The Violent Ones @lesviolents - Tumblr Blog

notafossil :

[ sms ] Never said you couldn’t, Nat. [ sms ] Also never ONCE doubted you could get whoever you wanted.

[ sms ] You really are the eternal Boy Scout, aren’t you? [ sms ] Don’t worry. That’s not a bad thing. [ sms ] What about you? Have your eye on someone special? 😉🤔

#notafossil #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ɴᴀᴛᴀsʜᴀ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏғғ #ᴠ ✦ ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪʀʟs –– ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ | ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄs ₆₁₆

#[ Cheer Up London by Slaves starts playing on Spotify #[ and my Thomas Shelby muse stirs....

notafossil

straight white boy texts || accepting || @lesviolents

[text] I could get any babe I want

[ sms ] I don’t doubt that for a second, Nat. [ sms ] You got someone in mind?

lesviolents

[ sms ] Not at the moment... [ sms ] Maybe a little [ sms ] The point is, I can be likable, too

#notafossil #ᴠ ✦ ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪʀʟs –– ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ | ᴄᴏᴍɪᴄs ₆₁₆ #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ɴᴀᴛᴀsʜᴀ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏғғ

fuckyeahcruelintentions

Cruel Intentions (1999) → Sebastian Valmont + Sass

#sᴇʙᴀsᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴀʟᴍᴏɴᴛ ✦ ᴀᴇsᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ #[ I really need to give this muse more play #[ just look at him in all his glory #[ that hand wave in the 2nd gif is my mood today

protector / protectee starters

@fervs said : “it’s not your job to protect me.”

Björn looked up his from cup from where he sat at the table, setting his gaze on his mother. The great room was empty, giving the pair privacy to talk about the misdeeds of his stepfather. Though he was young, Björn’s expression was set with a stern determination that was more often found in wiser men, jaded by years’ worth of disappointment. His childhood naiveté had died long ago. ❝ And if I do not, then who will, mother ? ❞ he challenged. ❝ Earl Sigvard does not deserve you. He does not even deserve the throne. ❞ Casting a glance towards the empty throne at the far end of the room, Björn knew that such talk was treason, but he’d been pushed to the edge ; he no longer cared about such politics. The young, brazen warrior was sure that he could take on the pompous king in a fight if it ever came to it.

#fervs #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ʙᴊᴏ̈ʀɴ ɪʀᴏɴsɪᴅᴇ #ᴠ ✦ sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₂

anunquietgrave :

@lesviolents

It’s not her father’s office (she doesn’t care if this woman was sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. the FBI, the CIA, or Interpol, no one goes in there) but it is her home. It’s sacred. Private. Lingering with the memory of her mother, father, and brother. Since their deaths, she’s only opened the door to her brother’s room a handful of times. Everything inside remains untouched.

Angela’s brought some of her father’s files along with her own documentation into the dining room she’s converted into her own workspace, centered by a long mahogany table, chairs, and a whiteboard. Above them from the high ceiling hangs a brilliant, ornate chandelier, a looming symbol of the wealth that the Acosta family has acquired for themselves. Now, it’s only for her to appreciate.

“I have… economic influence in much of the city.” It’s a kind way of saying ‘mob boss’ but such language still feels irresponsible in the stranger’s presence, no matter if she’s promised legal immunity in exchange for help. Her trust in the woman is absent, but the tentative partnership could be promising in the way of exacting the vengeance she’s craved to the point of obsession. Her striking blue eyes don’t wander from Natasha Romanoff as she pushes a manila folder toward her from across the table. “Those who seek my influence are loyal. They want me to be informed, especially about our rivals. So what’s inside this folder… I don’t doubt its legitimacy.” With a flick of her wrist, she opens it to reveal developed, nighttime photos of men loading a truck by the docks. One photo is zoomed in on an armed figure. What’s most noticeable is the gun he carries. “The weapons are nothing like I’ve ever seen in technology or design. When your employer called me, I wasn’t even surprised that this caught the attention of S.H.I.E.L.D. These people… they have a hierarchy, like within the ranks of my own business. But the one who’d be at my level… they’re elusive. Freakishly elusive.” Angela’s gaze drops to the ash tray in the center of the table as she leans back in her chair, distance adding to the fortitude of her carefully built emotional walls. “My family’s murderers belong to these people, agent. I know more about them than anyone outside of their organization, and yet… nothing. I haven’t even been able to get spies to join their ranks. They’re exclusive, overly equipped, and they take orders from an invisible, powerful person. Whatever you and your people can offer, I’m all ears.”

The Acostas had long since been known as one of the most influential crime families on the eastern seaboard –– but they were never SHIELD’s concern. The government organization was focused on bigger, world-ending threats. The dealings of organized crime barely made a blip on their radar. However, all that changed the night that a majority of the household were slain by unknown assailants. SHIELD had reason to believe that those responsible were far more important than mere drug or arms dealers. Evidence suggested that the hit was connected to those with access to super powered weapons that could obliterate entire countries. It was the Black Widow’s job to figure how what that connection was –– and to sever the ties.

