#mpregbortion au

[winter-parrot]

screw it sunday

tagged by @corporatebanana, thank you beloved! using this as an excuse to step away from my mha wip that has most of my attention rn and scratch away some more at mpregbortion. same caveats as before: i'm still mostly playing around in the verse, no guarantees that any of this will stick around, etc etc. this is a literal first draft written in the last ~hour and then copied directly over from my notion lol

tags for @beanarie @wee-fuckin-woo @eosfog-btsideblog and anyone who wants an excuse to share (yes, i'm talking to you!!)

——————————

The dial tone rings for an uncountable stretch of time.

“Tommy, what the fuck, it’s almost 10,” Sal’s tinny voice says through the phone. “If you’re calling me to bail you out from another bad date, you better be ready to pay up in diner fries. The good kind, not the In-n-Out shit.”

Tommy should laugh. He should rib Sal about watching his carbs and his cholesterol, or make a dark joke about his love life, or mount a sarcastic defense of In-n-Out’s lackluster fries. That’s how this conversation would go, on any other day. On a normal day.

But today is the day that the universe has decided to play its cruelest prank yet on him, and he can’t get any of the normal responses out. He can’t even get any words out at all, just breathes too fast and shallow into the receiver.

In the silence that stretches, Tommy can almost hear Sal switching from his default exasperated care to concern. “Tommy? If you’re in trouble, stop fucking stalling and tell me. Did you steal another helicopter and need me to bail you out of jail?”

Tommy chokes on a sound that wants to be a laugh, but doesn’t have the strength to get there. It’s probably a good thing, even if the sound he actually makes is vaguely reminiscent of a dying chicken. He’s pretty sure that any laughter coming out of his mouth now would sound hysterical and unhinged, and probably turn into crying in some unspecified blink of a moment.

“Say something, you bastard,” Sal says, rising concern sharpening his tone. “Is someone dying? Are you dying?”

Tommy fights through unclench his jaw enough to speak. He should—he should act like a normal fucking human being, say hello, maybe say sorry for calling at this hour, reassure Sal that no one’s dying. Instead, what comes tumbling out of his mouth is, “I’m pregnant.”

Those two words are the only ones in his head. The only ones he can convince his mouth into shaping. They feel like the only words left in the entire universe.

[winter-parrot]

⚕️⚕️⚕️ YOU KNOW this fic has bewitched me mind body and soul

make sylvie write!

⚕️ mpregbortion au:

mwahahaha i have entrapped you in my dastardly spell!! here is a slightly extra-long snippet to bewitch you further:

Sal finally asks, “At the risk of asking a stupid question, are you sure it’s his? Buckley’s, I mean. I know you said so last night, but it’s not like you had time to do a paternity test. Or even think straight, from what I saw.” Tommy snorts a derisive laugh so hard, the lingering crumbs of his breakfast almost end up his nose. “I haven’t fucked anyone else in about a year. So either the baby’s his, or it’s the second coming of Jesus.” Sal smacks his shoulder in retaliation for the terrible joke. There’s less force behind it than there usually would be, though. “You gonna tell him?” “Absolutely not.” The words are out of Tommy’s mouth before he’s even properly processed the question. They’re true, though. Tommy would crash his own helicopter into the ground before he ever told Evan that he was pregnant with their child. His thoughts stall out over that sentence again. He wonders, distantly, if he’ll ever get used to the thought. Their child. His and Evan’s. “—even know?” Sal asks. “Huh?” Tommy says, dumbly. He didn’t even hear half of what Sal said, too busy trying and failing to reconcile the reality of a world in which Tommy Kinard is pregnant with Evan Buckley’s child. Every other word in that sentence is an impossibility. An impossibility that is somehow, impossibly, true. Sal eyes him with a heavy, judgmental gaze, but he’s generous enough not to call Tommy out on it. That, or Tommy already looks fragile and pathetic enough that even Sal feels bad poking him where it hurts. “Does Buckley even know? That you’re an omega?” Tommy doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The whole-body flinch at that word—omega—and the clench of his jaw that follows have already given him away. “Thought so.” Sal sighs, long and heavy. “You’re a fucking idiot, but unfortunately you do happen to be my fucking idiot. So. What’s the plan?” “You think I got a plan?” Tommy says. It’s supposed to sound sardonic, but he can’t quite muster up his customary dry, dark humour properly. He sounds more like a lost child. “I got no fucking clue what I’m doing.”

[winter-parrot]

wip wednesday

@wee-fuckin-woo tagged me a few days ago, and i'm pretty sure there's other weeks-old ones i'm still sitting on. i was feeling kind of sad about not having any bucktommy to share, and then my brain started spinning its wheels again, and long story short i resurfaced an hour later with a brand new doc with almost 800 words of mpregbortion. i have no idea if i'm gonna end up keeping any of it, and i'm definitely writing non-linear as i feel out the whole story and different scenes in it, but have the longest linear chunk i have so far

tagging uuuuh @corporatebanana @screamlet @chemistry66 @beanarie and/or anyone else who fancies sharing something

------------------------------

Tommy stares down at the plastic stick in his hand. It’s tiny in his palm, small and fragile enough that he could almost crush it in a clenched fist.

