Honestly, all this pain comes back to one thing every time: we wouldn’t be constantly put through the wringer if Elizabeth and Iain weren’t arguably the best actors on this show. They are incredible and I love them to death and will forever shout for them to continue getting this much screen time, but at what cost. I feel guilty every time I say “this isn’t what I signed up for” after a strong emotional Fitzsimmons scene because deep down I know that is is also exactly what I signed up for haha
Guys a member of the Agents of Shield crew posted this. And judging by Chloe’s hair it’s during the Season 4 period (?) Do you think it’s possible they’ve filmed parts for Garret’s return in the framework ? Or that this was just a set visit ?
He walked into the dimly lit room, where laughter and music filled the air. The feeling of uncertainty overwhelmed him immediately. Darcy wasn’t one who enjoyed to be surrounded by people he knew nothing about.
But as he took a glance around, his eyes fell upon your silhouette and just then, he fell at ease.
Every doubt, every worry had all washed away from just a glimpse of you smiling to your friend next to you.
It was strange for him to be so drawn to a woman he’s never met before. And in a way, it frightened him. More than the zombies that lurked around the outside.
“Come Darcy, we must make our acquaintance.” Mr. Bingley muttered.
Darcy snapped out of the trance and nodded, following close behind his friend.
As Bingley introduced himself to the Bennett’s, Darcy had no interest other than to seek you. He had watched you carefully, studied your face and even the curves of your silhouette. He was intrigued of the mystery you held and the radiance you gave off.
“And this is my friend, Mr. Darcy.”
Darcy snapped his gaze back, and cleared his throat. “Colonel Darcy.” He forced a smirked.
“And how is London Mr. Bingley? I hear the library is quite brilliant.” Elizabeth stated.
From the corner of Darcy’s eye, he noticed you walking out of the ballroom.
Elizabeth was able to read Darcy easily, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “That is Miss. Y/N Y/L/N.” She muttered, catching Darcy’s attention.
“The girl you are admiring from afar.” Lizzie chuckled. “Her name is Y/N. She’s quite a warrior, killed more zombies than my sisters and I.”
Darcy was taken aback by the statement. His eyes revering back to you. Though, you slipped out of his gaze in an instant.
“Excuse me.” He exhaled as he quickly bowed and started toward you.
You had your back against the cold wall, staring endlessly up at the night sky. The sound of footsteps nearing caught your attention. Slipping your knife out of the holder that wrapped around your thigh, you held it up, awaiting for whatever was to come close.
As Darcy slowly crept up, he was taken by surprise as you held the knife so close to his throat. “Who are you?” You hissed, pursing your lips.
His breath slightly shook in the back of his throat, as he gazed into your eyes. Noticing the way the moon contrasts them.
“Forgive me, I did not intend to frighten you.” He whispered.
You pushed the knife in, digging it in to his skin. Slightly breaking through. “You do not frighten me. But if you do not tell me who you are, I’m afraid I will have to behead you.”
His lip slightly twitched. “Darcy. Colonel Darcy.” He muttered.
The name rung a bell as you remembered your mother had expressed two very wealthy men were in town.
You removed the knife and quickly placed it back under your dress. Darcy not once taking his eyes off you. But the moment you lifted the fabric, exposing your skin, he felt himself rustle under his pants. “Excuse me.” He groaned.
Before you had a chance to even speak, Darcy walked passed you without hesitation.
You were left alone, confusion flooding you. It was quite strange to see such a man fluster and leave with such hurry.
You looked out from the balcony, watching him as he made his way down to fountain.
The light cold air, filled Darcy’s lungs. His mind raced with images of you. Your smile that captivated him. Your voice that made his heart feel as if it were about to jump out of his chest. Your eyes that almost made him forget there were zombies. And the way you handled yourself caused him to yearn for you, in a way he’s never felt before.
“There you are! Come, you must dance with me.” Elizabeth, one of your closest friends hooked her arm with yours.
