#H. rap brown

[offtheleashart]

Raised Fists and Guns. These posters chronicle the story of the Black Panther Party, 1967-1970.

From the exhibit “Black Power to Black People: Branding the Black Panther Party” at Poster House, New York 1967 H. Rap Brown (Man with Match), Emory Douglas H. Rap Brown was a member of both the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee and the Black Panther Party. He is associated with the phrase “burn, baby, burn,” hence the match. 1968 Bobby Hutton Murdered, Designer…

[oldshowbiz]

1970.

Objecting to the word "rap."

[filosofablogger]

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

When rawgod mentioned this one tonight, it immediately began playing in my head and, since I was pondering what to do for a music post, I seized upon it!  Hope you guys like it! I hope you’re in the mood for a bit of something upbeat tonight, for I am greatly in need of what I think of as ‘happy music’, which often leads me to Motown, and tonight is no exception. This song was written by Motown…

[randomrichards]

THE SPACE RACE

The long, hard journey

To put black men into space

A hard won battle

[readyforevolution]

“When a race of people is oppressed within a system that fosters the idea of competitive individualism, the political polarization around individual interests prevents group interests. Each negro prides himself on his ability to reason or think as an individual. Therefore, any gains are to the individual and not to the group. The only politics in this country that's relevant to black people today is the politics of revolution... none other.”

H. Rap Brown

[kemetic-dreams]

Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (born Hubert Gerold Brown; October 4, 1943), is an American human rights activist, Muslim cleric, African separatist, and convicted murderer who was the fifth chairman of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the 1960s. Best known as H. Rap Brown, he served as the Black Panther Party's minister of justice during a short-lived (six months) alliance between SNCC and the Black Panther Party.

He is perhaps known for his proclamations during that period, such as that "violence is as American as cherry pie", and that "If America don't come around, we're gonna burn it down." He is also known for his autobiography, Die Nigger Die! He is currently serving a life sentence for murder following the shooting of two Fulton County, Georgia, sheriff's deputies in 2000.

Brown's activism in the civil rights movement included involvement with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). Brown was introduced into SNCC by his older brother Ed. He first visited Cambridge, Maryland with Cleveland Sellers in the summer of 1963, during the period of Gloria Richardson's leadership in the local movement. He witnessed the first riot between whites and blacks in the city over civil rights issues, and was impressed by the local civil rights movement's willingness to use armed self-defense against racial attacks.

Brown later organized for SNCC during the 1964 Mississippi Freedom Summer, while transferring to Howard University for his studies. Representing Howard's SNCC chapter, Brown attended a contentious civil rights meeting at the White House with President Lyndon B. Johnson during the Selma crisis of 1965 as Alabama activists attempted to march for voting rights.

Major federal civil rights legislation was passed in 1964 and 1965, including the Voting Rights Act, to establish federal oversight and enforcement of rights. In 1966, Brown organized in Greene County, Alabama to achieve African voter registration and implementation of the recently passed Voting Rights Act.

Elected SNCC chairman in 1967, Brown continued Stokely Carmichael's fiery support for "Black Power" and urban rebellions in the Northern ghettos.

During the summer of 1967, Brown toured the nation, calling for violent resistance to the government, which he called "The Fourth Reich". "Negroes should organize themselves", he told a rally in Washington, D.C., and "carry on guerilla warfare in all the cities." They should, "make the Viet Cong look like Sunday school teachers." He declared, "I say to America, Fuck it! Freedom or death!"

In this period, Cambridge, Maryland had an active civil rights movement, led by Gloria Richardson. In July 1967 Brown spoke in the city, saying "It's time for Cambridge to explode, baby. Black folks built America, and if America don't come around, we're going to burn America down." Gunfire reportedly broke out later, and both Brown and a police officer were wounded. A fire started that night and by the next day, 17 buildings were destroyed by an expanding fire "in a two-block area of Pine Street, the center of African-American commerce, culture and community." Brown was charged with inciting a riot, due to his speech.

Brown was also charged with carrying a gun across state lines. A secret 1967 FBI memo had called for "neutralizing" Brown. He became a target of the agency's COINTELPRO program, which was intended to disrupt and disqualify civil rights leaders. The federal charges against him were never proven.

He was defended in the gun violation case by civil rights advocates Murphy Bell of Baton Rouge, the self-described "radical lawyer" William Kunstler, and Howard Moore Jr., general counsel for SNCC. Feminist attorney Flo Kennedy also assisted Brown and led his defense committee, winning support for him from some chapters of the National Organization for Women.

The Cambridge fire was among incidents investigated by the 1967 Kerner Commission. But their investigative documents were not published with their 1968 report. Historian Dr. Peter Levy studied these papers in researching his book Civil War on Race Street: The Civil Rights Movement in Cambridge, Maryland (2003). He argues there was no riot in Cambridge. Brown was documented as completing his speech in Cambridge at 10 pm July 24, then walking a woman home. He was shot by a deputy sheriff allegedly without provocation. Brown was hastily treated for his injuries and secretly taken by supporters out of Cambridge.

