#tim pines for weeks btw because let’s face it

[meowharhar]

decently long blurb i wrote inspired by this under the blip

danny had to hang up the hero life after he graduated high school. it’s become strikingly apparent that life is, in fact, just not stagnant and danny was not going to let life run away him any more than it already has. tucker has been looking into tech colleges near and far and sam has had her eyes set on an environmental recovery project somewhere on the west coast. jazz still visits amity for summers, but spends most of her time at some random college in new york as she works on her graduate.

initially, danny didn’t want to leave his ghosts behind—they were his ghosts, and amity was his haunt, and wasn’t it kinda wrong of him to leave them behind? turns out, though, that life while life doesn’t leave the station for anyone six feet under, but it does keep moving for those 3 feet or less underground. yay for danny! maybe.

danny’s train only goes to certain stations, he’s found. after staying with jazz for about a month up in the city that never sleeps, danny didn’t want to leave his bed in amity ever again. he talked to frostbite, and apparently his body needs a constant flux of ectoplasm or else it’ll shut down? which is kinda crazy, and also adds to why danny should just stay in amity, but. it is what it is.

college mail comes through the door, and one name catches his eye—gotham u. gotham sounds kinda spooky, and it has the joker and all those other villains, right? and it’s in new jersey, so it’s probably just freaky and insane enough to satisfy danny’s inner restlessness. and it probably has some sort of ectoplasm flow, considering just how fucking dangerous it is. and, holy shit is that a—

gotham has an astronomy program. there are stars in danny’s eyes.

the boy hasn’t been able to indulge in this particular interest for a long time. every day that passed as phantom, the stars got a little farther away. but this isn’t someone else’s story—it’s danny’s half-life, and he’s gonna chase after the sun in search of the galaxies. protection was never his first obsession, and the stars are so infinite that their beauty is just beyond grasp for the living. but danny’s not alive anymore and he’s served his time for death.

danny writes his application, and the stars on his ceiling shine a brighter green than last night.

jazz says she’s proud of him, and danny looks for cheap apartments in gotham as he waits for a likely letter.

tuck says good luck, and there’s an envelope from the east coast in the mail.

sam hugs him goodbye, and danny steps foot into an empty apartment room in a shitty complex. it smells like change, the floorboards shiver out creaks; the stars in the sky shy away from alignment ever so slightly.

class starts in three weeks, and danny goes job hunting. there’s a bat burger three blocks away, open for hire during the graveyard shift. it’s late enough to chase away the paranoia that seeps through danny’s bones, soaking in the near-alien ectoplasm and prepared to jump at the sound of a ghost.

class starts, and danny goes to his shift dead on his feet. a robin drops in, red and black on his body, and orders a large serving of fries and a coffee with extra expresso.

danny studies the stars on his textbook during his break, and tries to find them in the polluted skies of stinky gotham. he can’t see them, but he feels their presence enough.

there are ants in his shoes and danny can’t sit still. there is so much raw energy in his lithe body, and it makes paying attention in class hard. the graveyard shift tires him out, but does little to ease the rampant thoughts in his brain as his body prepares for an attack that will not come. he’s too used to this schedule and the comfort it provides dwindles.

stagnancy has stepped onto his train tracks, but his train won’t run it over and move on.

two months in, danny calls jazz. jazz can sense the restlessness on him in a way only a psychologist can, and she frets about him in a way only a sister could. “get a hobby,” she tells him, “there are enough heroes in gotham and no ghosts to keep you up at night.”

there’s a board one of the gotham u lobbies, with posters that advertise clubs and activities and other happenings. there’s a rip off tag with an address, and danny takes it home with him.

his shift starts at 12, ends at 4. class starts at 1, ends at 3. it’s his only class of the day. the time on the tag reads 4pm-6pm. he figures he can stop by, if only for jazz’s sake.

it’s a ballerina studio. not what danny was expecting, but it’ll work. there’s a girl there, a few years older than danny, practicing her routine. there’s something enchanting about her movement, about the story she weaves. there’s something wondrous about it, and danny’s core thrums a bit within his chest.

ballerina classes are from 4-6pm tuesdays, thursday’s, and saturday’s. danny works 12-4 monday through friday, only has class 1-3pm on tuesday’s, and has a 12-1 and 2:10-3pm class on thursday. usually, danny catches up on classwork over the weekends, but he’s sure he can squeeze in ballerina classes. he passed high school with a full-time night job—an extra class is nothing.

