#yeah you've said way more unhinged things Fit but

[royalarchivist]

Fit: I would never hit my own children. My own biological children. I would never hit my own children, but these little bastards– [he kills a "Snot" a child-like mob] Fair game, fair game. [Fit looks at Ramon] Well, ok, biological or adopted, it doesn't matter. My children– I would never hit my children.

Fit: See, now I just opened up a can of worms– now someone's like "Ramon's your biological child???" So what if he is? So what if he is, huh? [Reading chat] No I'm not a bird, I didn't lay Ramon. That sounds painful. That sounds extremely painful.

[QSMP kicks him off the server]

Fit: You know, and– literally because we're having this conversation right now, the QSMP admins were like "Uhh, no, we gotta restart the server. Fit's talking about pushing eggs out of his ass."

[isa-ghost]

you have eggza headcanons perhaps? 👉👈

I will take any headcanons of course, I love your headcanon posts

Previous Sets:

Set 1

Set 2

Set 3

Set 4

Set 5

Set 6

MORE: Eggza Edition

Starting with two I made in previous sets:

When left to his own devices & off-duty as dad + not needed by any of the islanders for something serious, he let's loose. No more wise bad bitch crow man who's palpably emotionally damaged yet won't admit it. He's off the shits. You've seen Eggza. That's him de-stressing by fully indulging his favorite things: preparing necessities for survival & being an absolute wildcard.

When he heard someone on the island made up a rumor that Eggza is legit because Phil taste-tested a cookie out of curiosity, he took that and RAN. Yeah. He's egg sometimes. Who's his parent you ask? Well that's a secret (it's Rose).

Remember how I said he commits to bits super hard? Yeah. Eggza is his second biggest bit after the 4th Wall existentialism but it's quickly surpassing it to his biggest one

Genuinely he enjoys his Eggza time. Everyone knows they'll get nothing but task help out of him more or less, so they more or less leave him alone unless it's to say hi or a chance encounter.

Everyone finds him speaking with signs funny and endearing. Except Tubbo. But that's understandable, dyslexia go brr. Even though the fool sometimes forgets he can tts the signs. It's fine, he's most likely to derail Eggza's cookie grinding so it's better if Tubbo stays away doing Tubbo things

He's torn between the kids witnessing Eggza & never witnessing Eggza. He can't tell what's funnier or if he'd be embarrassed. They've heard stories from other eggs though

He has no interest in making himself Look like an egg. The sign usage is all he needs. And its funnier when you approach your grown ass man best friend Philza Minecraft only for him to look as wild as he did during Purgatory but without the Looks Like He's Dying Slowly part & refuse to talk to you verbally. The "what the fuck is happening here" is the best part of Eggza, if he starts LOOKING like an egg everyone will understand what's going on and that's lame

He bounces off everyone's energy. The more unhinged they are, the more unhinged he is. Unless he's harassing the baker. Then he fuels his own fuckery

The funny thing is he makes sure everyone thinks he's constantly this wild gremlin that only knows one thing: Grind. But really if no one's around while he's grinding, he's actually just straight up vibing. Got headphones in, blasting his jams, doin his work. In his lane, unbothered, flourishing.

I would sell my soul to see Eggza beat the ever-loving shit out of Purgatory workers it'd be so fucking funny holy shit

One of his favorite parts of going Eggza Mode is amusing his friends with the way he's just a nonverbal weirdo. Especially when he answers something they say by just dancing

If He's An Extra Silly Gremlin They'll Give Him Avocado Toast As A Treat

No one knows where he shoos his crows off to when he's Eggza. Or if it's some unspoken "ok time to scatter" rule as soon as he puts the gas mask on by the bakery. But they disperse and for a while, the other islanders can't shake the feeling of Phil seeming strangely bare for some reason. It's bc the murder is away

Tbh I bet even without the Hardcore dreams, he'd sleep a long time with how hard he works as Eggza

"Hard work," I say, as if most of the time Phil isn't just making mobs insatiable amounts of horny so everyone can give the baker what they're asking for (the awareness of this is half of why he's so unhinged as Eggza, it's too absurd & funny to him)

Calling back to another prev non-Eggza hc I made, he has less of a filter when he's not parenting or in peril. He has said some absolutely wild out of pocket shit on signs

If given the right kind of motivation, an islander could probably get Eggza to go feral and kill something or someone. Fit tosses him a stack of whatever arbitrary item Phil might find enticing enough atm & Phil is suddenly on a spree like he was with those bunnies that one time

[voltstone]

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 1

"But we don't eat monsters." "Yeah, but if we could, we probably would..."

