#adelia spectre

[rianneimations]

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

― Send 🔮 for my muse to describe their ideal future with your muse. (Richard and Adelia)

Send 🔮 for my muse to describe their ideal future with your muse: ACCEPTING

II @mettleborn

"Quiet... If I had to pick one word to describe our future it would be tha'. Quiet, safe, and away from all of this shite.-- Aye, I know ye' and I have been at each other's throats for how long now, but aren't ye' gettin' tired of it all? To hell with the agency! To hell with Gareth! And to hell with Spectre! Wouldn't ye' just rather live rather than clawin' to survive?... Well if ye' do reconsider, I know a flat where we could lay low for a few months. See where we can go from there, if we want to leave, at all."

[mettleborn-a]

@warrioroflondonbelow​ said: 

"Righ', 10, ye' had yer' fun. Untie me and get me down from here and I may go easy on ye' and spare yer' life, how's tha' sound?" grumbled Richard, dangling in 10's trap, like prey caught in the spider's web. (im sorry I just couldn't help it after that post u tagged me in haha)

==================

Sitting back in a chair, Adelia extends a lengthy leg, shifting the sheer material of her skirt up to nestle the sharp point of her heel against the flesh of Richard’s shoulder, presenting a clear view of the scant underwear worn beneath. As she digs in to issue him a slight kick, the motion instantly causes the tightly bound agent to swiftly swing and veer back and forth, now a prisoner caught in the complex shibari web she’s wrapped him in. It took her hours to position him to her liking, hours 9 spent soundly asleep after she administered him a little cocktail of drugs to help him relax.

“You really shouldn’t trust every pretty little thing that bats her adorable eyes at you.” She grins, suggesting that the girl Richard was chatting to at the bar was perhaps a plant, placed into position by Adelia herself.

“It’s very cruel of you to cultivate my jealously like that 9.” She warns, rising to her feet, to light a cigarette. “I told you when we first met, I don’t like to share.” Bending Adelia presses a wet kiss against the agent’s bare arm, before bringing her cigarette up to burn his moistened skin, though she withdraws before making much of a mark; she’s only teasing. If she wanted him to hurt, he’d be screaming.

Holding onto the rope, 10 continues to swing the helpless agent back and forth at her absolute leisure before her hand ventures beneath him to indulgently explore, fingertips finally running along the length of a scar at the back of his thigh, a patch of marred skin, just below his very naked rear.

“Tell me about this one, how did you get it, 9? I’ve never seen it before.”

[mettleborn-a]

warrioroflondonbelow​:

Richard grimaced at the agent’s words. “Y’know, wha’? Torture me all ye’ like, but ne’er put the words ‘M’ and ‘Daddy’ in the same sentence ever again,” he grumbled. Still, for what it was worth, 10 dubbing M as a mood killer was probably the only accurate thing she has said.

The Scotsman had to admit, it was rather a feeble attempt, hiding behind the MI6 and all of his ‘powerful mates’ as some sort of shield, however, it did ring with truth. If not for anythin’ 10 had done to him, the fact that she was deeply embroiled in Spectre meant that, surely, the rest of the MI6 must have her on some sort of blacklist, or at least a watchlist. 

“Mm, well if yer’ really curious, why don’t ye’ try somethin’, tha’ way I can show ye’ wha’ real punishment looks like,” he remarked, his cocky smirk beginning to return, but this time with a bitter edge to it.

Richard held his poisonous glare up at the other. Her laugh was like a siren’s song.– Entrancing, yet lurking with cloaked danger. “Hmm… Fuck or kill? Wha’ a dilemma. I mean, ye’ can always fuck me to death– which, ey’, I suppose there are worse ways to go– although tha’ requires some rather impressive skills.” His now teasing blue eyes drew against her silhouette, as if measuring 10 up. 

“So, tell me then, 10” Richard smiled an almost competitive, Cheshire Cat smile. “Wha’s the worst ye’ can do? Do yer’ worst. If ye’ can, of course.”

