#while the rest of people actually committing those crimes walk free because of the privileges of being cis/het/white/upper-class

[gayvampyr]

Do you support prison abolition /paying prisoners a living wage / making being able to vote more accessible to everyone?

I like your stances and opinions and your jokes but I'm genuinely curious on this one.

(This is inspired by some of the comments under one of your posts talking about how we should just make democracy more livable under capitalism, and while I disagree with that being the ONLY thing we need to do, it does kinda make me think about how many people think we need to get better without abolishing prisons or at least treating our prisoners better than we are treating them currently.)

hi! i'm not sure which post you're referring to but I'm actually anti-capitalist. I think we need to dismantle capitalism as a system because it is inherently inhumane, working exactly as intended and therefore cannot be "fixed" without restructuring it entirely from the ground up; the devaluation of human labor and environmental destruction for profit is not a bug, it's a feature. i could delve into the kind of economic system that i think should replace it after dismantling it, however it's more of a thought exercise and until it becomes a plausible reality, i would rather focus on how we can make capitalism livable for the time being because we have no other choice. for example we could start by lowering rent, instituting a 4-day work week, and establishing support networks for homeless people. i'm not an economist so it's not like i have all the answers but according to the results from other countries who have applied these practices, it improves quality of life and the economy significantly.

as for prisons, i'm pro-abolition. you can check out my prison abolition tag for more information, but essentially prisons exist in this day and age as an industry that profits off of slave labor. many of our laws and their enforcers unfairly target minorities and lower class people, and the denial of convicts the right to vote is just another way our government strips vulnerable communities of their political power, autonomy, and supposedly inalienable rights. aside from the conviction of innocent people and people who did commit a crime but ultimately did no harm, i don't think it's the right of any individual (or government, for that matter) to imprison others. i think people tend to forget that "criminals" are human beings and deserving of the same rights as everyone else, and it is human nature to make mistakes. the important thing is the opportunity to do better. militarist propaganda has done an incredible job of convincing us that convicts are amoral and undeserving of our sympathy, turning society in general against them and destroying any sort of safety net they might have had or needed otherwise. and people are too busy clinging to the notion that criminals are subhuman and deserving of whatever punishment is dealt that they can't see that this is a slide into fascism, and that they can just as easily become "other" should they find themselves on the receiving end of the system. we are very close to living in a surveillance state, which means any minor offense or slip-up has the potential to completely decimate your chances at getting a job, applying for college, getting a loan, receiving housing, and especially being able to have a say in elections. it also makes you more likely to be arrested again on account of "suspected illegal activity", so your record follows you around for the rest of your life.

sorry this got so long but yeah, essentially capitalism and the prison industry are inhumane and should be abolished.

[lavenderradionoises]

Can You Hear the Winds Changing?

Warnings: mentions of war, mentions of past abuse

Horses trotted through the streets, the knights holding themselves proudly as they marched off to their next campaign. The city populace gathered at the edges to wish the knights a safe journey and luck with beating Stozia, a neighboring kingdom to the West. At the front, the king led his knights with an expression that did not match the crowd’s mood—a face of remorse and anger.

Iiaare watched the men leaving the main gate from the shadows of the mansion’s balcony, hoping that there would be no punishment for stopping her work to watch.

A door slammed open somewhere on the first floor. Iiaare took this as a sign to hide any signs of her sneaking away and get back to work. Just as she picked up the cloth from the water bucket, the door to the dance hall flew open.

“Get up. Your new employer will be here soon to pick you up,” said the man, barging in without so much as a greeting.

Iiaare simply nodded. It wasn’t not like she could say anything anyway. It was always like this, being traded from employer to employer like a doll. One would get annoyed that she couldn’t speak and sell her to the highest bidder somewhere in the city.

After quickly finishing the dance hall, Iiaare had just enough time to pack the few clothes she owned before being ushered out the door and into a carriage, making sure to keep her head down.

In the 15 years Iiaare had worked as a servant, she had picked up the skills to assess her employer by the way they would greet her. While her first meeting with an employer could usually tell her the tone of their interactions from then on, Iiaare learned long ago not to hope for someone kind. The fact that a carriage picked her up revealed her employer’s social status, as not very many could afford such a luxury. The man’s presence confused Iiaare, as it wasn’t customary for the actual employer to pick up a servant. The mud and specks of blood caked on his shoes gave evidence of a recent hunt. The man’s hello when she entered the carriage told her that he had some respect for those he employed.

