Pinned
He smiled - - not the charming, boyish smile he offered to bartenders or heiresses - - but the kind that belonged in war rooms and long nights in enemy territory. Cool. Patient. Dangerous.
Green eyes focused on his suit, noting the location of any weapons he might have on him - not because she could see them, but remembering her own studies with the agency and noting another agent's gadget locations when they'd worked together, however brief that had been.
June 26, 2025 at 1:43 AM
He smiled - - not the charming, boyish smile he offered to bartenders or heiresses - - but the kind that belonged in war rooms and long nights in enemy territory. Cool. Patient. Dangerous.
Bond held her at the rhythm’s edge - - a tango, yes, but in his grip it felt more like a negotiation: sharp turns, veiled threats, and tension disguised as choreography. Every step, a question. Every spin, a test.
Child's play to slip into a meal, a regimen... 𝘢 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴, while all eyes are elsewhere. ❞
June 24, 2025 at 10:08 PM
Bond held her at the rhythm’s edge - - a tango, yes, but in his grip it felt more like a negotiation: sharp turns, veiled threats, and tension disguised as choreography. Every step, a question. Every spin, a test.
Bond didn’t smile.
He never did when someone else moved first.
He never did when someone else moved first.
Then her gaze found his. Her lips formed a smile, a gentle curve of red to match the dress she wore. She raised her hand, turning it palm-up, then curled her finger to gesture for him to come and stand beside her.
June 24, 2025 at 9:57 PM
Bond didn’t smile.
He never did when someone else moved first.
He never did when someone else moved first.
MADRID, SPAIN – NIGHT
The Palacio de Cristal glimmers under chandeliers and candlelight. Outside, the Spanish night hums with cicadas. Inside, elegance sharpens into tension.
The Palacio de Cristal glimmers under chandeliers and candlelight. Outside, the Spanish night hums with cicadas. Inside, elegance sharpens into tension.
June 24, 2025 at 5:27 PM
MADRID, SPAIN – NIGHT
The Palacio de Cristal glimmers under chandeliers and candlelight. Outside, the Spanish night hums with cicadas. Inside, elegance sharpens into tension.
The Palacio de Cristal glimmers under chandeliers and candlelight. Outside, the Spanish night hums with cicadas. Inside, elegance sharpens into tension.
He meets her halfway - - of course he does. A man like him always knows exactly how far to go, and when to stop. One hand finds the small of her back, barely grazing the fabric of that backless dress. The other, still holding hers, lifts - - positioned perfectly. Like he’s done this before.
One picked up, nigh immediately, by the pianist. With a trill, and a quiet inhale against a hot mic, a tango began to fill the air.
Slow. Passionate. Nowhere to hide intent, or even hide away from the hundreds of eyes turned toward the center. The spotlight.
Them.
Slow. Passionate. Nowhere to hide intent, or even hide away from the hundreds of eyes turned toward the center. The spotlight.
Them.
OST Control - Sankarin Tango (Finnish Tango)
YouTube video by MrSarto
www.youtube.com
June 20, 2025 at 10:04 PM
He meets her halfway - - of course he does. A man like him always knows exactly how far to go, and when to stop. One hand finds the small of her back, barely grazing the fabric of that backless dress. The other, still holding hers, lifts - - positioned perfectly. Like he’s done this before.
| as such a huge Donkey Kong fan, today was wonderful for me
June 18, 2025 at 4:14 PM
| as such a huge Donkey Kong fan, today was wonderful for me
“Then we understand each other perfectly.” He doesn’t rush the gesture. A pause - - just enough for her hand to hang in the air, claimed by no one. Then, deliberately, he takes it.
With a laugh, something melodic and reminiscent of a breeze through chimes, she sets her glass down next to his.
❝ I'm a terrible dancer... ❞
As big, bold and beautiful a lie as any told today. She offered her hand again. Draped just so, a princess' prerogative.
❝ ...but I 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙚 a spotlight. ❞
❝ I'm a terrible dancer... ❞
As big, bold and beautiful a lie as any told today. She offered her hand again. Draped just so, a princess' prerogative.
❝ ...but I 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙧𝙚 a spotlight. ❞
June 18, 2025 at 5:03 AM
“Then we understand each other perfectly.” He doesn’t rush the gesture. A pause - - just enough for her hand to hang in the air, claimed by no one. Then, deliberately, he takes it.
Eyes steady, the edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You ask as though I brought a map.”
He doesn’t move closer, but his presence holds - - a quiet gravity rather than pursuit. Every word weighed before spoken.
He doesn’t move closer, but his presence holds - - a quiet gravity rather than pursuit. Every word weighed before spoken.
She can see his attention slip, if only for a moment, and it slips a shred of steel into her spine.
She'd been slipping. Visibly, so. Without his weight over her, she adjusted.
❝ I see... So where is it we should adjourn to, Mister Carmichael? Where does truth lie when all the liars go dancing? ❞
She'd been slipping. Visibly, so. Without his weight over her, she adjusted.
❝ I see... So where is it we should adjourn to, Mister Carmichael? Where does truth lie when all the liars go dancing? ❞
June 18, 2025 at 12:07 AM
Eyes steady, the edge of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You ask as though I brought a map.”