===================

“Fuck you to death?” Adelia grins, easing forward a little, to gently press her forehead against the agent’s own, slowly forcing his head back down against the hard surface of the desk, as she stretches out against him, like a relaxed feline basking in the sun. “Mmm…I have a concoction in my jacket, capable of bringing on acute heart failure, I could administrate it at just the right moment…but it would be a little dangerous without a defibrillator at hand.” Slyly she smiles, making it entirely unclear if she is, in fact, being serious.

Keeping the blade at his throat, allowing the sharp tip to twist against his skin, Adelia’s other hand rises before striking forward like a viper, to take firm hold of the agent’s neck, her grip tightening in small increments, the constriction growing more and more intense and unyielding as she deliberately squirms in his lap, allowing her body to graze against him in all the right places, as she guides his hand under her shirt, to increase her enjoyment.

“Or perhaps asphyxiation would be more appropriate, you do look so adorable when you’re blushing.” With an amused laugh, she relinquishes her hold, allowing the colour to slowly drain back into her adversary’s face, though before the agent is given time to catch his breath, she claims it, her mouth once more finding his own, to kiss him with an invasively provocative greed, though as she breaks it, it is admittedly with a sigh of reservation. 

“I would gladly ride you until you had forgotten you name and your allegiances 9…but I have a bad habit of breaking my toys…” A breathless huff of arousal escapes her as she attempts to douse the heated flames of desire that have arisen inside her. “…and, in truth, you are not truly mine to play with, I’m afraid. My people will arrive at any moment and when they do, they will take you.”

[richardxoliverxmayhew]

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

The question is asked pointedly, as if the agent should be ashamed of his failure to follow orders and dispatch her as instructed. Leaning up from the military cot she has found herself in, housed in what looks to be some kind of secret bunker, Adelia clutches at the wound in her side and groans. It has been cleaned, stitched and dressed but still hurts like hell. She still doesn’t know where the sniper came from and whether she was his intended target. The only person that knew of her location was her SPECTRE commander, was he the one behind this, some kind of interagency betrayal? The fact remains, if the sniper and 009 were allies, she’d be dead and as such, that makes 9 the only person she can truly trust right now.

It takes her a moment to realise she is unarmed; the realisation an uncomfortable one, a naked vulnerability that is difficult to ignore or fight the urge to correct.

“Tell me!” The force of the shout is almost enough to momentarily wind 10 in the state but she needs to know why she is here, is he her captor or her saviour, and if it is the latter, why? Why would he risk himself and his position to save a known enemy.

“I swear to God Richard…” She stops suddenly, aware the painkillers are making her fuzzy and confused, she hasn’t used his real name before, in truth, she’s never admitted to knowing it; mainly because it is easier to kill a number than it is a name.

Taking a deep breath, the SPECTRE agent attempts to compose herself. “Just…are we safe here? Am I safe here 9?”

Things for Richard: ALWAYS ACCEPTING

II @mettleborn

Blood touched hands busied themselves with a dampened cloth as Richard wiped the skin of his palms and fingertips clean of Her injuries. She had lost a lot taking that shot, but the agent was certain that his patchwork would hold and give her time to recuperate, that is, if She didn't allow herself to calm down first. 9 didn't flinch at the other agent's sharpened words. Not even a twitch. Shock, he thought to himself. He could imagine that such panic-induced speech and state was the initial result of shock... and painkillers... and perhaps, seeing the man who had been acting as your competitor, at best, sitting close by as the first sight when you wake up from a deepened slumber. "Shhh... Calm down. Ye' need to calm down, 10" he tut, continuing to sit near Adelia's bedside; his steady, blue gaze not shying away for a moment as he glanced over her injuries. The stitches were holding. Thank god. "Look, I get it, yer' upset. Yer' in shock. I'm the last person ye' wanted to see, but I'm all you've got righ' now." Richard had been, since he personally dragged her unconscious body to the protected embrace of the safe house. "I need ye' to calm down and breathe, 10, I don't want yer' stitches comin' undone. Breathe. We're safe here. Yer' safe. Breathe..."