It’s the heaviest thing he’s ever held in his enitre life.

He blinks down at his hands, like that might change what he’s seeing. The tiny little + sign stays unchanging and unrepentent. A part of him is tempted to reach for a second test and take it, just in case this is somehow a big giant mistake. If pregnancy tests can even have false positives.

But something deep in his gut already knows the truth. Hell, maybe the gut feeling is literal this time; there’s a tiny clump of cells growing inside him now.

Jesus Christ, there’s a tiny clump of cells growing inside him now. There’s a baby growing inside him. That isn’t supposed to be fucking possible. Not even in a metaphorical, “I can’t possibly be pregnant” way, but in a much more straightforwrad biological way. Turns out three-odd decades spent doubly closeted fucked up not just your psychology, but also your fertility. His check-ups have raised red flags about his fertility for years, and the only reason he’s not taking a whole palmful of medication every day is because he’s always known having a baby is out of the question with the life he has.

It’s not even the firefighting that’s the problem, although plenty of people would take issue with an omega parent taking on such a dangerous job. No, it’s that he’s never voluntarily told anyone about his designation, and he plans to keep in that way, thank you very much. Sal knows only under duress, and even then only because he’s an insufferably nosy bastard and couldn’t leave Tommy alone the one time his suppressants dosage went wrong, and he was out sick for a week and a half straight. There was no denying his designation when Sal walked in to find him feverish in the middle of a half-collapsed nest, with a bottle of suppressants sitting on his bedside table.

Besides, even discounting the landmines of his own personal history, Tommy’s almost forty. Fertility is supposed to be behind him anyway. What forty-year-old omega out there expects to become pregnant at this age? Certainly not without a ton of money and medical intervention.

And yet here he is. The pregnancy test still stalwartly announces its positive results. There’s a fuckng baby growing inside him. Evan’s baby is inside him.

[winter-parrot]

mabortion please sylvie

make sylvie write!

⚕️ mpregbortion au

anything for you, beans <3 have a snippet from waaaaay later, the second or third bucktommy conversation after the fact. my guess is that it'll be at least like 75% of the way into the fic, but who actually knows. i do have written a bit of stuff in between the early bits i shared and this (including ~200 fresh words i just wrote for this meme!) but this felt juicier to share lol

“Daniel was an omega,” Evan says, apropos of nothing. Tommy stares at him, at the way Evan swallows thickly. The bob of his throat is quite distracting, usually, and even now it makes a valiant attempt at pulling in Tommy’s attention. But for once he isn’t lured in, too busy instead fighting between two completely opposing urges. A part of him wants to run for the hills, far, far away from a conversation that promises vulnerability and pain just four words in; the other half of him is desperately knuckling down the urge like it’s the early-onset morning sickness that hit him like a train four life-altering weeks after the pregancy test.

[winter-parrot]

⚕️⚕️⚕️ imagine like. 40 million of these.

make sylvie write!

⚕️ mpregbortion au

kathy your enthusiasm for mpregbortion brings me both boundless joy and a great motivation to deliver. I did not manage 40 million but I did write almost 400 words, just for you. This bit comes immediately after here:

Exactly twenty-one minutes and seventeen seconds later, the familiar rumble of Sal’s car whines down to a stop outside of Tommy’s door. Given that he lives halfway across the city, it’s an impressive feat that probably involved several broken traffic laws, a fact Tommy does not appreciate until much, much later. For now, he’s too busy trying to think—not to think—to keep breathing and existing and remain even vaguely human-shaped, instead of the ever-growing cancerous mass of neuroses and fears and spinning, impotent self-hatred that he feels like. He knows exactly how many minutes, down to the second, because counting it was the only thing that keeps him tethered to the kitchen chair, instead of spiraling away into the same nameless void that ate up the all daylight since he took the test. Twenty three minutes and forty-eight seconds, forty-nine, fifty— Sal comes in through the door, swearing roughly at the spare key still jangling in the lock. Oh. Tommy forgot to unlock the door for him. That would’ve been a sane, normal thing to do, if he was a sane, normal person. Instead he’s been crashing out for God only knew how many hours over a— a mistake, and his best friend had to use the spare key hidden under the porch plant while he was sitting just inside the kitchen like a useless wooden doll. Sal waves a colourful six-pack of at him, some aggressively friendly, aggressively Californian craft beer. “Here. I brought you your weird beer. Let’s get hammered and— oh.” Tommy clocks the moment Sal realizes exactly why their normal “life is a motherfucker” routine is no longer a viable option. It takes him a solid thirty seconds longer to realize that his left hand has instinctively moved to cradle his belly. Like there’s something to protect. Like the beer is a dangerous beast, and his hand will be a valiant shield. He laughs. It’s brittle and hysterical and ugly, but he laughs anyway. The alternative is to break down crying, and Tommy refuses to do that. There’s been quite enough over dramatic meltdowns already today. He refuses to be even more pathetic than he’s already been. Even more omega.

