#great kon run. Can recommend if you want to learn more about conner

[goodoldfashionedengineer]

I see your "Tim Drake is a caffeine addict" headcanon. I see you TimKon shippers

And when I think about both of it simultaneously, this is the panel that comes to mind:

Superboy(1994-2002) #0

[ID: Comic Panel of Rex Leech and Kon-El, with Rex freaking out, hands pressed against his temples and saying "What is it? Where'd it come from? How much it cost?!" Kon looks at him and responds with "Man, switch to decaf, Rex!". END ID]

[heartslogos]

executive assistant to the batman [49]

Dick has very fond memories of his first official W.E. company run gala organized by Tim Drake. He’s sure that Tim’s memories of the night aren’t nearly as fond as Dick’s, considering he was barely sixteen, fresh to the job as Bruce Wayne’s Executive Assistant, and about as well versed in party planning for the obscenely rich and influential as any other normal sixteen year old would be.

Dick remembers Tim looking like he was about to pass out every time someone so much as looked at him.

And now here they are.

Tim’s eyes survey the room, voice flat and inflectionless as he says, without prompting. “I’m in hell.”

“Wonderful job as always, Tim,” Dick says ignoring that for now, standing next and adjusting his suit cuffs while the younger man watches over the delicate dance of wait staff coming in and out, revolving around the floor in a clock-work balance of savory, sweet, bubbly, and flat. “You changed caterers?”

“There are many things I can forgive,” Untrue. Completely untrue, but Tim seems to be in a good enough mood that Dick doesn’t want to ruin it by pointing that lie out. “But I cannot forgive the use of fig with a sharp aged cheddar. W.E. is innovative, but the time for innovation is not with the palate of our most important clientele. I’ve made it clear that we are only to use the cheddar with the chutney and the figs will only go with the brie.”

Dick’s seen Tim’s party planning books, and the section dedicated to cheese and its pairings is so incredibly detailed that if Tim were any body else Dick would highly recommend they get a psych eval and maybe some kind of security detail in case they snap in the near future.

Tim Drake is not anyone else, so this is just another part of his many, many quirks that makes him extremely good at his job.

“Is that the reason why you’re in hell? I didn’t realize hell involved so much little weenie dogs.”

“No, I’m in hell because of this.” Tim pulls his phone out of his inner jacket pocket, quickly unlocking it, opening something, and passing it to Dick.

It’s a text conversation with Conner Kent, and it will always tickle him that Tim’s befriended Super Boy, and is completely casual about dropping the Kid’s name in regular conversation but gains sudden and complete amnesia regarding any incident involving Superman, Batman, or any other of the numerous people he knows in and out of masks. Though, to be fair, Kon’s persona as the Kid is public knowledge. Sort of. Depending on where you go and how far you’re willing to dig.

And since this is Tim, even if he didn’t know already, he would be willing and able to dig straight through the center of the Earth’s core if necessary.

Tim’s a miracle worker, after all. He can bring the dead back to life with a pen.

Just ask Jason and Bruce.

Dick scrolls up a little, ignoring the keysmashing exchanged between the two.

“Is this how the young folk communicate now?” Dick teases as he finally gets to the last legible series of texts. “Oh. Well. Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Tim agrees darkly.

Kon’s texted Tim a series of exclamation marks and screenshots of Oliver Queen’s twitter page that show pictures of him driving into Gotham, time stamped for about an hour ago.

“I expect him to arrive within the half hour,” Tim says, holding his hand out for his phone. “After Mr. Kent and Mr. Kent are allowed in with the rest of the press. I’m uncertain as to whether he’ll show up before or after Mr. Wayne makes his entrance. I’m hoping it’s before. Best to get it over with, so I can try and intercept Mr. Wayne and brace him for the news.”

“You could just text him.”

Tim levels him a withering look.

“At this time of the night? You and I both know he isn’t looking at his phone. He should be driving. He can’t look at his texts and drive at the same time. It’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Right.” Dick looks around again. “I’m sorry that your party is about to be crashed by the pissing contest that is Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne, Tim. You put a lot of work into this. Everything looks great.”

“If you’re sorry will you do me a favor?”

“Depends.” Damian might call Dick an old dog, but he’s still capable of learning a few tricks. And after years of working with Tim Drake Dick knows better than anyone else not to fall for it when Tim Drake innocently slips in a request for a favor. Tim’s only gotten better at making it sound innocuous over the years, sliding it into normal conversation like it’s nothing, but Dick’s not falling for it. Not again. He’s been burned by that too many times for counting. “What’s the favor?”

“If Oliver Queen shows up with Roy or Mia or Connor, take them and make sure they’re as far away from Mr. Queen as possible during the night. I can handle one or the other at separate occasions, but I can’t handle Mr. Queen plus one.”

“What if he brought more than one? I don’t think I could handle more than one of them at a time, either. Especially not if they’re planning something together. I’m only one man, Tim.”

Tim’s gaze is unimpressed.

“Did the Wayne family suddenly shrink in size without my knowledge?” Tim replies, “There’s got to be a million of you by now. I trust that you can handle the Queens.”

Dick grins, “You believe in our abilities!”

“I believe in the power of a home field advantage and numbers.”

“What if he brought Dinah?”

Tim checks his watch. “I have a plan for that. She’ll be here in five minutes.”

Dick’s eyebrows raise. “You called Selina?”

“I didn’t call Selina. I planned around Selina. This is her favorite caterer and I’ve invited her favorite targets.”

“Targets?”

“Conversational targets,” Tim corrects easily. “The ones with the sparkly everything and attention spans of sugar addled toddlers.”

“You’re too good for us. I’m sure you know that already, but I just wanted to say it out loud. I don’t now how we ever managed any of this without you?”

“You didn’t. Alfred did. Now go stand by the door, make idle conversation, and keep an eye out for the Queens. I’ve got to check on the parking situation.”

“What parking situation?”

“I have to make room for Mr. Wayne’s car. In the back. Where it can’t be seen. You know? Because he’s particular about his car? His special car?”