“My name is Aion. The count told me of your condition. Is there a name you prefer to go by?” the man asked. 

Iiaare’s eyes widened. It was the first time someone asked for her name, even among her kinder employers.

Aion chuckled before asking, “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you know how to read and write?” 

Iiaare shook her head. 

The man responded with a kind smile and told her that he would make sounds until he got all the ones that spell out her name. Her job was to nod or shake her head in response.

The rest of the carriage ride was spent on Aion guessing her name. When the carriage stopped, the two had “Iiaar” sounded out.“ Are there any more sounds?” the man asked. Iiaare nodded, and Aion began to list off various endings. When he found the correct one, Iiaare pointed at him, indicating that he got her name. Tears welled up in her eyes. Many years had passed since someone outside of her memory had said her name.

“It’s a beautiful name,” Aion complimented as he left the carriage, offering his hand when his feet made contact with the cobblestone ground. When Iiaare took it, she did not expect to step out onto the palace’s courtyard. Her disbelief must have shown on her face because Aion let out another chuckle.

“I guess I haven’t fully introduced myself,” He started before bowing slightly, “My name is Aion Nexros, prince of Nemothage and duke of Ievdal. You have been hired to attend to my sister, princess of Nemothage.” 

Iiaare’s eyes widened as she took a step back. She may have been used to working in noble houses, but the royal household? Never in her wildest dreams. 

The prince led her through the palace, the other staff ignoring them but still freeing up the middle for the two. Perks of paying the people’s wages, Iiaare guessed.

The palace was beautiful. Flower vases stood on every open surface, giving life to halls that would otherwise seem cold and bare. Some walls had tapestries so vibrant, Iiaare almost thought they were windows to a world filled with birds made of fire and starlight.  

After climbing many winding staircases, Aion stopped before a set of doors to knock. A brunette with light blue eyes, looking not much older than Aion, answered the door.

“Aion, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked, smiling before narrowing her eyes. “Come to steal more of my things?” 

Aion took a deep breath, “No, Usta, I didn’t come to steal your things, will you let that go? That was one time, how was I supposed to know that you had a specific set of jewelry for Seeing? Last time I checked, you only used rubies during rituals. You expecting me to know that you shifted to using sapphires is ridiculous.”

“Or, get this, you could not take my things when trying to woo some random courtier.” 

“But you use jewelry to woo people all the time!”

“Because they’re my things. You want to woo Lady Ovodona, you go to the market and buy your own sapphires.”

Iiaare shifted uncomfortably as the two continued to bicker, not sure what she should be doing. It was one thing to walk in on two people arguing when you knew your way around the estate or had jobs to complete. It was another when you didn’t know where you were working or what you needed to do.

As Aion made another jab, Usta glanced at Iiaare and back at Aion. “Who’s the girl?” she interrupted.

“This is Iiaare,” Aion introduced. “She’s father’s apology for what happened to Nyrastil.”

Usta pursed her lips. “I see.” 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Aion stated, winking at Iiaare before heading back down the hallway from which the two came.

Usta seemed to physically deflate when the prince left. She gave Iiaare a once over before sighing, “Come in, I guess.”

The room was spacious with a large four poster bed pushed against the back wall, a vanity standing between the two windows that Iiaare guessed opened up into the courtyard, and a changing screen that covered an alcove across from the bed. Usta made her way in that direction, first stopping at the cabinet to the changing screen’s right.

“Do you know how to lace up gowns?” the woman asked, facing away from Iiaare. Iiaare nodded.

Usta turned to face Iiaare, one eyebrow raised. Iiaare hurriedly nodded again, though the action caused Usta to narrow her eyes.

“Speak, would you?” she ordered, tone exasperated.

Iiaare lowered her eyes to the floor. She raised her hands to her mouth before taking the first two fingers of her right hand and dragging them against the middle part of her left fingers—the action used by those who have had their tongue cut out. 

Usta gasped. Getting one’s tongue cut out was often reserved for those who had committed a misdemeanor, thievery, or a major crime in a village outside of the kingdom’s capital, where the alternative was decapitation or death by fire

Iiaare watched as Usta’s movements became more guarded and tense as her eyes flicked to spots around the room where Iiaare guessed something of value was stored. 