[winter-parrot]

:) do you have a "resistance" perhaps?

only in my bang wip, which you've seen already! but since i cannot share that with everyone else, in the spirit of the game, i wrote a few new sentences instead. I've mostly been chipping away at the "nice" time loop, but turned around and picked up mpregbortion again just for you <3

It’s not that he expects his coworkers to be cruel or mean about it. They’re better people than that. But he’ll never be able to be just Firefighter-Pilot Tommy Kinard again. He’ll always be Omega Firefighter-Pilot Tommy Kinard. They’ll look at him differently. They won’t mean it badly, and they might not even know it, but Tommy will know. He’s seen that look before, in every permutation. Sometimes it’s poor misguided Omega and sometimes it’s what an abomination and sometimes it’s is he okay and sometimes it’s maybe you should be man-behind, but it’s always there. Nobody looks at an Omega without thinking about the fact that they’re looking at an Omega. Especially not an Omega like him.

WIP Word Guessing Game

[winter-parrot]

I am in fact still rolling around the omega abortion rights fic idea from these tags

just. like. Tommy who is both gay and an omega and has been hiding both his entire life up until 118. who came out as gay after going to Harbour but never quite “came out” about being an omega. who doesn’t lie about it, not exactly, not anymore, but he knows what he looks like and what assumptions people make about him from that and never ever contradict them. who maybe even encourages said assumptions with the car lift and the muy thai and the Tough Alpha Job.

alpha Buck who’s always been a bit hotheaded and bratty, who’s been with more than his fair share of alpha women instead of the expected omegas. (…I wonder if Daniel was an alpha or a beta or an omega. If he lived long enough for them to find out. I think the answer is no but the Buckley parents are convinced he would’ve been a beta and it’s just one more way Evan is Wrong, why he’s so hotheaded and reckless the way their sweet Daniel never was.) who wants kids of his own, always has, but never got to the right place in his life with the right person. Let everything play out per canon all the way through to the hookup. Tommy gets pregnant from it, and obviously he cannot tell Evan. Not after Evan made it so so clear that he never meant anything. Agonizes for days over this child he never thought he’d want, this piece of Evan he could maybe get to keep—but in the end he just can’t justify being a single parent to an infant, not with the life he leads and the job he has. And if he kept the baby it’d blow up his whole life, plus Evan would find out, and he refuses to be the asshole who babytraps Evan into a relationship he never wanted.

I.. have no idea where it goes from there except that you could do some delicious things with the lost baby and the sperm donor arc. Something something the child he knew he was making that he knew he wouldn’t get to keep but chose to create anyway vs. the child he never knew he was making that he didn’t even know he wasn’t going to get to keep until AFTER he lost it

and probably happy ending is like a three year time skip and a bucktommy child they actually planned for

[winter-parrot]

⚕️

make sylvie write!

sorry anon this is probably not what you had in mind when you requested mpregbortion but i vagueblogged a thing and now i have to follow through. so. here's a couple hundred words of omega-in-an-alpha-dominated-field tommy.

⚕️ mpregbortion au:

He never says any of this out loud, of course. He barely ever lets himself think it. But if there’s ever an exceptional circumstance where he’s allowed to think forbidden thoughts about his place in the world as on Omega, well, surely finding out he’s pregnant with his ex’s child off of one ill-advised hookup counts as one. The never-saying-it-out-loud part means that he never told Sal, either. But he thinks Sal might, somehow, understand. Just a little. As much as he ever can, as an Alpha who got into plenty of trouble for posturing and power struggling, sure, but was never told it wasn’t his place. It's in the way Sal said, that fateful afternoon when he found Tommy in a miserable lump among a pitiful shamble of blankets, “My baby cousin was an Omega.” Was. And nothing else. It’s in the way he doesn’t argue back, now. Doesn’t tell Tommy he’s being ridiculous and overdramatic, that the California is a progressive state and LAFD accepts Omegas. Letting Omegas apply is different from accepting those applications, which is different from letting them pass the academy, which is different from letting them graduate their probationary years, which is different from letting them do their damn jobs without undermining them at every corner, which is different from promoting them and advancing their careers. There has never been an Omega fire captain in LAFD history. Omegas still make up less than 10% of their numbers, despite making up nearly a quarter of applicants. There are no known Omegas at Harbour. Or at the 118, or 122.