Sitting across from the lone survivor, the Avenger noted the suspicion in Macarena’s eyes. It was mutual, and Natasha took comfort in knowing that they were on the same page. Neither one was playing nice or pretending for the sake of civility ; this was a job and nothing more. Jobs were easier accomplished when emotions weren’t a factor. Green eyes turned to the file presented as she leaned forward in her chair, listening to all the information the brunette provided. ❝ There, ❞ the agent spoke up, pointing to one of the photographs. The man carried a weapon case marked with a peculiar logo. ❝ The Tiwaz symbol. It’s the Norse rune for war, but it’s also the logo used by an arms dealer I’ve dealt with before. ❞

Raising her gaze to the woman across the table, a small smirk was carried in the corners of her lips. ❝ He might be able to tell us who he sold that weapon to. It would be a middle man to this phantom organization, but if we find the middle man, he could lead us to a way in. ❞ Natasha tilted her head, the wheels in her head turning over new plans. It wouldn’t be a long plane ride to get the to the dealer who resided in Chicago. ❝ How do you feel about deep dish pizza ? ❞

#anunquietgrave #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ɴᴀᴛᴀsʜᴀ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏғғ #ᴠ ✦ ɪ ᴀᴍ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ | ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴠᴇʀsᴇ

seesgood :

For most of her life back on Coruscant, she’d been raised to be proper. The kind of girl who reflected well on her father’s reputation. And then when her mother took her away, she’d been raised and trained to be tougher. To handle a weapon, to know her way around rebel bases, to command with authority. But there were some things that couldn’t be trained away. It was the part of her that had spent so many years beneath her father’s influence that drove her need to still look proper. Polished. Put together. Back on Coruscant, she would have been called pretty. Here, she just drew attention. She very clearly wasn’t a warrior, and anyone that thought she looked too polished to be a warrior would rightfully assume she was from somewhere closer to the capital, someone of influence, and that would drive her right back into her father’s clutches. It was that that made her hesitate a moment before she removed her hood, taking the seat across from him and regarding him carefully.

Upon closer inspection, the armor didn’t quite suit him. It was too big. Too worn. From the stories her mother told her, Mandalorians took pride in their armor. It was their status symbol. So either he’d fallen so far away from him heritage that he no longer held their same ideals, or he was so far in the guild that he wouldn’t care about anything but the bounty on her head. ❝ Caroline, ❞ The name wouldn’t mean anything to him. She hoped. Not without her father’s sirname to identify her, and even then it was rare that anyone knew the name of every senator serving the New Republic. ❝ I’m trying to get — ❞ Out. Away. But that would only raise more suspicions, wouldn’t it? ❝ To the Ileenium System. My ship crashed in your deserts, I’m stranded. ❞ And most likely dead, if he didn’t help her.

Dark eyes followed the stranger as she took a seat across from him. Cobb was relieved when she pulled her hood back. Though he didn’t recognize her, it was a show of trust that he’d need if he was going to entertain a conversation with an outsider. Something about the girl, Caroline, seemed off to him. Saying she didn’t fit in was obvious, since anyone who found themselves in Mos Pelgo didn’t fit in. Yet it was more than that –– it looked as though she’d been through a lot ( the crash made sense ), but she was seemingly delicate for the rough terrain and people of Tatooine. There was a story behind Caroline, that much he knew for certain. Though she seemed to pose no outwardly threat to his little town, he hoped that those will ill intent wouldn’t soon follow.

❝ The Ileenium System’s no short jaunt, ❞ he commented, still trying to figure her out. ❝ If you’re looking for a mechanic, I might know of someone. But if you’re looking for a ride –– - Well that’s a different conversation. Just what exactly is waiting for you in the Ileenium System, anyway ? ❞

#seesgood #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ᴄᴏʙʙ ᴠᴀɴᴛʜ #ᴠ ✦ ᴘʀᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏʀɪᴀɴ

astormofagirl :

She was mostly quiet on the drive, discretely taking him in. He was a piece of work this one - it seemed her mother had found a man with a son as devious as her. Kathryn briefly wondered whether they’d clash or work well together. She supposed time would tell.

She smirked when he opened the door for her–– she’d call it gentlemanly if it didn’t seem like a ploy to be in control –– and she got out and followed him without even acknowledging the doorman. Kathryn wasn’t one for making nice with the help unless it somehow benefitted her. The building was more than adequate, but she kept that to herself. She was just glad they weren’t moving down in the world. Than again, her mother never really dated men who didn’t have the means to keep her in the lifestyle she was already accustomed to. Kathryn gave the room a once over before turning to her new brother. ❝ I suppose this will do. ❞

A chuckle at his question. ❝ More like staying with what we’re comfortable with. My mother’s family is old money - and the last idiot she married - lets just say the only good thing about him was his money. ❞ she joked, gaze falling back on him. ❝ And you? Have you always lived like this? ❞

The elevator dinged and the doors opened to reveal the apartment. Sebastian removed his sunglasses, slipping them into his jacket’s front pocket, and led the way down the hall. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Kathryn’s obvious flippant attitude to downplay her new home. Whether her usual lifestyle was more grandiose or not, Sebastian recognized the feeble tactic for what it was : an attempt to gain the upper hand. Not one to take a challenge lying down, he refused to allow her to think that she was better than him in any sense of the word.