Later that night a small fire broke out, but the police chief and fire company did not respond for two hours. In discussing his book, Levy has said that the fire's spread and ultimate destructive cost appeared to be due not to a riot, but to the deliberate inaction of the Cambridge police and fire departments, which had hostile relations with the African community. In a later book, Levy notes that Brice Kinnamon, head of the Cambridge police department, said that the city had no racial problems, and that Brown was the "sole" cause of the disorder, and it was "a well-planned Communist attempt to overthrow the government."

While being held for trial, Brown continued his high-profile activism. He accepted a request from the Student Afro-American Society of Columbia University to help represent and co-organize the April 1968 Columbia protests against university expansion into Harlem park land in order to build a gymnasium.

He also contributed writing from jail to the radical magazine Black Mask, which was edited and published by the New York activist group Up Against the Wall Motherfucker. In his 1968 article titled "H. Rap Brown From Prison: Lasima Tushinde Mbilashika", Brown writes of going on a hunger strike and his willingness to give up his life in order to achieve change.

Brown's trial was originally to take place in Cambridge, but there was a change of venue and the trial was moved to Bel Air, Maryland, to start in March 1970. On March 9, 1970, two SNCC officials, Ralph Featherstone and William ("Che") Payne, died on U.S. Route 1 south of Bel Air, when a bomb on the front floorboard of their car exploded, killing both occupants. The bomb's origin is disputed: some say the bomb was planted in an assassination attempt, and others say Payne was carrying it to the courthouse where Brown was to be tried. The next night, the Cambridge courthouse was bombed

Brown disappeared for 18 months. He was posted on the Federal Bureau of Investigation's Ten Most Wanted List. He was arrested after a reported shootout with officers in New York City following an alleged attempted robbery of a bar there. He was convicted of robbery and served five years (1971–76) in Attica Prison in western New York state. While in prison, Brown converted to Islam. He formally changed his name from Hubert Gerold Brown to Jamil Abdullah al-Amin.

After his release, he moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where he opened a grocery store. He became an imam, a Muslim spiritual leader, in the National Ummah, one of the nation's largest African Muslim groups. He also was a community activist in Atlanta's West End neighborhood. He preached against drugs and gambling. It has since been suggested that al-Amin changed his life again when he became affiliated with the "Dar ul-Islam Movement"

On May 31, 1999, al-Amin was pulled over while driving in Marietta, Georgia by police officer Johnny Mack for a suspected stolen vehicle. During a search, al-Amin was found to have in his pocket a police badge. He also had a bill of sale in his pocket, explaining his possession of the stolen car, and he claimed that he had been issued an honorary police badge by Mayor John Jackson, a statement which Jackson verified. Despite this, al-Amin was charged with speeding, auto theft and impersonating a police officer.

On March 16, 2000, in Fulton County, Georgia, Sheriff's deputies Ricky Kinchen and Aldranon English went to al-Amin's home to execute an arrest warrant for failing to appear in court over the charges. After determining that the home was unoccupied, the deputies drove away and were shortly passed by a black Mercedes headed for the house. Kinchen (the more senior deputy) noted the suspect vehicle, turned the patrol car around, and drove up to the Mercedes, stopping nose to nose. English approached the Mercedes and told the single occupant to show his hands. The occupant opened fire with a .223 rifle. English ran between the two cars while returning fire from his handgun, and was hit four times. Kinchen was shot with the rifle and a 9 mm handgun.

The next day, Kinchen died of his wounds at Grady Memorial Hospital. English survived his wounds. He identified al-Amin as the shooter from six photos he was shown while recovering in the hospital[citation needed] Another source said English identified him shortly before going into surgery for his wounds.

After the shootout, al-Amin fled Atlanta, going to White Hall, Alabama. He was tracked down by U.S. Marshals who started with a blood trail at the shooting site, and arrested by law enforcement officers after a four-day manhunt. Al-Amin was wearing body armor at the time of his arrest. He showed no wounds. Officers found a 9 mm handgun near his arrest site. Firearms identification testing showed that this was used to shoot Kinchen and English, but al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the weapon. Later, al-Amin's black Mercedes was found with bullet holes in it.

His lawyers argued he was innocent of the shooting. Defense attorneys noted that al-Amin's fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon, and he was not wounded in the shooting, as one of the deputies said the shooter was. A trail of blood found at the scene was tested and did not belong to al-Amin or either of the deputies. A test by the state concluded that it was animal blood, but these results have been disputed because there was no clear chain of custody to verify the sample and testing process. Deputy English had said that the killer's eyes were gray, but al-Amin's are brown.

At al-Amin's trial, prosecutors noted that he had never provided an alibi for his whereabouts at the time of the shootout, nor any explanation for fleeing the state afterward. He also did not explain why the weapons used in the shootout were found near him during his arrest.

