#on reflect i think i wrote damian okay but i DEF wanna correct tim's characterization the most ugh

[the-stove-is-divorced]

Just read your post about the 100 subscriber, and wanted to congratulate you, so :

Congratulations!! 🎉🎊🎉🎊🎉

You totally deserve it and even more. Honestly I'm surprised not more people are subscribed smh

Anyway, seeing as this is a great opportunity to take a sneak peak, I will gladly take it lol

So, my question is, what happens next in your Steven x gotham crossover? And what where you thinking when you decide to merge something as dark and twisted with something also as dark and twisted but better well hidden than the other franchise?

Seriously I wanna open and dissect your brain and see what up with it (not complaining tho, your crossovers are always fun to read)

THANK YOU! ( ´ ▽ ` ) And oh, I haven't thought about that fic in a hot minute, haha. I kinda wanna re-write bits since I absolutely relied on fanon, unfortunately, bleh. But to answer ya, Steven ends up meeting Damian while looking for a new job! I'll put a excerpt down below :D

As for what I was thinking, the idea came to be suddenly, and I was so enraptured by it, I had to write myself. As for why it's so compelling to me: Steven, unlike, characters like Danny from DP, or Spider-Man for crossovers, does not fit in Gotham's world. The others make sense. They fit the mold of vigilante, secret identities, a specific flavor of hero angst, perils from villains, etc, which is why it's so easy to imagine them there. They can adapt easily. They make sense. They fit Gotham's ecosystem, they're vigilantes.

But Steven? He's like a bright pink canon ball of chaos to me. He's a hero, but not seen in the same way the others are, he doesn't hide his identity because everyone knows who he is, and he has to escape his own own narrow expectations of who he's supposed to be. His villains aren't just familiar strangers, but directly impacted by Diamonds, if not Diamonds themselves at one point. His hero-like angst comes from responsibility, a desire to help, but he gets to retire, he has to, for his own sanity.

There's still horror, angst, gut punches, peril, etc, but it's shaped so differently, that putting someone like Steven in to the Gotham ecosystem has to disrupt it, and how that can happen fascinates me deeply. It's still a character adapting to Gotham, but also Gotham adapting to him, or at least, if I got that far. He doesn't quite fit the mold of teenage vigilante, like the others do, and thus what to do with him and think of him (via heroes, villains, civilians), and what he'll do is a delightful to think about. But he's still strange enough that it isn't outrageous to consider, because Gotham is strange, it has to be by nature. It can't go like how crossovers tend to go, which is exactly what I wanted, or tried to attempt.

Sliding over closer, carefully still, Damian lets his hand waver around the lion's nose, letting the creature sniff it if need be, to which it simply blinks, expectantly.

Damian swallows, and gently, lets his fingers brush the lion’s mane. It’s so soft. He can’t help but coo, quietly, brushing as much as it allows. He curses, he wishes he hadn’t broken his arm, otherwise he could be petting it with both of his hands, as he should’ve been destined to do.

Foolishly, too overcome by the beauty of the lion he forgets his troubles, Damian clenching his fist tight, an ache spikes right back in retaliation, making him hiss and wince. He freezes, instinctively, over displaying such an open weakness before a stranger. Then again, there is nothing particularly frightening about him. Other than Damian’s usual, reasonable sense of wary paranoia, and ignoring his basis for the big cat, this teen reeks of tourist obliviousness fitting for Metropolis and potentially damning for one existing in Gotham. The teenager, the stranger with the Lion, doesn’t seem dangerous, either. Or capable of it, really. He’s disgustingly friendly. Unless-

The teenager’s eyes linger over to Damian’s cast, interrupting Damian’s paranoid spiral. “Oh, your arm! Is it broken? Do you, um, do you want me to fix that? Your arm? I can?”

The older teenager points at Damian’s cast, his head tilted ever so slightly, and when the light catches, the wind brushing back the leaves to spotlight his eyes, his black pupils seem almost cat-like for a second, a shaded pink hue embedded within them, distinctly in the shape of diamonds. 

Alien, Damian almost breathes. He’s gotta be an alien. Either that or a meta. Or, a heavy magic user to be shaped so subtly by his own magic, or to be so thoroughly warped by some sort of artifact. Damian stares at him, and decides sporadically, if just for the sake of seeing where this goes, and silently remarking if this is a kidnapping scheme, he’s knocking this guy unconscious and stealing his lion, nods. Better yet, if he’s a criminal, he has stumbled upon a tidy excuse to show how greatly he can perform in spite of such an injury. 

“You may assist.” 

The teenager does not whisper some ancient, ritual spell, nor does he transfer his hands upon Damian’s cast, murmuring words beyond human comprehension. Seamlessly, the teeenager licks his finger, and pokes Damian in the arm, pressing gently, before looking at him expectantly. 

The man’s a lunatic, Damian swiftly decides.

And like any normal, rational being with any functioning brain matter, he quickly calculates how many steps to take in order to dropkick this fiend into the dirt, without dirtying his clothes, and thus capturing Father’s suspicion. Cannot get caught doing any labor, less his family notices, and decides to stick with him something as stupid as a babysitter of some sort. Though, this weirdness probably would be justifiable for perhaps body slamming him into the ground and snapping his fingers.Just as Damian shifts back, something happens.

His arm glitters.

Light wraps around it, glowing softly beneath the cast, a fluttery, spiral of pink drifting into the air, warmth tingling his bones until he flexes his arm, bracing for the harsh spike of pain, but none comes. There’s no soreness, no exhaustion, no nothing. The light fades, and jut like that: his arm is fixed. It feels fine. It feels normal. It doesn’t even ache.

He pauses. His mind whirs. 

Damian stares at the (possibly insane, or socially oblivious, yet strangely, perhaps, genuinely friendly) alien, (or meta, or magic, to be determined) boy and his majestic pink lion. He flexes his arm again. Wiggles it. Tense it. Hits it. No pain, no numbing sensation, or strange marks that he can see. The tingling ache lingering along his bones have faded away. Forgotten. Gone. 

“You healed me,” Damian murmured in awe.  

He’s-he’s back on patrol now, he could storm right back into the Manor and prove just how capable he truly is, march right up to Father and show everyone, even that miserable, disrespectful heathen Drake and- 

But, Father would be suspicious. This was no doubt something mystical, or magical, or meta adjacent, and then what intentions, what side effects, what tests and pokes and prods would Damian have to endure to prove this is to be trusted to be back on the field?That Damian could be back in his spot, where he belonged, immediately?