Propping himself up off his seat, he made his way to the nearby sink to fill up a glass of water. "I didn't kill ye' 'cause ye' and I are both on the same sinkin' ship," he explained, making his way back to 10's bedside before handing her the glass. An olive branch. "Ye' and I were both sent there under the 'guise of another mission. Wha' we go' instead was an ambush.--Now, I have no fuckin' idea wha's goin' on, but all I know is tha' somebody is desperate for both our heads tha' they hired bloo'y snipers to take us out." "How're ye' feelin', by the way?" Richard realized he hadn't asked since Adelia woke up. "Ye' were out for some time."

[mettleborn-a]

The Bond song I associate most with Adelia's James Bond verse.

[mettleborn-a]

Semi-plotted ‘Bond verse’ starter for @warrioroflondonbelow​

She is dressed as if she means to take the night and make it her own; in a slip gown that has drawn breath from most she has passed by this evening. It is hot tonight, hotter too inside this club, the Cuban air thick and humid, enough to cause a trickle of sweat to slide down the length of her exposed spine in time to the rhythmic beat of rumba. Tonight, is not, however, a social occasion, no; it’s business and this dress is merely camouflage, the kind that just barely decorates Adelia’s body, as if she is some impossibly demure and delicate creature, the material so close and sheer, she couldn’t possibly be concealing a weapon, or at least that is how it is intended to appear.

Leaning over the bar, she requests two Cuba Libre with extra lime. Sipping one, she shifts the other to sit idly beside her, the liquor clearly awaiting his attention, as is she. In truth, he’s taking his time and it’s entirely unnecessary, he’s probably gauging the lay out of the place and calculating the right time to approach her, to act as if there’s nothing more on his mind than her dress and what lies under it. A casual pick-up, nothing more, or at least that’s what she imagines he would like her to think.

When she finally senses an approach, she turns, flashing him a soft smile as one should when one’s gazes accidently meets with a handsome stranger’s. Nothing about this, however, is accidental.

As he opens his mouth, presumably to offer her a drink, she silences him with a slim finger pushed up against his lips in an entirely overly-familiar fashion, as if she is about to share a terrible secret with him. Picking up his drink, she presses the cold glass into his palm, before withdrawing her hand. It isn’t poisoned, she’s merely interested to observe whether he will drink it or veer on the side of caution and disregard it completely.

“How would you like to play this?” She asks, a mischievous glint in eye as she regards him, the clear purpose in her tone making it obvious she already has him marked. Already her men are amassing outside; Spectre’s men, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t time for a little fun before reverting to more serious business.

“I can play nice…” Smoothing her soft palm up his arm, Adelia smiles at the agent like he’s an old flame, one that keeps rekindling “…or, I can incapacitate you and drag you out of here, though it would be a shame to dirty such a lovely suit. The choice is yours 009.”

[mettleborn-a]

Lady Adelia Lennox - James Bond Verse

v: ruinmaker

(This got rather large so I placed it under a cut)

Adelia Adilene Lennox was born in St Thomas’ hospital in London, in a private room assigned to Lady Margaux Lennox and her husband, Lord Edward Lennox, the Duke of Salisbury. Margaux was Edward’s second wife, a Barrister, well respected in her field, while Edward, some ten years her senior, had excelled in politics, having obtained a hereditary peerage in the House of Lords following the death of his Father.

Adelia was only two when her Mother Margaux died in that same hospital, after suffering a severe brain aneurysm, one Edward was told no one could have predicted. Within a year Edward had remarried, having met Anya Sokolov, the beautiful daughter of a Russian diplomat, during a business trip to Moscow. For three years the pair lived together in Kensington, Anya settling into the role of homemaker and raising Adelia while her father attended to business at Parliament and the House of Lords.