❝ Born into it, ❞ he replied in a bored tone as he continue their progress down the hall. Unlike most teenagers his age, Sebastian had his own bedroom and office. It was the latter that he led his new step-sister to, opening the double doors and heading straight to a bar cart. His dad never cared if he drank, so long as it never led to a scandal. ❝ My grandfather started the family company and it wasn’t long before he built all this. ❞ So the Valmont’s exactly old money –– but that didn’t mean that Sebastian would allow himself to be underestimated by anyone.

Popping the cork from a champagne bottle, he then poured two glasses and turned to face the brunette. He leaned back against the front of his desk, looking entirely at home as he held a glass out for her. ❝ Your room’s just down the hall, ❞ he said, the want to visit it clear in his eyes.

#astormofagirl #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ sᴇʙᴀsᴛɪᴀɴ ᴠᴀʟᴍᴏɴᴛ #ᴠ ✦ ᴡᴇ·ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ ғᴜᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴜᴘ sʜɪᴛ | ᴀsᴛᴏʀᴍᴏғᴀɢɪʀʟ // ᴋᴀᴛʜʀʏɴ #sʜᴏᴏᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ ﹣ ϙᴜᴇᴜᴇ ᴄʜʀɪsᴛɪᴀɴ sʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ✦ ϙᴜᴇᴜᴇ

ᴡᴏʟᴠᴇs ᴀɴᴅ ɢɪʀʟs … … ʙᴏᴛʜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ sʜᴀʀᴘ ᴛᴇᴇᴛʜ

Natasha Romanoff from Marvel MCU & Comics feat. on LesViolents w/ fc options Lower Activity | Side-Blog to LeRoiLoup Bio ◆ About ◆ Muses

#:: sᴇʟғ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏ #[ give her ladies to love on #[ and watch Bond movies with

ofimaginarybeings :

@lesviolents

“ tell me - “ he says as he taps his blade against Bjorn’s, interest flickering there across his features as he holds his son’s gaze. Frankia is just in their reach and he wants so much to wrap his hand around it and conquer it entirely. his head might be a mess but right now he feels somewhat more clear standing here with his son. his eldest. he has always felt proud of him, watching him as he grew into the fighter that he is now, a warrior and a curious mind. there might even come a time when he might become a flicker in his son’s shadow.

“ - we are now in Frankia. “ Paris lies a shining jewel just beyond their current campsite. Paris, the place that Athelstan told him about. shiny buildings and churches with bells tolling through the streets. he needs to get to it, needs to see it with his own eyes. he wants it as much as he wants so much of the rest of the world. he has wondered what it is that Bjorn thinks of this plan, this going to Frankia and seeing it, taking from it.

a wider smile comes to his lips, maybe even a touch of a challenge lingering there in his eyes as he takes a couple of steps forward into Bjorn’s personal space. “ and I am King. but - what would you do if you were King? I’m curious, tell me, Bjorn. “ and then he does a quick strike of his blade against his once more. “ impress me. “

The metallic sound of the blades hitting one another echoed against the trees that stood as the arena for father and son. The sound of it was different than Björn was used to ; everything in Frankia was different. The vegetation, the animals –– even the way the air smelled alerted the Northman that he was no longer in his home of Norway. Adrenaline coursed through him, exciting the young warrior as the thrill of adventure was in his very grasp.

As Ragnar spoke of Paris, Björn grinned, pride welling up within him that he could share such a monumental occasion with his father. The quick change of the blade caused the younger man to react, blocking the attack easily with another clang of metal. Without dropping the ball, he struck out in an offensive move, using the moment to contemplate his answer carefully. Being king wasn’t an ambition that Björn harbored. He wanted to sail, to explore and uncover new and exotic lands to help his people prosper. The throne felt too claustrophobic for the restless spirit that resided within him.

❝ If I was king– ❞ he began, playing along for Ragnar’s sake. ❝ I would never let our people settle. ❞ There was a smug look in his eyes that gave way to a dreamer more than an actual diplomat. ❝ I would keep sailing, find new lands, more Parises for our people to raid and prosper from. ❞ To punctuate his point, Björn changed his stance with careful footing, bring his sword around to strike at Ragnar’s torso side.

#ofimaginarybeings #ᴍᴜsᴇ ✦ ʙᴊᴏ̈ʀɴ ɪʀᴏɴsɪᴅᴇ #ᴠ ✦ sᴇᴀsᴏɴ ₃ #sʜᴏᴏᴛ ғɪʀsᴛ ﹣ ϙᴜᴇᴜᴇ ᴄʜʀɪsᴛɪᴀɴ sʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ✦ ϙᴜᴇᴜᴇ

「 ❝ It is impossible to kill Björn. ❞ 」

#[ that’s it #[ that’s the non spoilery post