At least, that's what Clementine tells him. Because AJ doesn't need to know how warm the fresh ones are on the tongue, nor how decayed flesh claws on the way down.

[The times she scavenged, the times her secret was caught, and the one bite that started it all.]

— — —

Basically I took my creative liberties and ran with them. Head-first. Into…whatever this is. (Based off of the most out of pocket dialogue prompt, which this post is about.) I will blast through all the seasons, so. A full retelling! :D With cannibalism! And gore! And Clementine is not a-okay!! >:D

However, I did decide that I will have to break it apart for pacing, and stuff. But I will post the story in-full as well if people want to read it that way when I'm 100% done. This is the first part of…I dunno yet. But each part will effectively go through each season, or however I think to do it.

Now this is mature, and I did tag it dead dove. Because. Cannibalism, technically. And like. Violence. And stuff. But genuinely though, it is written to be unhinged. Lol.

Anyway. Hope you enjoy!

:)

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

THE BITE

she did not ask for this. it hurts.

[2,721] [Apr.25.2024] — — —

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

.

"It will only take a couple hours. They'll all … start smelling sweet, more like a citrus."

.

Clementine whimpers. She holds her hand tightly around her arm, up towards her shoulder where he wrangled the dress. Her throat's raw. She's swirling over the conversations Lee had with her, after her hair was grabbed, and he had to explain why the St. John brother horrified her the way he did. The other one. With shadows around his eyes, and a smile that always twitched around her.

Amongst that, Lee admitted why he killed him the way he did—pitchfork at hand.

He horrified him too.

.

She decides though, as she scrambles away from this man, that it isn't the same.

The man is good with his words, for one, and there's a…sincerity to him. A genuine one, but there's something to his face that Clementine never could've seen through the radio.

He's tall. Gangly.

And in his face, there's something not quite right. It's not the blood—her blood—he wipes from his mouth by a gentle hand. It lies beneath that.

.

Insanity.

.

"It hurts, I know. That's what my daughter said too. And that's what I felt when Tess bit me."

.

This is insanity.

It doesn't matter how well he preens it, this is insanity, and he just… He just—

He. Bit. Clementine.

Didn't look happy about it, and he still doesn't. But he just. He bit her, and hard, like he meant it anyway. He continues look at her like he means it, right with all the ramblings about his family, and how nice they are, and how she'd fit right in. At least, after he gets a proper brush for her. Her hair's quite a bit different from his daughter's.

. "I don't really understand what it is either, or what does it. "I just know…, biting you, you can be a part of my family this way."

.

"You've already met my wife… You can join my daughter in the backseat. You just have to keep quiet, and she won't do anything to you."

.

She doesn't really listen to what he says. There's too much of the day's horror racing through her body.

It's the bafflement, however, that strikes her mute.

Because this man bit her, and it isn't something Clementine can just wrest from herself. It spins and twirls until she feels an unease build, and she's about to vomit, her heart's thrashing beneath her palm…

She can't. She's barely eaten enough to force the urge.

.

It's dark in the bathroom. He's tall. Looming over her. 

And.

And Clementine's been bit. He stares at her as though it means the same as every other bite, yet it doesn't, because he's not dead. 

.

She knows how long his teeth are.

They sank far too deep for any genuine, sincere man in his right mind.

.

"She won't do anything."

.

Clementine hides in the bathtub for the longest while. Ducks right into it, the moment he shuts the door, and she hears him string the handle, then tie it to the closet across from her.

Every now and then, she dozes. Not because she wants to. She's desperate to stay awake. Yet Clementine is small, and she's tired, and there's no fighting this. It's an exhaustion she never could have fathomed. There's strange nightmares she can't quite place, and they rattle her back where her eyes fly open, the ceramic's cold, she doesn't want to sleep. There is nothing to see in them, those nightmares. Just a desolation, and a twisted ache down her throat. She smells gore in them. Can almost feel the blood and bone bathe down her skin, then crack in her hands.