He doesn’t move closer, but his presence holds - - a quiet gravity rather than pursuit. Every word weighed before spoken.
He doesn’t move closer, but his presence holds - - a quiet gravity rather than pursuit. Every word weighed before spoken.
New devices. New vices.
June 17, 2025 at 9:48 PM
New devices. New vices.
His smile doesn’t widen, but it settles in deeper, like a well-worn glove):
“That’s the trouble with stories, Miss Guerralobos.”
He sets the glass down again - - quietly, deliberately - - before leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping a half-tone lower. “They always lead somewhere.”
“That’s the trouble with stories, Miss Guerralobos.”
He sets the glass down again - - quietly, deliberately - - before leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping a half-tone lower. “They always lead somewhere.”
A breath through her nose, a quiet glance over his shoulder toward -- she returns to form and completes the toast, meeting him where he awaited her.
❝ May there always be a star in the sky, and a flower to bloom beneath it... but I find it difficult to believe you came here for just stories, sir. ❞
❝ May there always be a star in the sky, and a flower to bloom beneath it... but I find it difficult to believe you came here for just stories, sir. ❞
June 17, 2025 at 9:16 PM
His smile doesn’t widen, but it settles in deeper, like a well-worn glove):
“That’s the trouble with stories, Miss Guerralobos.”
He sets the glass down again - - quietly, deliberately - - before leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping a half-tone lower. “They always lead somewhere.”
“That’s the trouble with stories, Miss Guerralobos.”
He sets the glass down again - - quietly, deliberately - - before leaning just slightly closer, voice dropping a half-tone lower. “They always lead somewhere.”
| honestly with characters like Indy and Bond it really pushes me out of my comfort zone of dialogue and personality, I am like neither of these men so it is very nice
June 17, 2025 at 7:33 PM
| honestly with characters like Indy and Bond it really pushes me out of my comfort zone of dialogue and personality, I am like neither of these men so it is very nice
Smile curving, slow and almost reverent, as if savoring both the words and the way she said them.
“Poetic. Either you’ve read far too many books. .or not nearly enough.”
“Poetic. Either you’ve read far too many books. .or not nearly enough.”
A flush of something red and warm to her cheeks. She holds her gaze on him, despite the demure urge to glance away; to tease her curls.
Ah, champagne! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
❝ Like the 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘴, Mister Carmichael. Whose tears fell from the cosmos to earth, and bloomed into those rare, thriving flowers. ❞
Ah, champagne! 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.
❝ Like the 𝘎𝘰𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘴, Mister Carmichael. Whose tears fell from the cosmos to earth, and bloomed into those rare, thriving flowers. ❞
“Aster. Like the flower.”
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
June 17, 2025 at 7:28 PM
Smile curving, slow and almost reverent, as if savoring both the words and the way she said them.
“Poetic. Either you’ve read far too many books. .or not nearly enough.”
“Poetic. Either you’ve read far too many books. .or not nearly enough.”
“Aster. Like the flower.”
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
[ simply delighted, she drapes her elbow-length gloved hand in his and nods her head just as gently. ]
Aster Guerralobos. A pleasure, Mister Carmichael.
Aster Guerralobos. A pleasure, Mister Carmichael.
Carmichael. Alden Carmichael.
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
June 17, 2025 at 6:47 PM
“Aster. Like the flower.”
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
[ His thumb lingers a second longer than necessary before releasing her hand. ]
“Fitting. Something rare that thrives in colder seasons.”
[ A slight tilt of the head. Watching. Weighing. ]
Reposted by 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙳.
NAME: ???
ALIAS: OMICRON
ALIAS: OMICRON
a white s on a black background that looks like a swirl .
ALT: a white s on a black background that looks like a swirl .
media.tenor.com
June 17, 2025 at 5:58 PM
NAME: ???
ALIAS: OMICRON
ALIAS: OMICRON
Carmichael. Alden Carmichael.
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
Oh, you're good. You're very good, Mister - ?
Then I’ll consider myself lucky.
June 17, 2025 at 5:00 PM
Carmichael. Alden Carmichael.
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
[ Placing his glass down, now, offering the other a gentle hand. ]
Then I’ll consider myself lucky.
Oh, who's to say? Maybe I just enjoy chatting?
Then you understand the value of precision. [ Said with a sly smile. ]
June 17, 2025 at 4:52 PM
Then I’ll consider myself lucky.
Then you understand the value of precision. [ Said with a sly smile. ]
Of course, darling! That's why 'not' proceeded.
Stirred. I prefer to keep my drinks in hand.
June 17, 2025 at 4:24 PM
Then you understand the value of precision. [ Said with a sly smile. ]
Reposted by 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙳.
𝐈'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞, & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.
June 15, 2025 at 11:55 PM
𝐈'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞, & 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.
Stirred. I prefer to keep my drinks in hand.
Dropped ?
Shaken, not. .
June 17, 2025 at 4:14 PM
Stirred. I prefer to keep my drinks in hand.
Lacking any of it gets you killed.
Confidence.
Makes up for a lot in this day.
Makes up for a lot in this day.
He doesn’t miss.
June 6, 2025 at 4:49 PM
Lacking any of it gets you killed.