair. He takes a seat beside his sister, steepling his fingers underneath his chin and wishing, not for the first time, that he could have an appetite.

Banshee just tilts her head to the side, her avian eyes brimming with curiosity when she asks, “Well, what are they, sphinxes? Mermaid?”

“Of course not”, Grim answers with a shudder. He wavers for a moment. “They are chicken eggs.”

Silence settles across the table, Demona looking up from where she’s currently stabbing her fork into her sausage patty. Crimson eyes as wide as saucers, she simply watches her uncle. “Chicken eggs? What, like what mortals eat?”

“Stop it. You know your auntie was raised by mortals.” All the same, Banshee affords him a stare that’s just as curious before she resumes eating. She points her fork at him, her eyes thoughtful. “So was that a recipe in her cookbook? It’s not bad, you know.”

Grim just lets out a grunt and explains, “Tempest was never very fond of chicken eggs, actually. This was something I…wanted to try on my own”. When Banshee just continues to stare at him, he clears his throat and averts his stare to the oven, his eye sockets widening at the sight of the time. “I should get going. Can you send me a portal?”

“Yeah, no biggie”, Banshee remarks, then draws her hands in a circle until a spiraling portal unfolds in the kitchen. He’s about to step through when she suddenly calls out to him. He wavers, then looks back at her. “I’m glad you’re putting yourself back out there. Really.”

A moment passes before Grim clears his throat. He takes in a deep breath and gives his sister a nod, waving goodbye to the devilspawn before he steps through the portal and right into Baking 101.

With a nod of the head, Grim steps through and right into Baking 101. There will be no baking, on account of Chef Coco opting to let them watch a cooking documentary as a sort of reward for having made it past midterms. 

Angela walks up to his table, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Is it okay if I sit here?” At his nod in return, she slides onto the stool beside him. She keeps her eyes upon the projector for a moment before her stare slips to where Grim’s left his cookbook open. “Chicken eggs, huh? Are they golden?”

“That was the Goose. And no, they are regular chicken eggs.” He lightly taps his pencil against the worn pages of the cookbook in question, silent for a moment as he ponders how best to proceed. “Angela. I have a question to ask of you.”

Amusement and apprehension alike creep into Angela’s eyes when she says, “Fire away”. She turns back to face the projector, her fingers drumming out an uneven rhythm against the table. “If it’s about my molten lava cake again, I’ll only give up the recipe if you give up the recipe for those muffins.”

“No, that is not it. Though I would like to revisit the matter later for a certain dragon friend of mine”, Grim remarks, a playful smile tugging at his lips before it gradually thins out as he ponders how best to phrase the question he’s been dying to ask for weeks now. “Have you ever considered working with something outside of caramel?”

Though she’s never said as much before, he’s been under the impression that it’s something of a touchy subject for her, much the same way his Underworldian way of cooking is to him, he supposes. Angela’s silent for a moment, folding her hands in front of her before she speaks. “I have. But I mean, I…come from a long line of bakers. I guess I chose caramel to, I don’t know, make myself stand out.”

“Well, you do not need caramel to do that.” Angela’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and Grim clears his throat before he quickly averts his stare. “If it is all right for me to say.”

A moment passes before Angela affords him a small smile. “It is.” She separates her hands, bringing her left one to reside just inches away from where Grim’s resides atop his cookbook.

The rest of class passes in silence, though not necessarily an uncomfortable one.