The meat… There's meat.

In her mouth.

And she chews. And Clementine swallows.

.

She doesn't understand.

.

There is one nightmare she sees. It knocks her head into the ceramic tub by the time she wakes again.

.

A farm. Dairy. Except there's only slaughter. There's butcher across tile. The barn's locker rots.

Clementine never ate there. Never the meat. Not a bite.

Lee saved her back then. He did.

.

Lee saved her. He'll save her.

Again, and again.

.

He begins to be what she stirs to.

Her sweat's cold. The world blurs when the tears come.

Before Clementine is lost to nightmare for another time.

.

Then...

She snaps upright. Finds herself clambering from the bathtub and to the door. Her head is a smog, but she… Clementine can hear them both. Her voice rattles from her. She doesn't quite hear what she says— All she knows is Lee. At least, she thinks. Hopes so.

.

A citrus bleeds from the door, and to her nose.

.

It's likely the man's. He is bit, and his eyes are not quite as…human as he tells himself.

He's just…not dead, exactly.

Not truly alive either. His gaunt complexion tells her so, and the weary treble in his voice. Or he's always just been like that. Sickly looking, if not just plain unnerving.

Clementine can't really tell. It's hard to piece together a person like him, amidst the self-hatred. A loathing, if anything.

Because she fell for it. Fell for his words, the promise for her family. Even though…, Clementine knew, in the back of her mind, it's too good to be true. A random voice on the radio, how could he have known her and her parents? And Savannah? And Lee, and Macon, and everything between?

.

Simply put…

That random voice knows, because she told him herself.

Told him everything.

.

The fight for the world's clarity stands no better with her at the door. She sags against the wall. Her arm pangs. The bathroom is…cold, beneath her feet.

Frigid, even, the more the stupid girl's remorse blisters her.

This is what desperation has brought. It opened its mouth for her. His long teeth. And she stared. Looked at this gifted horse in the mouth; discovered a reason to run.

.

"Yeah. I'm not some cannibal, Lee."

.

Lee… So he has come to save her.

She knew he would. Clementine just knew he would.

It's enough to spark urgency. She stands.

.

"Some killer out in the woods. Some v-villain…"

.

That man is a liar, though. Lee is here, but the man is a liar.

Unless…, what he's done really wasn't murder, nor a kidnapping.

.

"I'm just a … dad."

.

Perhaps. Maybe that is right.

.

Still however. Clementine decides then and there to creep from the bathroom.

She makes sure to keep her sleeve down, and her dress over her shoulder. Because she isn't bitten. Not really.

.

The same way that man didn't murder.

.

"Have you ever hurt somebody you care about?" "My wife."

.

Clementine tries the handle first. It twists, yet the string holds it firm.

She almost weeps. Or she does, and her head is too numb to know.

The bathroom is all the more darker, and her exhaustion grows all the more heavy.

.

"I hurt her a long time ago. "In a lot of ways…"

.

Lee sounds… He sounds weaker than he did last night.

Exhaustion slinks from his mouth. It worms the same in her ears—the same as her own. There's a wavering, and then a husk. Like there's not enough life to draw from. And it says something—says a lot, actually—how much stronger the man with his treble is in his words. He's steady. He carries an unruly intention.

And Lee…, he sounds tired. And bleak. Mostly bleak. Doesn't talk much.

Clementine doesn't want to believe the strained breaths cleaving the room is him.

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

The man's wife has her head in his bowling bag.

She rolls in it. Smudges the tearstreaks left behind.

.

"I hurt her so bad."

.

Clementine flares the last of her strength. She swallows down the last of the dairy farm as it twitches for another nightmare.

She clasps the handle. Twists it, and tests the string. She doesn't want to get caught. Noise is her bane, and she knows the man has an ear for her.

.

"Do I look like a monster to you?"

.

She has to bide her time. It's daunting.

However, Clementine listens for the moment where he's engrossed, and the man is sunk back into his writhing sanity. He likes to ramble. Did it a lot that day, and he even did it routinely on the radio. On and on and on about his wife, and his kids.

Family.

It's always family with him. Family, and being a father, a husband, and having his nice daughter.

.

"She's already a part of my family now… "There's no reason for you to have come, Lee."

.