the ballerina lessons actually have a ton of benefits that danny revels in—he’s still learning the basic movements, but the stretch and motion soothe his body’s anxiousness. danny’s more flexible than he’s ever been, and his balance is on point (haha!). it’s relaxing, to say the least. cassandra’s effortless motion still has danny in awe, and he wishes to one day trust his body as much as she hers.

it’s wednesday two weeks later around 2 in the morning, and the robin returns with a smaller robin in tow. they get joker fries and vegan milkshakes.

the weeks go by, and danny is on winter break and he’s successfully gotten through one semester of college. he returns home to find ellie sleeping in his bed, and is promptly scolded for leaving without letting her know. his parents are here and there, but they’re trying, at least, to care for ellie. ellie still travels, but she settles down when she misses home and nasty burger and somewhere she can rest peacefully. jazz comes home, and she ruffles his hair and kisses ellie’s forehead.

tuck is home to visit his parents, sam skypes from the rescue project. it’s successful so far, and they’re celebrating with a nature voyage in warm brazil over the break. tuck feels right at home with the tech nerds in somewhere, america, but nothing compares to his childhood town. danny recites his time at gotham, and gazes at the stars where they wave to him so clearly through the green-tinted skies.

the train has made a pit stop, but it’s ready to continue moving when the week is over.

danny returns to gotham and the weather picks up fast—fucking new jersey and it’s bipolar weather, winter hasn’t even ended yet! but, it’s jersey, so of course the temperature is rising and soon enough it’s spring. danny has moved on to more complex sequences and movements, and he practices a routine he saw in a dream or a youtube video once upon a time. his instructor calls danny a natural, and danny doesn’t have the heart to tell the man that he’s had practice running and jumping.

there a stars in the skies. danny can feel them, and they get closer each day. there’s a cloud obscuring a light, but it moves and reveals a blurry shimmer. the gotham smog stares at danny, stares into his eye, and danny welcomes it. he feels a rush blow through him, straight through his core, enveloping his being, and danny feels like he’s found a place to belong.

the robin with an x-belt comes back to the bat burger and there are bags even below the domino. he gets two smoothies, fries, a bat burger, jokerized sauce, and some other stuff danny can’t remember. danny’s cleaning when there’s a spark of red in the corner of his eye, and a bit of blue alongside the gleam. his core hums a little loud, but danny elects to ignore it. he’s probably just tired.

the sun is out, and danny almost feels like he’s melting. he almost conjures up ice in his apartment, but it’s already 3:30 and danny has a class to get to. there’s air conditioning in the building and sweet, cold relief trickles down into danny’s core. today, he practices a routine that’s clung to his thoughts, even when he gazes at the great beyond.

this dance is a tale of two sisters, and an astronomer, and a bear. the astronomer has a passion, but one that is easily overwritten by greed and pride. he has a love deep inside him, and it yearns for a harmony he can’t achieve. each stutter in danny’s movement is orchestrated, each sway and jump and twirl controlled and yet—and yet, danny has never felt freer. the accuracy danny has in his body is a security he never felt when he was 14 and adjusting to a change unknown and unprepared for.

the routine is majestic, mystical, and it feels just a little magical.

danny feels eyes on him, but there have been eyes on him since he was 14. it’s easy to ignore, and danny might just revel in the attention.

as he’s walking to the dressing room, feeling a euphoric high only ballet has ever brought to him, a body clashes into danny’s. his balance might be near impeccable now, but danny isn’t strong enough to stay standing after being run into with such a force.

with his back to the ground, danny opens his eyes to a pale, lightly flushed face with wide shocked baby blue eyes and midnight hair, and danny falls a little bit in love.

the man in question stands up speedily, coughs into his fist, and picks up the skateboard he dropped at some point. he has a white button up shirt with dark grey jeans, and his hand outstretches to danny. danny’s never been good at reading people, but even he can tell that the man is embarrassed.

he takes the hand, and the stars align above them.

the man apologizes profusely, introduces himself as tim, and says he came to visit cassandra. danny says everything’s all good if tim buys him a drink—he says it jokingly, but tim takes him up on the offer.

three weeks later and they’re laying in the grass together, watching the skies and looking for stars. tim holds danny’s hand in a gentle clasp, and danny feels a breathe he’s been holding onto escape.

moonlight shines on them gently, illuminating the night. the gotham smog parts and there are two stars in the distance, intertwined and nearly eclipsing.