On March 9, 2002, nearly two years after the shootings, al-Amin was convicted of 13 criminal charges, including Kinchen's murder and aggravated assault in shooting English. Four days later, he was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole (LWOP).He was sent to Georgia State Prison, the state's maximum-security facility near Reidsville, Georgia.

Otis Jackson, a man incarcerated for unrelated charges, claimed that he committed the Fulton County shootings, and confessed this two years before al-Amin was convicted of the same crime. The court did not consider Jackson's statement as evidence. Jackson's statements corroborated details from 911 calls following the shooting, including a bleeding man seen limping from the scene: Jackson said he knocked on doors to solicit a ride while suffering from wounds sustained in the firefight with deputies Kinchen and English. Jackson recanted his statement two days after making it, but later confessed again in a sworn affidavit, stating that he had only recanted after prison guards threatened him for being a "cop killer". Prosecutors refuted Jackson's testimony, claiming he couldn't have shot the deputies as he was wearing an ankle tag for house confinement that would have showed his location. Al-Amin's lawyers allege that the tag was faulty.

Al-Amin appealed his conviction on the basis of a racial conspiracy against him, despite both Fulton County deputies being black. In May 2004, the Supreme Court of Georgia unanimously ruled to uphold al-Amin's conviction.

In August 2007, al-Amin was transferred to federal custody, as Georgia officials decided he was too high-profile for the Georgia prison system to handle. He was first held in a holdover facility in the USP Atlanta; two weeks later he was moved to a federal transfer facility in Oklahoma, pending assignment to a federal penitentiary.

On October 21, 2007, al-Amin was transferred to ADX Florence, a supermax prison in Florence, Colorado. He has been under an unofficial gag order, prevented from having any interviews with writers, journalists or biographers.

On July 18, 2014, having been diagnosed with multiple myeloma, al-Amin was transferred to Butner Federal Medical Center in North Carolina. As of March 2018, he is incarcerated at the United States Penitentiary, Tucson.

Al-Amin sought retrial through the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. Investigative journalist, Hamzah Raza, has written more about Otis Jackson's confession to the deputy shootings in 2000, and said that this evidence should have been considered by the court. It had the potential of exonerating al-Amin. However, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals rejected his appeal on July 31, 2019.

In April 2020, the U.S. Supreme Court declined to hear an appeal from al-Amin. His family and supporters continue to petition for a new trial.

[ausetkmt]

Power Haus Creative’s Black August Month Begins With Support For Activist Jamil Al-Amin

Black August Month has now officially kicked off.

The event is a widespread call to action that encompasses fasting, raising awareness, and offering resources for political prisoners. It is a collaborative effort between Power Haus Creative and community partners Mahmoud Abdul Rauf, Students for Imam Jamil, Black Art in America, and Black Power Media.

The monthlong initiative was founded in California during the 1970s following a prison uprising and the deaths of brothers Johnathan and George Jackson. This year, it is being used to spread awareness and advocate for a new trial for civil rights activist Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin.

Formerly H. Rap Brown, Al-Amin has been incarcerated since 2002. Still, his contributions to the Black liberation movement remain intact. Some consider Al-Amin an enigma. He is the face of an Anti-Riot Act. He was a part of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. And now he sits in Supermax prison, convicted of murder. However, his son Kairi Al-Amin, Power Haus Creative, and its partners continue to fight for justice after over two decades, alleging cruel and unusual punishment and wrongful conviction. 

“No tangible noise was ever made and as such, my father’s conviction and subsequent exile, a vendetta realized, has gone unchecked,” wrote Kairi Al-Amin in a 2020 petition calling for a new trial.

“The cruel and unusual punishment, the confession of another man, the medical neglect in hopes that he dies, the gag order, the federal holding of a state prisoner away from his attorneys and family, we’ve done nothing about anything and because of our lack of action, much like the man himself, the truth about this case and his legacy have been erased from public view.”

The petition has garnered over 75,000 signatures in three years, but it is still a long way from its goal of 150,000. Despite this, Al-Amin’s advocates remain adamant about their mission, hoping to secure a retrial.

Summayah Ali, founder, and CEO of Power Haus Creative spoke about Al-Amin’s circumstances. “All of our political prisoners need to be released. In the case of Dr. Mutulu Shakur, he was imprisoned for nearly 37 years only to transition eight months after release. We don’t want that for Imam Jamil or anyone that was selfless enough to pave the way for some of the very privileges we benefit from today,” she told BLACK ENTERPRISE.

“They fought for us and deserve far better treatment than this,” she continued.

“My children are in their early 20s and I remind them to sit with the elders as often as possible. As a Muslim woman who’s Black, a  mother, Black Arts Organizer, and an activist I believe we have a responsibility to fight the good fight for those who tilled the soil for us. Imam Jamil is not just a champion for the community but also for the arts. He has said how much the arts played a significant role in the civil rights movement.  We are using the Art of Activism to fight back.”

In line with this mission, participating partners will also be “Feeding the Community,” literally and figuratively, throughout August. Through virtual sessions, scholars and activists will share different information and resources. 