"I smell it on you. You're not going to last."

.

There he goes again.

Clementine pulls the door just enough for the string to strain, and for her to untangle its knot. It snaps back for the open closet.

The man talks to his wife again. He stares into his bowling bag, and she knows the wife's head to roll again.

She meets Lee by his eyes. He's… He's missing an arm, and he looks ghastly. Drained too. Yet, he has enough strength to nod for the side-dresser, and when her eyes follow, there glints a cleaver.

.

"Hey, honey. I think this is all going to work out."

.

It's tight in her hand.

The dairy farm ravages to the blood she ignores down its blade. Clementine hears the groaning instead. The wife. Can almost make out the nonsense the man pulls a few words from.

.

"I'm glad too. "I wish you wouldn't have had to get this bad, but it's all over hon. Isn't it?"

.

"I hate seeing you like this. I just miss your smile, honey."

.

Her strides to him are careful. Clementine keeps herself far from his eye, his peripheral. Lee tenses, though in his face, there's a quiet resolution. His eyes dart between the man, then her.

Clementine raises the cleaver. Moonlight darts along the wall when she does. Her hands tremble; the moonlight does too. She can't help it.

.

"I miss you so much, Tess. You're gonna like Clementine a lot, though. She's not Lizzy, but she's sweet. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."

.

Clementine sinks the cleaver deep. Thinks of it as a bite for a bite.

.

The man lunges away from her, and he reaches for the blade plunged into his shoulder.

Lee hurls his weight across the table, and knocks into the man. The fight is blurring. Clementine strafes, feels her heart soar when Lee buckles him into the wall.

Before he curls. The fight is too much for him. The man is strong in his intentions.

His hands are around Lee's neck. The gun is heavy in her hands. She trembles again. Aims. The world is whirling, except for Lee, and for the man, and the bullet she punctures through his crown.

.

She—

Clementine just shot him.

Just shot the man.

He's dead.

.

Bafflement finds her again. Locks her there, in place. Trembling. Air doesn't come easy. Her heart does well to scald her, and it's restless.

It names itself shock, however. She's not inclined to argue.

There's a look in Lee's eyes. Gratitude, but the shock as well. It rattles them both.

.

She cries. He consoles. But air doesn't come easy, nor do the words to her mind.

When he dawns her back her Dad's hat, however… The world doesn't cage her anymore.

It's not as cold.

It's still a desolate shade of moonlight.

.

A walker stands at the door. The citrus is pungent in the room. There were traces before.

With the dead looming in the doorway, however, it swamps her now.

And the gore Lee lathers down her clothes makes it worse. A thousand times worse. Because the citrus is like… It's like the oranges she plucked from at a fieldtrip's orchard. It's sweet. She can't tell if she's about to vomit or not. She sweats. It's cold again. Lee mistakes both for terror. Or, it's that she's the one mistaken, and this isn't anything beyond a break in sanity.

.

Her parents are dead.

They have been.

.

She sees them, when Lee guides her into the dead's orchard.

.

"The first thing that changes, sweetie, is the smell of them."

.

"The second thing…"

.

The second thing… There's a second thing. It rattles somewhere. She can only see the red jacket he held for her. The same she refused before.

The same that… The same that Lee—

Lee's falling.

.

His voice trails after him. He stumbles too, the more she whimpers and pulls at his shoulder. He isn't limp. He is not awake.

But he does move. Her arm throbs, Clementine trips over herself, and Lee is staggering after her. With a haze in his eyes. He shoulders into anything and everything.

The dead don't mind. Not really.

.

They don't mind him. Nor her.

.

Clementine's left to pull him into a store. She finds a string. Reaches for it.

The gate it guides slams to the floor once gravity has its say.

They are alone, her and Lee. Secure. There is no leaving… Which frightens him. More than the St. John brother ever did.

.

Clementine knows he's bit before he says it.

.

It's the sweet citrus.

The same that washes off the walkers, it leaks from Lee in steady waves.

.

It just breaks her heart, knowing that… That he really is a-about to— To die.

.

There's no time to tell him about her bite. She wouldn't have had the heart to regardless, nor the mind.

So she clings to his words. Nods to Lee, when he tells her to keep moving.

.

Lee doesn't have to tell her what to do next. Clementine knows.