Moments like these made Iiaare yearn for the privilege of writing. She wanted to explain that she was not a thief, that all she did was stand against the village governor, for a girl she barely knew. She was no thief, but her refusal to stay silent and watch a little girl be burned at the stake for trying to survive led to her losing her tongue and being sold to a nearby noble to work as a glorified slave at barely the age of ten.

But it was no use. After 15 years, Iiaare had learned to ignore the annoyance and pain of being misjudged--there was no use trying. 

Usta’s eyes found Iiaare’s, snapping the princess back to what she was doing doing before discovering Iiaare’s open secret. Usta moved behind the changing screen, seeming casual and unaffected by the information, if one ignored the suddenly tense muscles in the princess’s shoulders.

After changing, the woman emerged in a complex white gown.Above the dress’s flowing skirt and draping sleeves, which nearly touched the floor, Iiaare noticed that the bodice was laced in the back. Iiaare quickly fell back into the role of a servant, lacing up the gown with practiced hands. The royal nodded before making her way to the vanity.

“I have a Seeing session to attend. My hair must  be out of the way but not done in the same extravagance expected at a feast.” Usta ordered. There was an edge in her voice, as well as a sense of urgency.

Iiaare could only nod. Her hands reached for the brunette’s long hair and began braiding it, weaving in a white ribbon from the vanity to help secure the hairdo. Once the braid was completed, Iiaare wrapped it around the back of Usta’s head, giving the already ethereal look a halo effect. 

The princess gave Iiaare a simple nod through the mirror before exiting the room. When she noticed that the newly hired servant was not following, Usta gestured towards the door with her head.

“Come along. I doubt that flirt Aion told you what your job is, so I will do that for him.”

Iiaare’s eyes widened at the lack of sharpness in Usta’s voice but she followed all the same, being sure to keep a couple of steps behind the princess.

“My friend, the maid before you were hired, was executed for false accusations of conspiring with Stozia, the kingdom that my father, the king, and his army left to meet swords with. When the true identity of the conspirator was discovered, my father promised me a new maid,” Usta smiled, though her eyes betrayed the sadness she felt. “Like that would change anything, especially since you are her supposed replacement.”

Iiaare may not know the intricacies of court. Still, she understood the implication clearly enough: without the ability to speak or write, everyone could tell her their deepest secrets, and they would never be spread. If by some chance they were, then Iiaare would be hunted down and executed immediately.

“Your job will be to accompany me whenever I go, as well as to take care of my things. Where laundry is done, I don’t know, but that is included as well. During feasts, you are going to be tasked with keeping my glass full, along with others who are there. Food will be taken care of by other servants, so you need only to make sure I get food when I request it.” Usta listed off each responsibility with a bored tone.

Iiaare could only nod, though she doubted the royal saw her.

Usta continued to list off the jobs required as a royal servant, many of which Iiaare had completed in the past. At some point, the two reached an entrance to what the servant could only guess is a tower.

“This is the Firebird Tower, the most sacred structure in the city. All my visions come to me when I am in the innermost chamber. You are to stay here and wait until I’m done. If anyone asks you what you are doing, simply make this sign with your hands,” Usta pressed the heels of her hands together before placing her thumb to the center of her middle finger, leaving the rest of her fingers raised to the ceiling, “and they will know that you are waiting for me while I am in the Firebird Tower.”

Iiaare copied Usta’s hands. It was an easy enough gesture. When the latter left to attend to her duties, Iiaare took a moment to rest against the pale stone of the palace interior. 

So much had happened in the past day. A prince picked her up in a carriage to serve a princess, said princess gave Iiaare the cold shoulder before acting like the two had known each other for days rather than minutes, found out the royal family knew of her lack of speaking capabilities, and she still had no idea what was in store for the rest of the day.

The hall leading the tower was quiet and void of people. The sound of rustling trees and a faraway marketplace made their way through the open windows on Iiaare’s left but filtered as white noise. 

Leaning further against the wall, the servant closed her eyes. The silence was her constant companion, but it was rarely enough to warrant a frozen moment in time. A few seconds of absolute stillness, where she could relax her guard and think about nothing.

Iiaare’s eyes snapped open, and she straightened up. She was in a new environment; the last thing she should do is relax and drop her guard. 

Just as she finished criticizing herself, the sounds of boots clicking against stone echoed through the hall. Turning to face the noise, Iiaare found herself facing Aion. The man had an easy smile on his face as he made his way towards her.

“So how was it?” he asked.

Iiaare tilted her head, unsure what he meant.

