always be in a bikini, or a dress made out of bikini material. that is, when you aren’t wearing lingerie, or a dress made out of lingerie material
carry a teensy tiny pistol in your garter, just small enough for your womanly hands. use it to shoot max two bad guys. which is probably how many bullets that tiny gun carries in the first place
at some point in the movie you’ll be in a slinky evening gown and high heels and bond will grab you by the arm and drag you after him while shooting at men following behind. you will clack after him in your impractical heels. clack clack clack
bond will get grazed on the arm by a bullet. you’ll rip a piece off of your garter and use it to lovingly wrap him up while he protests that it’s nothing. soulful eyefucking while you nag him.
at some point in the movie you might also get to be useful by donning a skin-tight wetsuit for some reason. and then you’ll strip it off in front of the camera while there’s a slow pan.
if you’re the supervillain’s girlfriend you wear a lot of white fur. probably to match his white cat. who he loves more than you.
if not russian, some other european nation where women have sexy accents and low, husky voices
when bond fucks you, it’ll be in dim lighting. you’ll cavort your bodies in sinuous, athletic shapes while romantic jazz music plays in the background. afterwards, you’ll be sprawled across his hotel bed as he dresses, a visual representation of conquered land, well plowed fields, other offensive metaphors.
you may die for him. it’ll be grim. painful. probably happening offscreen but we’ll see your broken body, still grotesquely fuckable in death. bond’s face flickers with something that could be emotion. he looks into the distance and the camera pans away from his momentary guilt. you were once a pair of great tits and long legs. but now, now forgotten.
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
origamiaround
baratheonpilled
titsay
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