So when he runs out of energy, and time, and mind…

She just knows.

.

"I'll miss you."

.

The gun is the heaviest when she raises it to his head.

. . .

SOMETHING WAS VERY WRONG

. . .

There is no fever. She doesn't understand, because it is not a fever, it's this brisk chill across her body, beneath the morning sun.

Maybe it's from lingering beside Lee's body for longer than she should have. Or, it's from stalking in the shadows where the walkers couldn't quite reach.

Yet, no. Those were the quiet lies she told herself, before reality wormed its way the moment she found them. Or, when they found her—none of them can decide. The more they hug her, the more Omid squeezes her shoulder and Christa holds her from her from the weary ground, the more Clementine realizes this for what it is:

The bite.

And it's rough against cotton. Cold too, like the deep inhale before something really, really bad happens, and now her body teems of it, and her head swims to every sharp clap of gunfire. Her eyes too, because the world warbles whenever Clementine passes wherever the sun is strongest.

This is the same cold which agonized her body in the Marsh House. In the bath, then in the room—with Lee's rattled breaths, and the walker splayed beside them both. It's the cold she fought against. Fell asleep to. Would awake to.

It feels like her body has been disturbed. As though…she herself, to her core, hasn't grasped what hit her.

Except that it has a name, and its name is dread.

.

It takes months for the hunger to set in.

[Next] AO3 | FF | Wattpad

— — —

As much as I enjoy writing stories for the sake of catharsis, I do enjoy being unhinged and writing this kind of thing too. Cuz it can be fun. Once you get past the concerning things. Again, I am breaking it up for pacing's sake, so shorter chapters. My little writer gut tells me shorter chapters good, actually. For this. So the TBC will have a link to the next post once I'm done.

Hope you enjoyed so far! :)

[iphoenixrising]

If it's not a problem I would like to see what happens when omega Tim safe words out?

I just so in love with how you wrote him and I know you've a thing with Dr Tim and safe words but I would really appreciate if you'll give me this with omega Tim

Have a great day/night

Babe asked for O!Tim safe wording out. Taking into account how much he’s been able to take so far in my fics, then it’s apparently going to be truly something for him to safe word, right?

….or is this just another excuse to have AAANNNNNGGGGGGSSSSSSSTTTTTT.

(I regret nothing, but, well, you might, babe :D :D)

**

It was just supposed to be Pack support. Just the Bats realizing they had an Omega in their ranks, an Omega who had been more on the outskirts than part of the inner circle, an Omega who had been walking a long road alone. Just the Dick and Jay trying to be good Alphas and take care of him. Just giving in to those crazy instincts.

It was never supposed to hurt. It was never supposed to break him. Not like the first time when he was essentially kicked out of the Pack, when his cape was pulled out from under him, and his place became a question mark instead of a given. (Falling from Wayne Towers because Ra’s is such a douce canoe, he’d been beaten to fuck, blood loss and a real concussion to blame when he wondered if they’d bother putting up a case with his suit, if he even mattered that much to Dick, if he ever really did…)

When he presented, when he didn’t have a hint of a Pack scent, It had taken an embarrassingly long time to feel like he could get anywhere near the city. Long after he’d sent Bruce back home, telling him everything with sparse details, why there wasn’t an R on his shoulder, why he couldn’t be Batman’s sidekick anymore. He’d left all the pain locked in his chest, keeping himself as impartial as possible to deliver the hard facts, ignoring the whimpering, cowering Omega in the depths of him crying out for someone, anyone to want him, need him, keep him.

Working his way back in hadn’t been easy. Keeping his presentation under wraps with scent blockers and suppressants hadn’t been either, but there was no way in hell he was going to let something like the fact he was an Omega be the reason they wanted him back. Fuck, no.

But it happened anyway. Slowly but surely, O called him more often about cases, wanted to know if he had any helpful intel. B dropped by the Tower, more than once, to seek him out, told him how buggy the Batcomputer must be this point, but he wouldn’t really know, Tim, because you always handled that, didn’t you? Dick tentatively showed up in one of his safe houses while he riding an undercover stint, pizza and terrible B sci-fi flicks, looked crushed when Tim closed the door on him by sheer self-preservation instinct.  Jason Todd showed up to fish him out of the middle of the Atlantic when a case of crimefighting gone hilariously awry ended up with a thwarted world-domination plot and his ass landed in the middle of, you know, the ocean and shit. Damian of all people demanded his presence in Gotham for the upcoming anniversary of Batcow’s induction into the family.