DP x DC: Sk8er Boi (v2)

He was a punk, He did ballet, what more can I say?

Tim skateboards. Between his nightlife and being a CEO, he doesn’t do it as much as he’d like but he still does it from time to time. When he swings around to Cass’s ballet studio to surprise her, he runs into one of the other ballerinas. Literally. Tim falls on his ass and falls in love.

Danny is a ballerina in Gotham. It wasn’t what he expected his life to be, but he enjoyed it well enough. He had taken up ballet to appease his sister. She had wanted him to take a class in something, have something outside of ghost fighting for his mental health. He had randomly signed up for the first thing to get her off his back. It just so happened to be ballet. 

He was surprised to find he actually liked it. It was so different from anything he had done before, and it was kind of fun. And when he noticed that all the stretching and physical activity that came with it helped with his pain, well he was hooked. The portal accident really left his human body a wreck, and the sheer relief in his day to day was worth it.

Then one day, his friend Cass’s brother Tim ran into him. Literally. The goofy, sheepish look Tim had given him from the floor was very charming. He wondered if Cass would be mad if he asked her brother out…

or 

Tim skateboards, Cassandra does ballet and there was an Avril Lavine reference right there. 

[second-hand-heaven]

79 or 80 for TimKon? I love your writing btw and hope you’re having a great day

(cowers in shame) I’m so sorry this took so long anon, but here’s timkon with 79 “I don’t feel well” and 80 “i didn’t drive all this way to say ‘hey’”

“I don’t feel well,” Kon says, voice impossibly weak through the phone line.

Tim frowns, tucking his phone between his shoulder and chin while his fingers dance across the keys of his laptop. “What’s wrong?” He was trying to get the last surveillance reports done before Kon came over, but it sounds like that won’t be happening any more.

“Sick. Head hurts.”

He pauses the video feed, spinning around in his desk chair. “How the hell can you be sick? You’re Kryptonian.”

“Try telling Clark that,” Conner scoffs, “ but, you know, still half human.” There’s a cough that sounds ridiculously fake, and Tim can barely restrain an eye roll.

“Get some rest, Kon. I’ll see you-” But Conner has already hung up. Well then. Tim stares down at his phone, hand shaking.

So Conner is lying to him. That’s new.

Tim’s used to being the one doing the lying, the denying, shitty excuses falling from his lips with ease. He did it for ages before Kon knew his real identity, and still does it on occasion. But the thing is, he hates every moment of lying to him, to his best friend, the one he can trust no matter what. This is different.

Lying is one thing, but avoiding him is another. They’ve been planning this for two weeks, a weekend with just the two of them, a couple of video games, and more junk food than their combined body weight. Kon was so keen for it last time they saw each other, he flew all the way to Gotham just to say so. And to help Tim take down a few muggers, but Tim was more than capable of doing that himself. If Kon was so excited to hang out, then why was he making up cheap excuses not to see Tim?

Tim tries to evaluate the facts, but he keeps getting stuck on the first point: Kon is avoiding him, despite being by his side almost all of the week before. It doesn’t make sense. Maybe Kon really is sick, some alien parasite in his brain, gnawing away at what little common sense the clone had. Maybe he accidently made plans, like a date with some hot Kansas girl, and is with her instead. Tim’s stomach roils, an unsettledness that he’s grown used to, despite the bitter taste in his mouth.

Or maybe Kon is just ignoring him, avoiding him, and that though hurts even more. Either way, Tim can’t just sit in his room and wonder why Kon is acting like this, pining like a lovesick teenager (which he most definitely is not). He grabs his jacket and keys and slams his way out of his bedroom.

He passes Alfred in the hallway, who quirks a dignified eyebrow at him. “Master Tim? Aren’t you expecting company?”

“Not anymore,” Tim says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.”

The eyebrow arches higher. “I’ll inform Master Bruce that the plane will be out of use for the evening,” the Brit tuts at him, all-knowing, but Tim pays no mind as he heads down to the Cave. Bruce can reprimand him later, but right now, he needs answers.

Tim pulls up outside the front porch of the Kent house, killing his bike’s engine. It looks quiet, Ma’s truck missing from its usual spot by the side of the house.

