CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of home abortions a/n: if you are pregnant and need an abortion, please don’t try any of this. please go to a clinic if you are able, for your own health and safety
“Other ways,” Twist offers. “Knew girls who put things inside.”
“Whole lotta ways,” Dredge agrees. “You can carry heavy shit, trip and fall, get in a fight, whole lotta shit you can do. Heard if you eat enough of a couple different plants you can fuck it up real bad, though whether that's real or just people talkin’ or maybe just coincidence I don’t know.”
“If it goes too long,” Lucinda murmurs, tucks the bottle away. “You get a coat hanger and you boil it, clean the grime off.”
Siri finally turns the page of her book.
“I don't recommend coat-hanger abortions,” she says. “The potential for harm to you is astronomically high.” She stretches her legs out, presses her thumb into the top corner of the next page in her textbook, right over the worst of a water stain.
“Well, shit, Doc,” Dredge laughs, loud and big. “If I’m willing to stab something inside me to death with a fuckin’ coat hanger, you think I care about what it might do to me?” She laughs again, pats her hands on the top of her head as she stretches, pops her spine. “Last option for a dead woman. Better to do like the Boss says and never have the problem in the first place.”
“But you need your women to care for you first, for that to happen,” Lucinda agrees. She rests her hands on her crossed shins.
“They cared,” Birdy repeats.
“But they didn’t care the way you needed them too, which is worse than not caring at all,” Lucinda replies. “Because that just gets you deeper, somewhere you don’t want to be.”
Twist goes back to flicking her switchblade, and Dredge reaches up to pat at her wrists until she runs one hand through Dredge’s hair.
“What was I supposed to do?” Birdy asks. Tips her chin down, looks at Lucinda from under her eyebrows. Sharp look, meaningful look, challenging look. Smarter than she let on at first, with the sobbing and the bashfulness and the giggling. Smart girl. Raven girl. She’ll learn.
“I don’t know,” Lucinda replies, tips her chin up. “But your women didn’t do right by you.” She narrows her eyes, considers for a moment. Little Raven looking at her, eyes narrowed, challenging everything. Was she this much of a shit to Old Raven when she was thirteen? She must have been. Would she have been at seventeen too? Probably. “It won’t happen here. You need something, you ask, you get it.”
“That go for everyone?” Dredge asks, perks up. “‘Cause I could really use a foot--”
“No,” Lucinda replies, cuts her off. She breaks into a grin, though, wide and honest, and Dredge laughs again.
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timeasmymeasure
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (12b/?)
Date: 2016-03-04 03:07 pm (UTC)a/n: if you are pregnant and need an abortion, please don’t try any of this. please go to a clinic if you are able, for your own health and safety
“Other ways,” Twist offers. “Knew girls who put things inside.”
“Whole lotta ways,” Dredge agrees. “You can carry heavy shit, trip and fall, get in a fight, whole lotta shit you can do. Heard if you eat enough of a couple different plants you can fuck it up real bad, though whether that's real or just people talkin’ or maybe just coincidence I don’t know.”
“If it goes too long,” Lucinda murmurs, tucks the bottle away. “You get a coat hanger and you boil it, clean the grime off.”
Siri finally turns the page of her book.
“I don't recommend coat-hanger abortions,” she says. “The potential for harm to you is astronomically high.” She stretches her legs out, presses her thumb into the top corner of the next page in her textbook, right over the worst of a water stain.
“Well, shit, Doc,” Dredge laughs, loud and big. “If I’m willing to stab something inside me to death with a fuckin’ coat hanger, you think I care about what it might do to me?” She laughs again, pats her hands on the top of her head as she stretches, pops her spine. “Last option for a dead woman. Better to do like the Boss says and never have the problem in the first place.”
“But you need your women to care for you first, for that to happen,” Lucinda agrees. She rests her hands on her crossed shins.
“They cared,” Birdy repeats.
“But they didn’t care the way you needed them too, which is worse than not caring at all,” Lucinda replies. “Because that just gets you deeper, somewhere you don’t want to be.”
Twist goes back to flicking her switchblade, and Dredge reaches up to pat at her wrists until she runs one hand through Dredge’s hair.
“What was I supposed to do?” Birdy asks. Tips her chin down, looks at Lucinda from under her eyebrows. Sharp look, meaningful look, challenging look. Smarter than she let on at first, with the sobbing and the bashfulness and the giggling. Smart girl. Raven girl. She’ll learn.
“I don’t know,” Lucinda replies, tips her chin up. “But your women didn’t do right by you.” She narrows her eyes, considers for a moment. Little Raven looking at her, eyes narrowed, challenging everything. Was she this much of a shit to Old Raven when she was thirteen? She must have been. Would she have been at seventeen too? Probably. “It won’t happen here. You need something, you ask, you get it.”
“That go for everyone?” Dredge asks, perks up. “‘Cause I could really use a foot--”
“No,” Lucinda replies, cuts her off. She breaks into a grin, though, wide and honest, and Dredge laughs again.