Food drive donations will be accepted throughout the month at the Black Art in America Gallery at 1802 Connaly Dr. in East Point, Georgia. Later this month, on Aug. 28, human rights activist and former NBA player Mahmoud Abdul Rauf will speak at the gallery on an “Art of Activism” panel. For more scheduled events and information, visit @powerhauscreative on Instagram. To request a transfer for Imam Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin, visit wwww.freeimamjamil.com to fill out a three-minute form. 

[blackpantherblog]

[xollii]

This speech sends shivers down my spine every time I read it.

[elijones94]

👊🏾✊🏾 “You've got to stop dividing yourselves. You got to organize.”~ Jamil Abdullah al-Amin (H. Rap Brown)

[lucentoakstudios]

Recast T’Challa!

[bunnyywritings]

extra credit assignment with the professor and honey bunny

PROFESSOR STEIN x F!READER

[a/n: sorry sorry! i'm falling behind...my motivation is waning BUT i am determined to finish this series so here's what should've been posted yesterday on my birthday ! professor stein will always be so fucking hot in my eyes...he can tie me down and dissect me any day lol anyways, once again: my use of the term 'little' has nothing to do with any body size or weight, this fic is also a little more on the 'plus size reader' side, sorry it just came out that way, i also dropped the ball and made him an ethics teacher instead of a bio/chem teacher like i originally thought...i blame @gojonanami and her amazing professor suguru series...i'm obsessed !!🫶🏼]

© bunnyywritings pls don't use my headers or writing without permission

wc: 3.1k words

WARNINGS: teacher/student dynamic (OF AGE), power dynamic, age gap, "shy" reader, skewed descriptions of ethics cause i googled and read like two things, sir kink, hair pulling, cowgirl, stein bends you over his desk, mating press, breeding kink, creampie, no use of y/n, reader is called: bunny, sweetheart, good girl, sweet girl, honey

“You need my measurements?” You asked, not sure if you heard him right. “What for?” 

“Well for your outfit, of course.” He chuckled, finding it amusing that you had already forgotten what the two of you had spoken about.Especially when your confusion led to a small lull of silence on the line. 

“Oh…oh right! Right, the whole school girl thing…uh okay-” You rattled them out and he wrote them down, scrolling through the website on his laptop to try and find the right look for you. 

When you two finally met, you were pleased with the tasteful outfit he had chosen. It looked like a legitimate look you’d wear to school. The light brown plaid skirt was paired with a white button up, a knit sweater vest, sheer pantyhose and brown loafers. 

He was sat behind a gorgeous mahogany desk, a small smile on his lips. “Have you ever done a scene like this?” You were flicking through the short script he had given you…more of a guideline really. 

“Uhmm n-no, not as in depth as this or with a partner. I did it for a live cam once…” You blushed, feeling somewhat insecure beneath his gaze. 

Stein was one of the more seasoned creators on the platform. His production quality was always high and his scenes balanced with both porn and plot. He was also extremely attractive. His dyed silver locks framed his face beautifully, his eyes reminded you of green sea glass as they sat behind his silver eyewear and his build…God. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders and thick arms. His hands were big, lithe fingers just the right amount of thickness, knuckles prominent against his smooth, pale skin. 

Not to mention the age gap between the two of you…the power dynamic was going to be a little more believable when he was 14 years older than you. 

“You ready, sweetheart?” 

“Mhmm, yes…Professor.” 

And so, you stepped out of his office. Standing at the door for a good minute or two before rapping your knuckles against the shining wood. 

“Come in!” His voice was muffled but you took your cue and pushed the door open, making sure to shut it softly behind you. “Ah, bunny! Come on in, have a seat.” He gestured to the cushioned seat in front of his desk. His smile was soft as you stood by the door for a few moments before finally moving. 

“R-Right. Thank you, P-Professor.” You gingerly sat in the seat, back straight and stiff as you tugged the hem of your skirt. 

“So, what brings you to my office hours, hmm?” 

“Uhm well, I-I hate to admit it but I’ve been h-having a little trouble with our uhm, our new unit…” 

“Oh! Well, no need to be embarrassed, Kantism is a challenging subject. What exactly were you having trouble with?” 

“Categorical imperatives…” You shift your eyes away, cheeks flushing. 

“I see…well-” He starts to ramble on with the definition, rubbing his chin as he did so and you found it difficult to not stare at his fingers. “-does that make sense?” 

You blink yourself out of your daze before nodding, “I-I’m following.” 

A subtle smirk tugs his lips as he continues. “Kant also says that there are three different moral actions-” You wring your hands in your lap, playing up the nervous, jumpy act. As he continues to explain how utilitarianism plays a part in this subject, you tune back in. “That should be a bit more clarifying for you.” You nodded eagerly. “Did you have any other questions? Kant or otherwise?” 