(When he’d blurted out, “why would you want me back? Aren’t you the one that wanted me gone in the first place? Well, I mean, got what you asked for, right? How about we pretend this conversation never happened.” 

He had been in no way prepared for the demon himself to come hunt him down with a vengeance. Robin seeking him out no matter where he hopped next on the fight crime, kick ass, and take names train.)

(That kid? Seriously.)

And as much as Dick had apologized after he finally made his way back to Gotham, had said no Omega in his Pack should have been alone, without a Bat safety net (reads as: mother hen), he had seemed genuinely upset Tim had presented outside of Gotham, on his own.

Worse, he hadn’t told anyone. Hadn’t come back.

(Like he thought that was an option at the time.)

It wasn’t until later, after they found out he presented, and were…upset he’d been on his own for so long afterwards, that he’d laughed at Dick’s angry expression, shaking his head.

“Come back? Why? To what? I didn’t have any Pack scent by then, and I sure as fuck wasn’t welcome, so why bother? I did what I had to do. We got Bruce back, didn’t we?”

He hadn’t been prepared for how strongly Dick’s musk flared, how the Alpha went deadly serious, had stepped back and palmed some pellets on instinct when facing something potentially dangerous – like a pissed off, feral Alpha male.

It had taken visible effort for Dick to get a hold of his Alpha instincts, which had absolutely perplexed him at the time because really? They hadn’t been partners, allies, friends for almost two years by then.

“It was…I tried to….Tim –“

He’d just waved off the helpless sputtering because by then, it hadn’t really mattered.

“It all worked out in the end. Don’t think about it all too hard, Dick. I don’t.” Which had been an obvious lie, but had at least appeased the Alpha enough not to viciously scent him or use the dreaded octopus hold until he was cuddled within an inch of his life.

So coming back was…different. Unexpected.

Being the official Pack Omega came with Bats all over his everything. Bats coming out of the woodwork when he was starting to run down, when his Heat was approaching, when he’d been out of the city for too long.

(It was all for nothing in the end. Because they’re only after the Omega now, not the boy that used to wear the R…)

“Heat’s easier with an A, Timmers,” Jay had started that ball rolling. “Ya ever gotta need fer the real thing, betcha I know a few Alphas what might help ya out.”

“I can call some Alphas I trust if that becomes the case.” Had been off-handed in his mind, but it had been something else to see Jason’s expression smooth out, to catch the soft noise of leather when the Red Hood’s hands had clenched into fists.

But against his better judgement, he’d let them into his Heat safehouse. At first just to let them deliver Alfred goodies. Later because they wanted to stay, to spend his Heat together.

It was fine as long as they would just leave afterwards. It was fine as long as it stayed just instincts, just Alphas and an Omega. It was fine because they still treated him like Red Robin on the streets and left him alone when he went blackout on cases outside the city.

It was fine until it suddenly wasn’t.

“Gawd, sweetheart,” Jay moans against the nape of his neck, noses against the base, “ya feel s’ good. My sweet lil’ ‘Mega. My purty ‘Mega, lettin’ me in, givin’ it up ta yer Alpha. Gonna lemme be good ta ya, yeah? That’s right. Perfect fer me, ain’t cha?”

It’s his second day, so he’s with it enough to realize what Jason said.

“Yeah he is,” Dick’s fingers in his hair, nails scratching at his scalp. “He’s such a good Omega for us, isn’t he Jay? He fits so nicely between us. Our cute O–“

“Red.” Tim croaks out from under Jay’s bigger body, the wet sounds of skin slapping fast and furious. He bucks up against Jay with real strength, his eyes already getting ridiculously hot and full.

“Red, dammit! Get the hell off me!”

He yells loud enough to make Jay flinch and jerk up abruptly from where he’d been laying over Tim’s back.

Dick’s hand pauses before untangling from his hair.

And even if the Heat is still burning, his body desperate for the knot that was just seconds ago opening him up for it, Tim pulls off Jason’s Alpha cock wetly, doing it himself while both Alphas seem frozen in their spots, not sure why he would safe word out at all. He seemed to be enjoying them!

