Ticket Taker: Here you are, Ms. Wright.
Ticket Taker: Train leaves at nine from track 26.
Cherry: Oh no.
Natasha: Oh, da.
From Hawkeye #9, by Matt Fraction and David Aja.
just another pretty face
1h sketch for the draw this again meme
Bixby: Wait…that’s it? You didn’t even tell me your name. Who are you?
Yelena: I’m the Black Widow.
Yelena Belova came into comics in 1999, after a decade of pouches and ediger, contemporary replacement heroes. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the miniseries which crashed Yelena to Natasha also returned her to the 1970 all-blacks and half-bouffant, after near to two decades of short, angular hairstyles. Yelena had her middriff bare, Yelena used rifles instead of gadgets, Yelena was very 1999. She was also post-Soviet, young and hungry. Natasha was getting older, getting old; that 1999 mini saw her pass a birthday unremarked and unremembered. It also gave her an archfoe, something she hadn’t had for a while.
Yelena Belova was all these hard worn comic book trope: the edgy nineties replacement, the dark mirror. But because she was the Black Widow, none of that was colored in binaries. Natasha didn’t want to defend her codename— she wanted to save Yelena from it. Yelena wasn’t only the villain— she was also the wronged.
Natasha plays the dating game with Steve but never makes herself a contestant. She flirts because that hooks at Steve’s vulnerabilities, and Natasha needs to look for vulnerabilities. She latches onto his loneliness because it covers up her own. And that loneliness is her own, a legacy of some unspoken past; it can’t be kissed better by some gallant-eyed prince charming. Her resolution is no romantic comedy. — Fuck Yeah Black Widow from this post. (via regimes-fall)