#whoaindeed

[babyimafirework]

The screaming went on for what seemed like hours. What must have been actual factual hours. Jubilee had done everything for this poor baby. Walked him up and around their two little joint rooms, attempted to feed him his favorite melon blend finger food, played with all his toys, read him all his books, when finally, finally, finally, there was nothing but soft Shogo snoring and silence. Jubilee placed him into his crib with the same delicacy of that rat bastard Indiana Jones placing the bag of sand to steal the ancient relic from the temple where it rightfully belonged.

Then, turning down the light and sticking the baby monitor into her pocket, she tiptoed out into the hall just in time to catch Hank McCoy about to rap on her door. “Fuck!” Jubilee grabbed Hank’s wrist midair and panic whispered, “I mean frick!” She glanced behind her at Shogo, tugging Hank a bit with her. “Still asleep. Thank fucking god, Doc. C’mon.” 

Jubilee oh so gently shut the door and, still yanking Hank along, sat them both down at the common area at the end of the hall. She let go of him and hopped onto an overstuffed armchair. “Welcome to the third floor, padre. Mi casa es su casa.” Jubilee propped her legs up on the coffee table and stretched her back. “Can I get you anything?” She reached into her pockets. “Gum? Baby monitor? Gum wrappers? Whatever this nasty ass clump might be?” Rolling her shoulders in a facetious attempt at seduction, Jubilee dropped a wad of hair, chewed gum, and lint onto the table. “Come on, baby. I know you want it.” She winked. 

[redplanetblueplanet]

@whoaindeed

M’gann shut the door and leaned heavily against it. She was exhausted. After three months off-world on assignment with Hal Jordan, there was no getting around it. Yet, true to form, she hadn’t immediately gone to her room to rest. Nope. Of course, M’gann made a beeline straight towards her kitchen. 

Dinner wouldn’t cook itself.

Alfred Pennyworth was, of course, ever present and accounted for in the Mousehole, but M’gann felt guilty that she’d left him to do the housework alone while she was gone. So deeply guilty that she’d insisted he take the night off and so overachieving that she had hustled towards her culinary kingdom to make everyone dinner without so much as a second thought about a nap. She closed her eyes, pressed against the cool wood of the great door, then snapped back to attention. In her exhaustion, M’gann hadn’t noticed someone nearing till they were pushing on the door behind her.

She quickly turned around and opened the door again, smiling broadly. “Hank!”

[batgirlxrising]

@whoaindeed

Dough from the bowl into the pan, pan from the counter into the oven, get more eggs from the fridge, get more sugar from the pantry, commandeer another oven, repeat. Stephanie was baking again which meant she would be swarmed soon enough by those who enjoyed her expertise. Surprisingly for anyone who knew her though, this baking session wasn't a flurry of nervous activity in the early hours of the night. No, this time, Steph was baking in the middle of the day. Broad daylight, even. It was quite the miracle, really- a positive development.

Well, it might be if it weren't for the footsteps she could hear behind her in the entrance to the kitchen- possibly a Mousehole resident who was drawn by the smell of cookies in the oven. Baking was a tradition to be shared, cherished, and loved by a group of course- that was always part of the reason Steph baked for the Nomads. The problem lay in the fact that she didn't exactly want or need someone hovering over her shoulder asking questions while she worked.

"Cookies aren't ready yet," Steph called over her shoulder, not looking up from the bowl she cradled in her arms as she stirred and mixed. "We probably have some bownies left in the pantry from when I made 'em last- otherwise, come back in an hour if you still want them."

[roi-des-voleurs]

@whoaindeed​

While Remy may have made an effort to walk the straight and narrow like his teammates did, there was one thing some of them did that he could never do--teach. It was not so much that he had a problem with kids or young adults; he kind of liked them, actually. No, rather it was the idea of someone like him trying to mold impressionable young minds. That would be a huge mistake. Not to mention the idea of being stuck in a classroom for hours was pretty much Remy's idea of Hell. So he could only imagine that after a long day of doing just that, Hank would be in serious need of a drink.

"Ah Henri, time t' unwind, mon ami," he said as he led Hank into the less-than-high-end bar. Granted it was not quite as seedy as some of the places Remy frequented, but also probably not where a respectable professor would go to unwind. Grinning, he put his arm around the other man's shoulders--which probably looked ridiculous considering Hank was taller than him--and nudged him towards the bar. "What you drinkin'? It'll be my treat." He tapped his pocket, filled with his winnings from the previous evening's activities. "I know you need it after dealin' with alla dose petites terreurs. I admire you bein' able t' do dat, 'cause dere ain't no way I'd ever be able t' deal wit' 'em."