You flashed a smile and nodded. You glanced back at Darcy for a moment, who had already been looking up at you.
You must know… surely, you must know it was all for you. You are too generous to trifle with me… If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.
guess it’s one for them, one for me. Just as the Margaret-centric snoozefest
“Beryl” was followed by the vastly superior and Elizabeth-focused “Marionettes”, so
does “Dear Mrs. Kennedy” follow the subpar “Matrimonium” and shines in
would have been easy to have made the episode just about the petty rivalry
between the two women, the bland Elizabeth and the brilliant Jackie, but Peter
Morgan, God bless him, takes the high road instead and gives us a
portrayal of two complex women and two marriages that are not what they seem to the
outside world. And, hallelujah, Elizabeth shows she’s flawed for once
(of course not too flawed, we can’t have that, now can we).
episode turns everything upside down. The royals are not the most important
people in the room, Elizabeth goes directly against the advice of the
government (!) and Philip is the voice of reason (!!). I LOVED the entire Ghana
storyline and I don’t even CARE if it was historically inaccurate (I bet it
was) or that Elizabeth should have absolutely not done what she has done, as a
constitutional monarch. It was brilliant. I loved the sans-moustaches
frantically running around, I loved Philip acting as the Queen’s wingman, I
loved Martin reporting the foxtrot live to the Prime Minister, and most of all
I loved Elizabeth having her agency back. For five minutes, but still.
I think that’s the main difference between the dear little Mrs Kennedy and
Elizabeth. It’s clear that in-universe JFK uses his wife to political
advantage, she’s merely a tool of a powerful man. Elizabeth on the other hand,
at least in this episode, makes her own decisions. At the end, she even orders
Michael Adeane to have the bells peal in mourning for JFK, going against
tradition. Remember that girl who got schooled by Tommy Lascelles about
tradition when she wanted to choose her own private secretary? Well, she
Lilibet and Jackie bonding over PUPPIES!
loved: Michael and Martin mentally facepalming when watching the President and
Mrs Kennedy bungle greeting the royal couple are me
watching every cheap trashy drama about royals ever.
Secrets, Spies, and Leather: The Masterful Espionage of ‘Velvet’
When the world’s greatest spy is assassinated, it’s up to his secretary to avenge his death and bring his killers to justice. Except the world’s greatest spy is the “secretary” because, of course, the real World’s Greatest Spy isn’t the world famous secret agent, but the operative who has been hiding in plain sight for years while dismantling nefarious criminal syndicates or saving the planet from nuclear annihilation. This is Velvet Templeton, agent of ARC-7.
Such is the premise for Ed Brubaker, Steve Epting, and Elizabeth Breitweiser’s brilliant, bloody, and beautiful Velvet, whose final story arc (for now) has recently been collected in a lovely trade paperback entitled The Man Who Stole the World.Velvet could almost be thought of as the last James Bond picture. As in, James Bond dies and Moneypenny, who turns out to be an even better spy than James, goes off on her own violent and sexy adventure to avenge him. Obviously, such a premise could never happen on screen (or in comics due to copyright laws… existing) but the world of spy fiction does not stop with the legendary screen icon that is Bond. From Cold War thrillers to pulp novels to classic films like The Third Man or The 39 Steps, well-told spy stories permeate fiction and imbue it with excitement and style.
That style has never been more remarkable than in the pages of Velvet. Of course Bond has his own signature style that has been a joy to behold for decades. But the best design and artistic choices in Bond films have not just been the great outfits or cool cars (it’s hard to make a tuxedo-clad Sean Connery driving an Aston Martin look bad). Rather, it was the production design contributions by visionaries like Ken Adam who, with his art, turned drab offices or interrogation rooms into screen iconography. Incidentally, it was Ken Adam who designed the shadowy War Room in the classic Dr. Strangelove. In the early Bond films, Adam was a master of accomplishing a great deal with very little. So does The Third Man, turning the sewers of Vienna into a labyrinthine living metaphor for the shadowy world of spycraft and the black market, as well as gorgeous cinema in its own right. The visuals of Velvet work the same astonishing miracle, transforming Cold War office buildings, parking garages, and the beiges and browns of 1970s fashion into breathtakingly beautiful art.