“Your first dealing with Usta. She’s a lot, isn’t she?”

Before Iiaare could think of a response, the sound of feet running down flights of stairs echoed through the hall. A blur of white and brown grabbed at Aion, forcing him to stumble back a few steps. A confused expression spread across the princes’ face. 

On the other hand, the princess trembled, her shoulders shaking as she gripped at Aion’s shirt.

“Please,” Iiaare’s eyes widened at the weak voice that left Usta, “please stay. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

[bobprometh]

Fire Lovers

FIRE LOVERS

by moxon56

It's about to begin. The arena is packed and people are standing outside watching on the monitors. I have a VIP seat just a few yards from the stage. I worked my ass off to earn this privilege and in the end it still came down to luck. So many entrants had qualified that after all the elimination rounds there were still twice as many applicants as available seats. There wasn't time to arrange another set of contests so names were drawn and I was one of the chosen.

I was trying to remain calm and take in everything but I was tremendously excited as were all the others seated around me. I was in a state of disbelief. I still hardly believed that I was actually there to watch in person and close up.

She walked onto the field and the crowd erupted. I stood and cheered with the rest. She was accompanied by a large man on either side. She wasn't restrained but I doubt that she could have escaped her guards. Before her trial she was unknown. Now, her face was recognized all over the planet and she was close enough to talk to but for the crowd noise. Her name was Julie.

Not only was she standing twenty feet from me, but she was nude. She grinned slightly at the crowds thunderous ovation but she made no other gesture of acknowledgment. I'm not surprised at her restrained behavior. After all, she was only minutes from being burned at the stake.

The news media had made her out to be a monster but I don't believe it. She ran afoul of a recent “Feel Good” law. She hadn't hurt anyone but there was no denying the illegality of her actions. It was her third minor offense. The law that doomed her, had been passed on the heals of a heinous crime committed by someone who had been guilty of two prior offenses and treated with leniency.

It was a simple “Three Strikes law”. This was her third strike. The presiding Judge knew that this was a gross miscarriage of justice but his hands were tied. The law required him to sentence her to not less than ten years in prison followed by mandatory probation of not less than five years. She was twenty two and preparing to enter Medical School. If she started this year she might be entering Family Practice at thirty one. Adding another fifteen years meant she would be forty six years old. That's assuming she could even get into School with that record.

Forty six might not be that old but to a twenty something it seems it. There was another recent law, enacted to alleviate prison crowding and provide income to state governments. It allowed anyone sentenced to prison for more than five years to request death by burning. It was seldom requested and always granted.

It had been in place only a few years and was slowly gaining in use. The state made millions on ticket sales and by auctioning the broadcast rights. They paid the prisoner's designated recipient 10% of the sale price.

She became a media sensation instantly when the Judge read her sentence and she quietly uttered the magic words. “I request my sentence be modified to death by burning.” The courtroom went mad and people dashed out to make calls. The news of a burning spread quickly. There had been only thirteen burnings in the three years it had been legal. I was about to watch the fourteenth from close up.

I'd dreamed of being present to watch a burning since the day their use was announced. To find myself sitting right up front with nothing between me and the pyre was too good to be true. She was politely assisted to climb the ladder and carefully chained to the stake. I realized that though she had now been naked in front of me for nearly a minute, I was so excited that I hadn't really looked at her. I made an effort to calm down and look at her as she stood chained to her stake.

She was not by any means a classic beauty but somehow her features meshed into a very attractive package. Her eyes were brown as was her very long hair which hung to the top of her ass. It was tucked neatly behind her and those portions not pinned between her and the stake, flowed down her sides. Her breasts were average size but high and firm.

She had what most would describe as nice legs and butt. She stood fidgeting and looking around as she waited to be burned. I looked around at the crowd. Without exception, they were anxious to see her burning at the stake. I knew that anyone looking at me would conclude the same thing but not see my secret.

The feeling of “somethings wrong came over me and I looked at her again. It was obvious, she was nervous, as one would expect. What was most conspicuously lacking was fear. I was shocked at the thought. She was chained, naked, to a stake over a large pile of wood. There were thousands of people present, who wanted to see her burned and millions more watching via TV and online, yet she wasn't afraid.

I wondered if she was simply resigned to her fate but that wasn't it. Without thinking I stood up. The people behind me booed and I quickly sat down but she'd seen me and continued looking directly at me. We looked at each other and I smiled at her. For just a moment she smiled back and just like that, I knew her secret and I knew that she, in turn, had seen mine.

