killers will kill with or without a gun

черная вдова || black widow

tili tili bom || russian lullaby - “for those who can not sleep”
black widow || susanne sundfør - “in the end i’m going to swallow your heart
we must be killers || mikky ekko “and we all know how to fake it baby, and we all know what we have done”
bang bang || sky ferreira - “bang bang, i shot you down. bang bang, you hit the ground”
mockingbird || anais mitchell - “hush, you little baby, don’t you say a word. here comes the devil, all dressed up like a mockingbird”
no rest for the wicked || lykke li - “there’s no hope for the weary if you let them win without a fight”
russian roulette || rihanna - “take the gun and count to three”
dangerous girl || lana del ray - “we were born to kill, best of the best”
about her || malcolm mclaren“well no one told me about her, the way she lied
drift || daughter - “instrumental”

[listen]

Black Lives Matter is not black against blue.
It’s a manifestation of the desire of blacks to stop having to ask if today is the day they die without consequence when they see a cop car nearby. 
We want to live, and we want justice to be served.
We were not born to be hashtags; we were not born to be used and discarded, we were not born to be fetishized and simultaneously hated for the same features.
The message is simple, and the task at hand is simple.
Stop making us feel like black lives only matter if we can benefit you.
Stop killing us, and when we are killed, punish the killers just like you would punish one of us if we held the guns.
If all lives matter, prove it; show that black lives matter too.
—  Maxwell Diawuoh, “Stop killing us.” (190/366)

That scene between Stiles and Braeden with the gun really bothered me, so:


Stiles had always appreciated Malia’s very blunt delivery of very bad news, but it kind of sucked to be on the receiving end of it. Especially when the very bad news was a very dangerous contract killer wanting him very dead.

“Okay, uh, that’s disconcerting.” He decided to downplay the panic that stirred up, because what he knew of the Desert Wolf was that she was strong, terrifying, and very adept with firearms of all kinds. 

And killing. 

She was very adept at killing. 

“I should probably have a gun.” He turned to Braeden, the closest haver of guns he knew of.

“I’m not giving you a gun.” She immediately answered without even thinking it through. Rude.

“You have a gun,” Stiles pointed out, “the Desert Wolf who is trying to kill me has a gun, I think I should probably have a gun.” This was just basic logic here; he was human and very vulnerable to being violently punctured by bullets, he couldn’t exactly put down some mountain ash or run up on her with a bat this time. He didn’t even want to be within bat-reaching distance of her, if he could help it.

Braeden just gave him an eyebrow raise in response.

Then, insultingly, she softly snorted to herself before she flicked on the safety on the pistol in her hand, popped the magazine and, to Stiles disbelieving horror, tossed the pistol at him.

Presumably with a chambered round still in it, because Braeden.

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