The partnership of artist Steve Epting and colorist Elizabeth Breitweiser, as seen in the above image, recreate 1970s Time Square (an unclean den of iniquity if there ever was one) into a glowing monument to car chases, nights in the city, and the unpredictable thrill of life as a spy. This sort of magic is summoned all throughout the series, as the events of the story (gracefully scripted by Ed Brubaker) are anything but magical or romantic. Trust is betrayed, hopes are dashed, and years-long friendships are destroyed amid broken bones and bullets, yet the art is so beautiful that the world is one the reader can’t help but want to spend time in. This sort of push-and-pull, the romance with both the aesthetic beauty and the ugliness of the action and setting, is one of the most singular aspects of Velvet. While Soviet Bloc architecture has never seemed more enchanting than when rendered by Epting and Breitweiser, the events that take place in those buildings are rife with piles of dead men and secrets. A wonderful setting for a story but not a pleasant place to physically spend time in.
The story itself is a suitably serpentine tale of backstabbing spycraft, with Brubaker’s plotting and second-to-none character development consistently engaging throughout. Many of the antagonists are current or former ARC-7 agents themselves, trying to do their job the best way they know how in the face of their superiors telling them Velvet, a much better agent than any of them, is a traitor (which she, of course, is not). Many of them are not any more or less virtuous than the KGB goons or ex-agents Velvet encounters. The most reprehensible actors are often Velvet’s superiors, people in charge of her safety and the security of her identity as a secret agent. This makes Velvet a woman apart from the world, unable to rely on her agency’s resources for help, and totally exposed to the perils of being a spy “out in the cold.” Even allies she enlists to help her are not really allies, more like people with the skill set she requires at that particular moment, people she happens to share common enemies with. These alliances are most interesting when they are particularly painful for Velvet, as sometimes she does have a shared history with these individuals, which comes with camaraderie and even affection. The world Brubaker builds is one in which spies can’t trust anyone, live a life devoid of roots, where they know by heart the time it takes to get from London’s Heathrow Airport to, say, a covert airfield in Prague via a land route that would eschew monitoring from any intelligence agencies. When such a person is presented with what, under any normal circumstances, would be a genuine relationship but could never be so because of the perpetual mistrust inherent in spycraft, the reader feels for the tragedy of that life. For Velvet to be so resourceful, to be cognizant of the world around her both in its grandest movements and in the most minute detail, yet unable to protect those she loves (or perhaps could love in the future), makes her a remarkably compelling character. Along the way she kicks bad guys in the face in leather catsuits and crashes cars and makes bureaucratic blowhards grit their teeth in blood-red rage, but these moments are all the more impactful because the reader roots for her to win so hard.
But is it worth jumping in now that the series has come to a potential end point? Enthusiastically, yes. I am such a Brubaker/Epting/Breitweiser fan that I could not resist picking up Velvet issue by issue (frequently re-reading past issues to immerse myself back into the gorgeously cold Cold War story), but now readers have the opportunity to read the entire story at their leisure. With the final story arc, The Man Who Stole the World, the series comes to as satisfying and thrilling conclusion as readers could ever ask for. Even with all the blood, explosions, and existential angst Velvet contained in its 15-issue run, it ends on what might be the most optimistic note Ed Brubaker has ever written for a series conclusion. It’s exciting, fun, beautiful, and with believable characters who communicate in terse spy-speak so effortlessly cool, it’s impossible not to smile while reading. Any fans of spy fiction, Ed Brubaker, Cold War stories, or interesting comics in general owes it to themselves to read this comic.
Life is to be embraced and enveloped … It has to do with a connection with nature, God, your inner being, whatever you want to call it, it’s being in contact with yourself and allowing yourself, allowing God, to mould you.