“Y-yes actually.” You bit your lip, eyes widening as you clarified. “Not-not about Kant! I uhm…I was hoping to ask about some…extra credit opportunities?” He frowned, head tilting to the side. “My uhm, my grade isn’t where I-I’d like it to be…” You trailed off, eyes dropping to read the name placard displayed on his desk. He turns to his laptop, ‘typing and scrolling’ before the tension in his forehead releases. “Ah, a B- isn’t so bad, is it?” 

“W-Well no but I…I would like to keep my grade point average and grad-graduate summa cum laude…” 

“Hmm right, right…an understandable goal.” He closed his laptop, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Has my unit been so difficult that you’re falling behind? Is everything alright?” The slight twinge of concern in his voice made your thighs clench. Something that did not go unnoticed. 

“I’m sorry, Professor. I just seem to be dis-distracted…lately.” Your confession leaves him amused and you with bright, flushed cheeks. 

“Distracted?” He leans forward, elbows resting on the top of the desk, his chin in his palm. “I see…is it a boy, perhaps?” 

“N-No!” You grip the fabric of your skirt. “No…I uhm-I’m not seeing any-anyone.” 

His eyebrows jump. “Really? Forgive me for saying so but, surely you have boys throwing themselves at you?” 

A quiet, almost nervous laugh leaves your lips. “Yeah…n-no. Not that I’d really want the attention from guys here…guys my age, they uhm…well, they tend to be vulgar and simple minded.” 

“Hmm, yes, I suppose you’re right.” A silence lingers after his words. “A pretty, intelligent little thing like you should be treated with reverence.” 

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, squeaking out a, “Professor…” 

“Ah right, forgive me. That was highly inappropriate”. He sighed. “So, extra credit…I usually don’t make it a habit to offer it, since students use it as an excuse to lag behind-” He catched how your lips drop into a pout, eyes glistening with unspoken pleas. “But, if you tell me what’s been so distracting as of late, maybe we can come up with a solution to help you out, hmm? You’re a bright student and I’d hate to be the reason you lose your sheen.” 

You shake your head with earnest. That’s the worst thing you could do…how could you possibly tell him that-

“There’s no need to be shy, hmm? We’re both adults here and I’ve been teaching for years, I’m sure I can stomach it.” 

You mumble out a reason, as quiet and jumbled as you could, hoping to God that he’d give up and drop the subject. Your eyes trained in your lap in fear that you might give it away. Your deepest, darkest, secret…

He stands, rounding the desk and leaning on the edge of it. Gently but firmly, he grips your chin and forces you to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t quite catch that…” His thumb caressed the skin below your bottom lip and you had to fight the urge to tilt your head down and take his digit between your lips. 

“S’you…s-sir.”

“I’m sorry, come again?” 

“It’s you, s-sir!” And oh, the way your lips wrapped around the honorific made his dick twitch against his slacks. 

“Is that right?” He felt like a fox playing with his dinner, the way your wide eyes stared up into his, begging to be devoured whole. 

“Y-yes…” 

He gripped your chin tighter, ignoring the whine that left your throat as he growled a hoarse. “Yes, what?”

“Yes sir!” 

“Hmm good…” He sneered. “What exactly is it about me that’s so distracting?” He hummed, removing his hand from your chin, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Y-You can’t ask-ask me something like that…”

He chuckled, “Of course I can…and I expect an answer.” His eyes darkened lustfully. “So tell me, bunny. What’s distracting?” 

You fidgeted in your seat, fingers clenching the fabric of your skirt again. “Uhm…y-your voice…your hands-” 

He found it hard to resist a scoffed laugh and in the blink of an eye he stood behind you, leaned over just above your shoulder. “You like my voice?” His lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his silky voice sending shivers down your spine and a rush of heat to your core. “Do you rewatch my lectures when you’re in your room? Touch that pretty pussy to the sound of my voice, hmm?” His lips pressed a feather light kiss behind your ear as you whined and as he trailed down your neck, the messier they got. His lips were surprisingly soft, massaging the sensitive skin at the hollow of your neck. 

You tilted your head back against his shoulder, opening yourself up to him. “Why don’t you show me.” He reached around the sides of the chair and roughly gripped your thighs watching as your flesh squished between his fingers, splitting your legs open for him and before you could even think to protest, a loud rip! filled the office. He had torn the crotch of your sheer pantyhose to reveal your soaked panties. “Is this all for me? You’re soaked…” He tsked, pushing your panties aside and tugging your folds open, caressing your pulsing clit with barely there touches. 

“Mhmm, all-all for you, sir…s’yours, all yours.” You keened at his gentle touches, hips twitching and desperate for more friction. 

“Then be a good girl and show me how you touch yourself to my voice.” You replaced your hands with his, starting to circle your bud in slow, soft circles, a drawn out moan leaving your glossed lips. 

“Good girl…” He purred. “Now suck on my fingers, show me how much you love my hands…that’s it.”

You wrapped your lips around his fingers, tongue swirling around his cold digits in earnest before taking them deeper into your mouth, gagging softly when his fingertips met the back of your throat before pulling back and taking them back in.

