you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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I love how Phoenix Wright has a ':D' face but his inner monologue is like "why won't everyone stfu. I hate this plant. when will this nightmare end", and Miles Edgeworth has a '>:[' face but his inner monologue is like "this is such a nice furniture. I should offer some help to this unfortunate person. ants are amasing and nature is full of wonders".
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“Did this place pick up a ghost when I was dead or something?”
Tim whipped his head towards Jason, who looked mildly perturbed.
“You too?!” Tim demanded.
“What?”
“The ghost! I kept thinking it was a hallucination, you know? But even when I laid off of the caffeine, there’d be a fucking shadow at the edge of my vision! At night! You saw it too, right?” Tim rambled, increasingly agitated. “It even moves the fucking coffee mugs! I know where I left my favorite mug, and it sure as hell wasn’t in the sink!”
Jason blinked at him, face morphing into concern.
“Replacement, when was the last time you got some sleep?”
Tim inhaled. “Jason, I swear to god I will replace all of the shampoo in your twenty six safe houses with glitter glue if you don’t tell me whether you saw it or not.”
Jason nodded immediately. In his defense, Tim grew up to be a scary motherfucker. Diabolical little shit would have been a fucking terrifying villain.
“I knew it.”
——
Danny hummed. Tim was going to freak when he found his cowl three inches to the left.
He merrily avoided all of the set up cameras by simply going invisible and intangible, save for his arms that he uses to sweep the cowl to the side.
He could hear the static on the cameras. Danny grinned. Operation Gaslight, Ghostkeep, Girlboss is on.
——
“Tim-” Dick started, only to be cut short by Tim whirling around and jabbing a painful finger into his chest.
“You owe me this, for that Arkham comment when B went missing.”
Dick raised his hands in surrender, guilt flaring.
“Drake, what kind of pointless scheme are you getting us in, now?”
“Not now, demon brat.” Jason elbows the kid. “Just go along with it.”
“Look.”
“Well. I guess we were right, yeah, Tim?” Duke muttered, eyeing the moved cowl. “My ghost-sight isn’t seeing anything. Not even wind movement.”
“What’s going on, boys?”
“B, there’s a ghost in the manor.”
“He’s freaking out because it moved his coffee mug like three times.” Steph chimed in.
——
“Danny?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you seen anything weird, lately?”
Danny tilted his head. “No…?”
“Not even in the house?” Jason asked.
“Shadows? Anything?” Dick asked, eye bags prominent on the normally exuberant man. Danny snickered inwardly. They’ve been up for three days trying to “catch” the ghost.
“Uh. I mean the floorboards creak sometimes? But in terms of shadows… I think I saw them outside? Kind of looked like Batman, actually. But my eyesight gets bad at night. Why?”
Danny could see in the dark just fine.
“Nothing! Let me know if you see anything, okay?”
“Uh. Sure? Maybe you guys should… get some sleep?”
“Uh-huh.”
The bats file out of his room.
——
Danny locked glowing green eyes with Tim and Dick. He did some quick thinking and contorted his ectoplasm into something more grotesque.
“Kkkhggggghkkkkeeee!!!” He screeched.
“AHHHHHHHHHH!” The two of them screamed, both bolting and throwing things at him. It was impressive how fast they backpedaled.
“That was close,” Danny muttered. He quickly scribbled on Damian’s whiteboard with conspiracy theories and dipped before the rest of the bats came thundering.
He fell into a light sleep just as Stephanie checked up on him, work done.
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