One chilly night in November, Edward stumbled upon a prowler in the kitchen, who he mistakenly assumed to be a common burglar. He was struck violently across the head and in the midst of the commotion, watched from the floor as his wife Anya dispatched the man with terrifyingly quick precision. That was the night everything changed. What followed was a tearful confession from Anya, one that confirmed their meeting had not been by chance and that she had been tasked to seduce Edward and use their union to settle into Britain as a foreign agent, charged with manipulating him and obtaining government secrets. The worst thing of all, was not that she had failed in obtaining such secrets, but rather that in the process of her mission, she had, in spite of herself, fallen deeply in love with him.

Edward, unable to see past his love for his Anya, did not choose fight or flight but instead agreed to furnish her with the information she required, in order to keep her safe; this was how Lord Edward Lennox began to work for the Spectre Organisation, without even knowing its name.

For four years Edward followed instructions given to him by Anya, lobbying particular causes, voting particular ways in the House of Lords and trading confidential secrets. When The Organisation deemed he had served his purpose and would only draw suspicion if he continued, Spectre unceremoniously executed him, making his brutal death looking like a car-jacking on the M25 gone terribly wrong.

Immediately Anya, mourning the loss of her husband and fearing for her life, fled England, taking Adelia, who had only recently turned ten, with her. For six years the pair moved from country to country, city to city, Adelia growing adept at mastering new languages, at assuming new identities and learning to blend into her surroundings, becoming skilled at living an untraceable life in the shadows with Anya, the only Mother she’d ever truly known.

While briefly living in Myshkin, a small village on the outskirts of St Petersburg in Russian, the two were eventually caught, but rather than being executed, they were brought to Moscow, to meet with members of Spectre, who agreed to welcome Anya back into the fold, on the condition that Adelia, now sixteen, began specialist training to prepare her to return to England as a sleeper agent.

Adelia’s training lasted four years, equipping her with more foreign languages and developing her intellect and knowledge of strategy, whilst also furnishing her with combat skills, weaponry and espionage expertise, demolition capability and advanced interpersonal skills, making her adept at manipulation and exploiting relationships. She was taught to master interrogation, endure torture   and survive in extreme climates and of course, how to kill. Having newly turned twenty one, she was sent on her first set of missions, many at first, of minor importance, but eventually progressing to undercover work involving blackmail, extortion and assassination, drawing the admiring attention of Blofeld himself, who had commented that her work was undeniably impeccable.

Adelia worked for Spectre for three years, travelling internationally, completing many missions, all in preparation for her eventual return to England. During that third year however, while undertaking a mission in Minsk, by no more than a conversational accident, she unwittingly discovered the man she had been sent to meet, her accomplice; Dominic Greene, was actually the man responsible for ordering her father’s death.  Greene’s murder; Adelia’s vengeance, was met with cruel revenge – her Step-Mother Anya’s death at the hands of Spectre - Adela’s punishment for straying from her mission. The act itself was a dangerous miscalculation and rather than bringing Adelia into line, instead it incited her, causing her to abandon Spectre and immediately travel to London, to meet with former friends of her Father who would arrange an introduction with senior members of the British Secret Service. Eventually, a deal was struck Adelia’s intelligence provided in return for protecting the good name of her Father, despite his treason, orchestrating a betrayal of Spectre, served as punishment for the death of her family.

That is why Lady Adelia Lennox now works as a British intelligence agent for MI6 in London.

[mettleborn-a]

Semi-plotted starter for @thepropertyofalady​

Arriving at Port NOLA, Adelia disembarks from the passenger ship and takes a taxi to the French Quarter, though the car is soon forced to stop as it meets with the drunken revelry of Mardi Gras, which appears to still be in full swing. As the sun slowly sets, briefly bathing the road ahead in warm, orange light, dusk descends, replacing sunlight’s loss with the more muted hue of New Orleans’ replica gas lights and neon-lit byways. Strings of vividly bright, cheap plastic beads hang from wrought iron balconies and lay scattered in the street, gaudy among the cigarette butts, empty cans and plastic glasses that have been kicked into the corners of cobble stone streets.

