The morning air is all awash with angels.

fuckyeahblackwidow:

Woman 1: Christine, look— it’s the Black Widow!
Woman 2: It’s her all right— Madam Natasha! There’s a woman with her own mind— definitely the Gloria Steinem of the jumpsuit set.
And for the first time in many days— the Widow smiles.

I’ve posted this before, it’s still like, top ten moments in comics, for me. So much of the discussion about female superheroes, today, reduces them to things for men to look at. And here’s this moment, from a time when feminism was this new-fangled, radical notion, that flat out embraces Black Widow as someone for women to look up to. And she draws power from this, and contentment.

Sure, yeah, superhero comics can be the fantasies of adolescent white dudes. But they can be everyone else’s fantasy, too— dismiss that at your own peril.

From Daredevil #91, by Gerry Conway and Gene Colan.

tea-and-magnolias:

dazzledent:

Table belonging to Catherine the Great.

Welp.

(via ebihebi)

quigonejinn:

destronomics:

prosodi:

assvenger:

#the fear of being uselessly human keeps him ruthless #my darling vicious wisecracking massively fucked up archer

When Clint is younger and stupider, he has more blind spots than he does now. He finds one of them on a rooftop in Budapest. It is raining and the fog is heavy enough that he can’t see the street two stories below (somewhere down there, there’s a van with SHIELD operatives waiting for him to radio in - or waiting for his vitals to drop). Lining up the shot is too easy, which means he comes out of it with a broken nose that bleeds violently down his chin and back into his throat. His left eye is swelling shut, but he blinks it back and steadies the line of his arm. He is close enough that the Black Widow has no where to go, but not close enough for her to take his bow and shove it back at him. He is close enough to see every line of her face in the darkness, her hair lank and her skin pale, her eyes very bright but hollow.

“What are you waiting for?” is what she asks him.

His eye is swelling shut, but that’s not why his vision’s impaired. It’s not why he radios the team in. It’s not why he makes a deal with her. It’s only later, sitting in a room without windows, that he has a moment to second guess himself. He is sitting in a metal chair and across from him, across the bolted down table, Natasha Romanov is sitting in a similar chair. She looks strangely diminutive stripped of her bite, wearing nothing but a plain black tshirt and standard issue PT shorts. Her long red hair is in a pony tail. She is wearing no makeup. If he wasn’t paying attention, he might say she looked like any pretty girl, maybe even any pretty girl from Iowa.

But she isn’t any pretty girl. When she looks at him across the table, Clint realizes she pities him.

He thinks that changes. He gets older and smarter and less forgiving and she—

Eventually, Clint Barton’s brain catches up with how sharp his eyes are. Eventually, Natasha Romanov scabs over.

That was unflinching.

I would like all the Clint/Natasha this way please.  Thanks.  

(Source: ironspy)

Pavel is wondering why I am pointing a camera in his face