She wasn't afraid because she wanted to be burned. In fact she longed for the flames and she recognized the same desire in me. From the moment that burning had been approved, I'd dreamed of standing above a fire while thousands of people cheer me on. For me the excitement of watching her burn was doubled. There was the element of sadism in watching this woman burned alive. There was also the element of masochism in longing for it to be done to me.

I saw her look toward me but not at me. I followed her gaze and she was watching a woman walking to the pyre with a lit torch. It was about to happen. The woman walked up to the pyre and stopped while the sentence was read. The crowd started cheering as she thrust the torch into the base of the pyre.

There must have been some flammable substance around the pyre because the flames rapidly spread to form a ring of fire around the stake. I looked at her. She was looking down at the growing fire, beneath her. She looked up at me and this time, she smiled and nodded at me. Then looked around at the thousands of people all spellbound and waiting for her to start burning. The thought excited her tremendously.

I wondered if perhaps the connection I felt with her had been imaginary. I knew better when she looked at me again after checking the fire. She would look around the area, then at the growing fire and then look at me. She repeated this pattern several times and I realized that she was doing her best to share the experience with me.

The fire grew until the tips of the flames were waving just beneath her feet. She must have felt some pain because she started to squirm and pull her feet up a little. Still, she showed no sign of fear. The audience grew as silent as so large a crowd could be. I noticed that my whole body was tense and shaking.

I took a deep breath and tried to relax but the excitement was overwhelming. Then it happened. A large flame climbed up from the pyre and simply, quietly rose up through the grate and briefly stroked her feet and ankles.

As the flames tickled her feet, she threw her head back and emitted one long, loud scream that pierced me to the core and sent a chill through me despite the heat of the nearby fire. The audience cheered her agony and quickly fell silent.

The flames receded and her knees buckled. She hung by her wrists for a second. She took a breath and stood up just as the next, larger flame visited her legs and burned her to the knees. She screamed again but not nearly so intensely as before. She managed to remain standing during this attack and the next, after which the fire no longer receded enough to free her from it's grasp. The flames flickered higher and lower but never completely left her. She was now truly burning at the stake and she would go on burning until she was gone.

The fire climbed at a leisurely pace and paradoxically, she seemed to suffer less as more of her legs felt the searing breath of the beast beneath her. It suddenly dawned on me that I'd often watched fires and thought of them as living beings. They were born. They ate what they could and grew until they ran out of food. Then they withered and died just like any other living thing.

Yes, the fire lived. It was consuming Julie as it grew and she so loved her fire that she gladly fed it with her own flesh. The flames reached her torso and began to feast on her ass and pussy. She writhed and moaned in ecstasy as her fire burned her sex with it's passionate embrace. Her orgasm dominated her consciousness and she climaxed violently. The ends of her hair shriveled and sparked in the flames but didn't flair up.

The crowd stood and cheered wildly as Julie made love to her fire openly, free from shame. This was her fire, it belonged to her even as she gave herself to it. She played in her flames as they fed on her and grew. A minute more and the fire reached her chest. She cherished each brush of flames against her breasts and moaned happily as they burned and melted. The fire climbed higher and burned the last of her hair as it engulfed her head. She shook violently for a few seconds and was gone.

The crowd stood, once more and cheered her. I found that I couldn't stand. All my strength was gone. I had been so overwhelmed by Julie's burning that my mind had to take a minute to catch up.

I sat and remembered the smell of the burning wood and later the smell of Julie herself as she cooked and burned. I hadn't noticed that before, nor the sound of Julie burning, the hissing and popping that was part burning wood and part burning Julie.

I felt a stinging sensation on my face and realized that I'd been slightly singed by her fire as though I had a bad sunburn. I sat and watched Julie's body burning in the flames and only then became of aware of the pull.

The fire pulled at me. It called to me. I felt and heard it's plea. I felt the urge to go to it, to give myself to it.

Yes, it lived and it wanted to survive. It wanted me to join Julie in caring for and nourishing it. That wouldn't be right. It was Julie's fire and I wouldn't dream of trying to usurp her rightful place as it's owner.

I knew what to do. In today's world, it's easy to get a long prison sentence without hurting anyone. I would break some statute and have my own fire soon enough. Thousands of people would cheer me as I fed it and screamed at the touch of its loving caresses.

moxon56