Tim’s already clawing and scrambling off the bed, careful not to touch either of them, legs wobbly, messy ass and thighs on display, feeling open and raw and needy, but his chest too tight, his lungs seemingly unable to get enough air.

The bathroom door has a lock. Not that it was much of a deterrent if the Alphas really wanted to get to him, but there’s always the window big enough for him to fit through, too small for Dick or Jay. It would give him enough of a head start anyway.

At one point, he’d pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around himself, sitting against the bathroom door to literally block it with his body without being consciously aware of it.

He didn’t move, stayed bare ass on the cold tile floor, concentrated on getting enough air back in his lungs, biting down on his lower lip until his eyes stop spilling over, hot and full, until his chest stops stuttering with half-sobs. Until the Omega in him calms it the utter fuck down.

Soft tapping filters through when the door vibrates against his back.

Dick’s voice filters in while the inside of his head is an utter mess. “… got some pajamas for you, and-and a sandwich. Jay made coffee. Can you let me in, sweetheart?”

“Don’t call me that,” is out of his mouth before he can stop it. “I’m not your fucking Omega. I wasn’t enough to be your partner, your brother, and I’m sure as fuck not going to be your bitch either.”

“What the fuck didja just say ta ‘im?” Jay barks from outside the door.

“It’s just instincts,” he tries to snarl but his voice is hoarse, “that’s all this is. You think I don’t know that?” The laugh is scarily unhinged, “it’s not like anyone chose me, right?”

Because honestly, that hasn’t happened his whole vigilante career.

There’s silence outside the door. Stillness. The Omega writhes inside him, still needs a knot, still wants the Alphas even though Tim knows better than to think they want anything other than a warm hole, another vigilante to share the burden, an Omega’s influence in the Pack.

(He fucking gets it.)

“Apparently, we should talk.” Dick’s voice is flat, something like anger or disappointment.

“Get out,” is what Tim says instead. “Get dressed and get the fuck out. I’ll take care of myself.”

Like I’ve always done. Even back when I wore the tunic.

“Tim, we shouldn’t–“

“No,” and his own scent had changed from candy sweet to alarmingly bitter to his own nose. “You are going to get your clothes on and leave. You two don’t see me through anymore Heats. I find someone else or take care of it myself.”

“What?!” Jay sounds floored, “what the shit is this alla sudden? Ya can’t be serious right now.”

“I’m not fucking around, Jason. You leave, or I will.”

“You can’t go out smelling like Heat!”

“I dunno what the hell’s goin’ on wit’ ya but–“

He stands up on wobbly legs, moves to push the window open, knows they’ll hear the squealing because he’s not trying to be quiet about it.

“Whoa, whoa! All right, all right, fer fuck’s sake!”

“We’re getting dressed and leaving,” Dick is right up against the door. “Don’t go out the window, Tim. We’re…we’re going to go, okay?”

“Then go. Now.” He says from the window without turning around. He can’t chance his inner Omega will push him to whine at the door, to smell like open for business, take me, love me, make me yours because that is not at all where any of them are right now.

He hears them talking, their voices getting more muted as they go back to the bedroom to apparently do as he asked.

Tim climbs out of the tub, window still up, and turns on the shower without getting in, just using the noise as a deterrent.

“Don’t like it, Dickie,” he vaguely catches as the Alphas pass by the door again. “We try ta take care a’ ‘im and that’s what the fuck he says?”

“He safe worded, Jay. What does that mean to you?”

And Tim’s throat gets tight when he thinks about the implications Dick is suggesting.

“Dunno. How ‘bout ya gimme yer theories, Detective.”

“Later. I want to make sure there’s water and Alfred meals left in the feezer.”

“Fine, them let ‘im take care of his own ass. I ain’t never took advantage of a ‘Mega in my fucking life.”

Tim doesn’t leave the bathroom until he hears the front door slam closed. He darts out long enough to reconfigure the security system, makes sure no Bats are getting in without a hell of a shock.

The rest of his Heat is utterly fucking miserable, natch.

He feels wrung out and hurt by the time it’s done and he’s ready to put on the suit again.

He doesn’t put in the Batcomm, for the first time in months, and it goes back in a drawer before he takes off out the window.