As you began to bob your head on his fingers, he couldn’t help pawing himself through the front of his gray slacks. His precum, no doubt staining the front of the fabric. “Oh look at you! Such a shy and prude girl, getting herself off while choking on her Professor’s fingers…fuck.” Your thighs twitched as you neared your first orgasm, sucking on his fingers bringing you more arousal than you thought possible. 

“Don’t even think about it.” He almost snarled, shoving his fingers roughly to the back of your throat. Your shoulders jolting as a particularly harsh gag wracked through your body. “Put your hands by your side.” Reluctantly, you did as instructed and he pulled his fingers from your mouth, giving your poor lungs a reprieve. 

As you attempted to catch your breath, he wrapped your hair around his fingers and pulled roughly, the action pulling you up from your seat before he was shoving you towards his desk. “Ahh! P-Professor!” With his fist still tugging at your locks, he bent you over and pushed your head down against the desk, your cheek landing harshly on a notebook and a few stray papers. 

“I’ve got to say…you’ve been quite the distraction as well. Always sitting in the front of my class, chewing on your lips or your pens-” He unbuckled his belt, popping his trousers open and letting them drop down around his thighs. “Always in your cute little outfits and short skirts.” He flipped your skirt over your ass. “I’ve dreamed of having you bent over my desk, creaming all over my cock.” He stroked himself a few times before tapping his heavy tip against your stocking covered ass. 

Not being able to help it, you wiggle your hips tauntingly. He groaned, “Oh just look at you…” He muttered before grasping the base of his cock and lining himself up with your entrance.

Your nails dug into the wood of the desk as he pushed himself in. Entranced with the way you seemed to be sucking him in, inch by agonizing inch, your poor pussy being stretched to accommodate his girth. You tried to push yourself further up the desk in an attempt to get respite from his sweltering length. 

“Nuh uh…don’t run, sweet girl. Don’t run…” He roughly gripped your hips and pulled you back onto him, sheathing himself entirely in your warm, gummy walls. “Stay right there.” 

Stein was brutal, bullying his dick into you repeatedly, meeting your womb in a deliciously painful kiss so much so that you lost track of time. “S’too much! T-Too…much!” 

Completely ignoring your cries, he snapped his hips once more and stilled them against your behind, pulling you with him as he sat in the chair you had been previously sitting in, situating you on his lap.“You wanted extra credit, right?” 

“Y-Yes sir…but-” 

“Then put in the work, bunny.” He brought his hand down in a rough slap against your ass cheek. “Show me how much you deserve that A.” 

Arching your back, you leaned forward and rested your hands on the tops of his thighs. Taking a deep breath, you lifted yourself slowly. Making it only halfway up before dropping yourself back down. It only took two thrusts before your legs were threatening to give out. The pleasure was overwhelming, Steins low moans and grunts only adding fuel to the fire. 

“S-Stein! I’m- M’gonna…!” You dropped back down on his length, back hunching over as your orgasm ripped through your entire body, mind reeling as you completely forgot to play up the whole ‘sir’ thing while Stein’s grip tightened around your waist so you didn’t fall over. 

Stein brushed your hair over your shoulder, pressing gentle kisses to the nape of your neck, tongue licking up the salty perspiration gathered there. “Shhh…shh, that’s a good girl…I made you feel that good, hmm?” 

A delirious giggle left your lips as you let Stein pick you up, inhaling sharply as he pulled out of you, your release dripping down his, still painfully hard, cock and onto the trimmed blonde hair at its base. 

Gaining a second wind, you shoved his name placard and a few other things aside before sitting on his desk, reaching for the hem of your sweater vest and tugging it off over your head along with your button up shirt and mindlessly tossing it aside. He watched hungrily as you kicked off your skirt and widened your thighs, the heels of your loafers resting on the edge of his desk. Your folds were dripping with arousal, your skin flushed and puffy as you clenched around nothing. 

“C’mon Professor, don’t keep your favorite student waiting…” 

Scoffing, he shrugged his tweed jacket off and you started to salivate. His mock neck shirt was short sleeved and tight. Almost like it was painted on him. His biceps bulged deliciously against the thin fabric, the urge to run your tongue across the veins running down his arms was strong but you held onto whatever self control you had left and waited for him to make his way between your legs. 

“And who said you were my favorite student?” A wet slap! slap! echoed his words as he tapped his tip against your clit. 

“You do this with all your students then?” You whined. “That’s no fair…” A pout tugged at your lips. 

He laughed softly, leaning down to capture your lips in a tender embrace, biting your bottom lip before pulling away. “I’m just teasing, bunny. You are, by far, my favorite…student.” He punctuated his statement by snapping his hips forward and burying himself into your sloppy core. 

“Ah-!” You lost your balance and landed onto the desk with a soft thump against the wood. He gripped the bottom of your thighs and pushed your legs up and folding you in half, straight into a mating press. The fabric of your pantyhose tightening against your skin.

