AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH i had an ask and then i LOST IT anyway i am in like... .5 of your fandoms so idk anything but i love me some found family shenanigans and i ADORE you and your writing so... batfam? celebrating any holiday, maybe a really obscure one or something and just going 1000% extra
“Cass,” Steph says, her fifty part plan held tightly in her hands. “Today is the day.”
Cass’ eyes light up. “Muffin day?”
“Muffin day.” Steph nods once, and Cass jumps up and through the air vent. Even if she strains her ears, Cass is totally silent, which would have made or break the plan otherwise.
Duke is next, and she’s running through her recruitment speech in her head as she soughts him out. “So you know how half this family burns soup?” ...There went the speech. Damn it, she’d taken months to write that.
Duke raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you burn soup?”
“No, yes, maybe, not the point. Today’s muffin day, are you in or are you out?” She’s barely finished the word before he’s leapt to his feet.
“Of course I’m in, why didn’t you lead with that?”
She finds Damian and Tim sparring, and the only thing she does is unravel the most epic sheet of paper to ever paper, covered in ink. Particularly important points; mainly, the word muffin, were circled in the most garish highlighter she owns.
“This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever seen.”
“I bought extra supplies last night.”
Somehow, Babs and Jason seem to just know when she’s cooking up a plot, and turn up with muffin tins in fun shapes and three duffel bags of sprinkles respectively. A text saying Muffins, at the manor, now, is all she needs to convince Dick, and finally her plan is in its final phase. Cass has collected anything that could possibly be used to bake muffins, and other surprise items that may either poison someone or turn her into the next Gordon Ramsay.
Any available space has been filled with muffins of varying flavours, sizes, and edibility. Most were covered in icing that another person would say was too much and enough sprinkles to put Jason’s illegal supply to shame. Anyone who said eight people and a dog was too many cooks clearly hadn’t seen the amount of muffins they could produce when no one was trying to kill each other. There’s a pointed cough at the kitchen door. “Really, Miss Stephanie,” Alfred says, “if you wanted to celebrate today by covering Gotham in muffins, couldn’t you have at least consulted a recipe book first?”