The BatPlane is parked in an abandoned field a few miles back, its cloaking device activated and hopefully cow-proof enough to survive until Tim gets back.

He makes his way through the house, finding neither Ma or Pa Kent. A soft, blurred sound comes from upstairs, Kon’s room, like a conversation he can’t quite make out. Tim scales the stairs silently, the noise of the conversation growing louder. But no, not a conversation, it’s one-sided, one voice, Tim discovers with a relief he’s ashamed to feel.

He pushes open the door and finds Kon stretched out on the bed, alone, watching TV in a pair of red boxers and nothing else. Tim bites the inside of his cheek. “Hey.”

“Tim?” Conner yelps, sitting up on the bed, pulling a pillow in front of him “What are you doing here?” He flicks off the TV, submerging the room in an awkward silence

“Well, I didn’t drive all the way here to say ‘hey,’ if that’s what you’re asking.” He didn’t really drive all the way here, anyway, but flying has to count for something, especially with the whole not-asking-permission-to-take-the-BatPlane thing. “You’re obviously not sick, so what the hell is going on?”

“It’s nothing,Tim,” Kon tries, “just some stuff going on.”

But Tim won’t let him try another excuse. Not today. “Conner, you can talk to me. If I did something wrong, if I hurt you, I’m sorry, but please talk to me.”

“I said it’s nothing, okay? So just forget it.” Kon moves from the bed, the pillow falling to the floor where the rest of Kon’s clothes lay.

“How can I? You’re my best friend,” Tim pleads, “or at least I thought you were.” He turns, so very tempted to walk out that door, even if it is just to cool down for a moment. His anger is ripe, ready for picking.

Kon yells at his back, “did you think maybe that was the problem?”

What? Tim whirls around, his brow furrowed. “You don’t want to be my friend?” He swallows, trying to digest the hurtful words that stick in his throat.

“Yes! No, I-” Kon scrubs a hand across his face. “It’s not like that.”

“Then tell me, what it is, for God’s sake! What have I done?”

“It’s not you.”

"Oh really? 'it’s not you, it’s me?’ This isn’t some break-up with your girlfriend of the week, Kon.”

“Screw you.” Conner yells, eyes glowing a fiery red.

Too far, Tim thinks, and holds his hands up in surrender. “Kon, c’mon. Just tell me what’s wrong and let me help you.”

His eyes back to their usual heartbreaking blue, Conner pleads with Tim. “Don’t make me say it.”

Tim grits his teeth, waiting for the worst. “I need to hear it.”

“I really like you, okay? I shouldn’t, but I do.”

Tim’s mind goes blank. “What?”

Kon keeps talking, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah, you can hate me all you want, okay? But you wanted to hear it, so here it is: I like you.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me about this?”

Kon scoffs. “What would you say? What could you possibly say?”

“I might say that I like you too, you jerk.”

The tacked-on insult does nothing to soften admission, and Tim is met with a sharp intake of breath from Kon, like the clone was dunked in an ice bath wholly unprepared.

When the moment wears off, Tim watches Kon shake his head, a sour smile crossing the clone’s face. “You can’t just say shit like that, Tim.”

Anger washes over Tim in a renewed onslaught. “Why not? You literally just did, how is that different?”

“I know you think you’re helping, but this is too far. Just leave.”

“Kon, c’mon,” Tim says, pleads, because God, is this Kryptonian dense.

“I said leave!”

No, no he won’t leave, not when this, when Kon , is almost within reach. Tim steps closer. “I’ve lied to you about a lot of things, if I’m being honest.” He can’t help the smirk that tugs at his mouth at the irony. “But I’m not lying to you about how I feel, I promise you.” Tim reaches out and finds Kon’s hand hanging at his side. Kon’s lips press together in a firm line, but he doesn’t resist as Tim takes Kon’s hand in both of his own. Warmth spreads through Tim’s fingers almost immediately, warmed by the Kryptonian’s skin. He hadn’t realised how cold he was. He brings Kon’s hand to his chest, palm resting against his sternum, fingers splaying toward Tim’s sharp collarbones. “I really like you,” Tim says, his heart thrumming so heavily in his chest it must sound like an explosion to Kon’s fine hearing. “And I might even be in love with you if you would just fucking listen to me.”

Kon’s fingers flex against Tim’s chest. “I- I’m listening.”

“Good,” Tim smiles softly, “good.”

FIN