His desk creaked with each of his heavy thrusts, scraping against the hardwood floor once or twice. “God, it was like this cunt was made for me! She’s swallowing me up so well…so warm…n’wet!” 

Your eyes rolled back in your head, the press he had you in made it feel like he was quite literally rearranging your insides, your mind quickly growing fuzzy and clouded with thoughts of his huge, thick cock and the way his scent enveloped you entirely as he leaned over to plant kisses down your neck, no doubt sucking marks into it. 

Stein felt himself twitch inside you as he gazed down at you. Your face was screwed up in pleasure, lips glossy with spit and parted as moans and whimpers fell from your lips. “Let me see those pretty eyes, honey. Come on.” Your eyelids fluttered open, lined with tears and the pretty color of your iris was swallowed up by your blown out pupils, hazy with euphoria. 

He shifted your hips and slipped deeper into you, if it was even possible, and found that spot that made you see stars. You fought to keep your eyes on him as you became consumed by one thing only. Your second orgasm. 

“Fuck…I-” He whimpered as you clamped down around him. “I-I’m gonna cum…” He groaned, attempting to keep a steady pace to bring you over the edge with him. “Where-?” He grunted, choked with pleasure. 

“Inside me, please! I want- fill me up, sir…p-please -!” Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, your release shaking your body, thighs burning as your legs shook. Overstimulation creeping up on you as he chased his end. 

“Want me to breed this pretty little cunt? Huh? Make you a momma for extra credit?”

“Y-Yes! Yes!” You started to babble, a few tears slipping down your cheeks. 

His moans became hoarse, desperate whimpers, hips twitching before he stilled in you. Balls tightening as he emptied his load into you. A full, warm feeling taking over your body as your chest heaves to catch your breath. 

He pulled out with a hiss, watching his spend trickle out of you before fucking it back into you with his fingers, laughing softly as you whimpered. Your hips twitch to get away from him, and he apologizes. 

“M’sorry bunny, don’t want it to go to waste…” He then eased your legs down around his waist, massaging his fingertips into your tense skin. He watched in amusement as you leaned forward, lips pursed subtly and he met your lips. Exchanging a few kisses before easing you to sit up and wrapping his arms around you, cuddling you into his chest.

“I’d say that’s earned you an A+...” 

You cackled against his chest. “Yeah, it better have.” 

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[filosofablogger]

♫ Dancing In The Street ♫ (Redux)

I was in the mood for something really upbeat, something that would get the old arthritic toes tapping and bring a smile to the wrinkled old face!  And while several filled that bill, I liked this one best for the moment!  Yes, I’ve played it a few times before, as recently as last year, in fact, but … it still fills the bill tonight!  So, sit back, listen, and enjoy!  Maybe even let your toes…

[ptseti]

One of the most deadliest, toxic institutions towards us Black people is the mainstream media. H rap Brown. Block August.

Where is the fvcking Lie? And NOTHING has changed!

[readyforevolution]

[abiiors]

sold to the 1975 😔✊🏼

a/n: i spent way too much fucking time on this and literally no one deserves to be subjected to this yet here we are. GOODBYE. (this is my legacy...)

when i open my eyes in the morning, the world feels different. the birds don’t chirp like they usually do, the sky is grey and leaves on the tree outside seem wilted and dead. still i drag myself out of my bed and trudge to the bathroom. 

the bags under my eyes are pronounced—a result of cleaning up after my mother when she returns home from her late night clubbing sessions. my lifeless blue orbs (🔵👄🔵) stare back at me. there’s no spark in them anymore… i used to be the curious girl who found beauty in everything. now… i can barely look at myself in the mirror. 

a heavy thudding on the door interrupts my depressive spiral. 

“autumn raine! open this door right now,” my mother slurs, mixing up her words and the syllables of my name and—

“have you died in there?”

the banshee shriek gets me moving. i toss my hair in a messy bun and throw on an old band t-shirt—radiohead, my own little inside joke since no one else seemed to know the band. other girls my age fawned over taylor swift and boys who barely looked old enough to be in high school. i felt like an old soul. 

“autumn!” another sharp rap on the door. “we have guests.”

guests? at 8 am? that piques my curiosity. 

“coming!” i reply and shimmy into my skinny jeans. 

i open my door and come face to face with my mother’s fuming nostrils. if my situation weren’t so pathetic and sad i’d almost find it funny. 

she takes my arm in a vice-like grip and smiles an ugly smile. 

“what have i done to be cursed with a child like you, huh? you couldn’t dress up even for today.”

“why, what’s—”

“hush now!” she chides, “go put on some lipstick and meet me downstairs in two minutes.”

she pushes my back into my room and shuts the door before i can tell her that i don’t own any make up. the most i can find is some tinted lip balm and old, crusty mascara. the only jewellery i can find is the heart shaped necklace from my dead father, so i quickly put it on. between that and my tattered old converse, i feel like the prettiest girl in the world. 

i roll my eyes at my sarcasm and make my way downstairs. 

the stairs creek in a familiar way and i don’t even notice that something feels way out of the ordinary until it’s too late. 

i don’t even notice the four men sitting on our torn old sofa until i’m right in front of them. 

my mother looks at me with a saccarine smile. “be a darling and make some tea for our guests, autumn.”