Doing her best to traverse the celebrating crowds, Adelia heads directly to a bar situated in the middle of Rue Bourbon, the one M has assured her 007 has been regularly frequenting lately. She can’t imagine he’ll be pleased to see her and in truth, she is no less thrilled to be joining him. Indeed, M’s suggestion for them to work together was originally met with her fervent opposition, though her protests fell on deaf ears and seemingly prompted only the reminder that she is a newly defected agent and must therefore work to prove her ability to both take and follow orders.

Ordering herself a Margarita, she takes a moment to compose herself, tucking curls of unruly hair into place as she studies herself in the smeared mirror behind the bar. Up until this point, she has been working alone, on missions she considers to be frivolous, missions aimed at testing her loyalty it seems and very little else. This mission however, is much more important and if accomplished, could potentially lead to Spectre elite; her former colleagues, perhaps even Blofeld himself, that is exactly why, she imagines, Bond has been given the lead, much to her obvious frustration. She is quite aware she hasn’t yet earned 007’s trust and will likely be denied it given her previous role as an agent in Spectre, formally known briefly as number 10, before the designation was passed over to another, as is standard practice. 

The instant she senses Bond in the room, her back involuntarily stiffens, though she does not yet turn to regard him, instead choosing to let him linger as she focusses on the drink she has just been handed. Taking a long sip, she licks salt from her lips as she waits for an approach; only when he is close enough, does she finally turn.

“Before you tell me to turn around and go back to London, let me assure you, this arrangement wasn’t my idea nor was it my preference.”

[mettleborn-a]

warrioroflondonbelow​:

“I’m aware of the story.” Richard’s brows furrowed with curiosity as he listened to 10′s words. Was this her way of giving him some sort of hint? “Mm. Imagine? I suppose so. Although imagination will get me no where. I need concrete answers, and I’m not leavin’ until I get ‘em, love.”

His eyes could not shy away from the spectacle she was putting on. Was she an agent on the other side of the coin? Absolutely. Still, that did not mean Richard could not silently appreciate the beauty in front of him. The way the drops of water speckled and dripped down the curl of her swan-like throat. If it wasn’t for the fact that 10 was who she was Richard would want nothing more than to have his lips press up against the crook of that neck of hers, lining her skin with passionate kisses.

“Drinks? And now a walk on such a beautiful nigh’? Ye’ truly know how to romance a gentleman, don’t ye’?” smirked the Scotsman, as he downed the last contents of his drink. As he scraped his chair back and offered the brunette his arm, he smoothly pulled her close before whispering, “although I am thoroughly enjoyin’ this wee game we’re playin’, don’t be fooled. Just know tha’ I have backup. Try anythin’ and there will be consequences.”

Lies. Richard Mayhew was completely and utterly alone. He always worked alone.

“Now. Shall we?”

=====================

Love? She smiles at the casual use of the word, unable to determine if she finds it endearing or patronising. She’s not his love, not tonight and chances are, if she were, he’d be dead by morning, though admittedly those chances remain high regardless; he’s unlikely to make it out of Cuba alive, if he isn’t willing to spill his guts, figuratively and perhaps, if it comes to it; literally.

She is enjoying the way he is watching her, that wanton look in his eye, could of course be misdirection, a skill they both excel at, still, she isn’t nearly naïve enough to believe she is distracting him from the task at hand, on which he is clearly fixated.

“I do so enjoy consequences” She smiles, eyes rising to glance up at him with mock innocence, as she takes his arm. Moving through the club, she pauses for a moment as they reach the door, guarded on either side by two huge bouncers. Turning towards the agent, she allows her fingers to linger on the lining of his collar.

“Whatever happens after we cross this threshold, I want you to know, this is nothing personal 009. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong kind of girl…”

The movement of her hand is so quick it denies perception, the surgically sharp blade pressed against his throat, draws a single tear of blood, as she keeps it dangerously close, forcing the agent just a few paces forward before her tactical team burst through the door, four men dressed in riot gear that immediately set their sights directly on 009.

Parroting his earlier words with a wry smile, Adelia’s hand sinks lightly to her hip. “I need concrete answers, and you’re not leaving until I get them, love.”