“no, that won’t be necessary,” one of them cuts in and for the first time i look at them properly. 

the one who’d just spoken is smaller in comparison to the other three. his arms are littered with tattoos, his hair curly and going in every possible direction. his eyes look hard and cold and brown. 

the other three nod in unison. 

“we need to finish the transaction and get going,” he speaks again and mother pales slightly. 

the…transaction?

“of course,” she smiles a fake smile and wrings her hands together. 

“i’m sorry, what’s—”

“autumn!” i shut up the instant she glares at me. i know that look. don’t speak until you’re spoken to. 

“you haven’t told her?” the other one speaks up. his voice is much deeper than his friend’s. his whole vibe is more intense than the rest of them. he’s all sharp cheekbones and bleached, buzzed hair and chipped nail polish. not a man of many words but something tells me people listen when he speaks. 

“i… of course i h-have,” my mother stutters and throws me a look. “she knows, don’t you, sweetheart? tell me.”

tell them what?! 

my heart hammers in my chest and i try to swallow the dryness away. “y-yes. i know”

all at once four pairs of striking orbs are on me and i blush from the intensity of their gazes. (🟤👄🟤 🟤👄🟤 🟤👄🟤 🔵👄🔵) all the attention in the room is on me and with horror i realise they expect me to speak further. 

“she t-told me,” i stutter out and smile at my mother who looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. 

“and did she tell you who we are?”

i think about nodding again but there’s no way i can fib this. the truth it i’ve never seen these men before in my entire life. all i know is that if i went along with my mother’s lie, things might be good for me. even if it’s temporary. 

hesitantly, i shake my head. 

“we are the 1975,” the curly-haired man speaks and i cock my head to the side. what an odd little name… “and you’ve been sold to us.”

—

“sold?!” i screech as soon as they’re out of earshot. 

“ungrateful bitch,” she hisses back, “keep your voice down! i’ve taken care of you for twenty years and this is how you repay me?” 

“taken care—TAKEN CARE OF ME?” i bellow, unable to keep it down anymore. “all you did was drown yourself in a bottle of wine every night and left your child alone to take care of everything on her own. and now you’re asking me to repay you?!”

“don’t act like you’re a special little gem. the girl down the street was sold to five people last year and she went without any complains.”

my blood boils at the mention of her. lila rose… the girl down the street. no one had heard from her in a year and no one cared enough to find out anything. 

“don’t bring her into this,” i retort. the air around me feels charged and my entire body feels alive. never in my life have i talked to my mother like this before and now that i do, i feel… alive. 

i laugh at the irony. the most free i have ever felt in my life is after being sold to four men i do not know. 

my mother’s hand raises above her head and i know what’s coming—won’t be the first time she’s slapped me. the air around me shifts with the force of it and i flinch away, tightly closing my eyes. i brace myself for a slap… that never comes. 

slowly, bewildered, i open i eyes and come face to face with a… back? 

“you will not touch our property,” the man speaks and this is the first time i hear his voice. 

he’s impossibly tall, perhaps the tallest among them all. half his face is covered in a beard and his hair is tied up in a neat bun. and even when i’m offended at being called their “property”, i can’t help but feel a flutter in my stomach. 

he saved me from getting hurt. 

“o-of course,” my mother stutters. “i was just—”

“you were just…?”

he scoffs when she cannot answer and turns to look at me. 

for the first time i’m truly aware of just how big he is, just how he towers over me. the difference in our size leaves me speechless, and i tuck my hair behind my ears and flutter my lashes up at him. 

he smiles. “you have thirty minutes. go pack.”

—

back in my room a sense of sadness hits me for the first time. 

there’s nothing in this house that i’m going to particular miss, apart from my stack of secondhand paperbacks that is…

i thumb through the pages one last time and say goodbye knowing my mother won’t hesitate to use them as kindling the moment i’m gone. not like she’s ever read a book in her life… all she knows how to do is drink, party, cake her face with make up and obsess over men. 

i stuff my clothes into a tattered old duffel bag. there’s no make up i need to pack, just my favourite books and vinyl, if they even let me use them wherever they’re taking me. 

almost on dot, once my thirty minutes are up, the curly haired man from before enters my room. his lip curls in barely concealed disgust as he looks around my room—at the peeling wallpaper and the jane austen bedsheets on my bed, at the random niche band posters that i don’t expect him to know about (oasis, blur, arctic monkeys etc) but he’s gentle when he takes a hold of my hand. 

“let’s go, autumn raine.” he says and i refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry. instead, i square my shoulders and blink my tears away. 

and then i close the door to my bedroom for the last time. 

autumn raine ↑ if you even care