#LADY RAWHIDE

[beyondthespheres]

Esteban Maroto, 1996

[evilhorse]

Zorro house ad (circa July 1994)

[komicart]

[femmefataleart]

Lady Zorro and Lady Rawhide by Mike Mayhew

[nfcomics]

Lady Rawhide no.4 (of 5) • cover art • Joe Linsner [Nov 2013]

[holy-shit-comics]

[head-vampire]

Lady Rawhide issue #1 page 19 (1995)

Art by Esteban Maroto

Source

[hollywoodlady]

Clint Eastwood on the set of the western TV series 'Rawhide' (1959 - 1965).

[khazadspoon]

I love him, your honour

[very-lost-hobbit]

What media THINKS women want: Big strong man reduced to VERY ill/injured for a woman to tenderly nurse back to health and they fall in love

What women REALLY want: Woman is VERY ill/injured and tenderly nursed back to health (with absolute care and no creepy dubcon nonsense) by a big strong man and they fall in love

[nichecomicstournament]

propaganda under the readmore

Gwen Lou Sabuki: Sabuki was a member of the original (junior) Invaders (the Kid Commandos) crew, along with Bucky Barnes and Toro. She has 6 total appearances, the most recent of which was in a flashback, back during the Original Sins event, in which she prevented the U.S. Military and the original Invaders from wiping out Japan with an artificial tsunami.

Blaine "Kid" Colt:

I WILL DEFEND COLT WITH MY LIFE

Ok, I know that nobody reads the Marvel Westerns except me (the vast majority of comments I see on comics sites about them are some variant of “I’m just reading this for completion’s sake”) but Kid Colt is the reason I actually sat up and paid attention to the 1940s-50s Westerns. He’s been through several new origins, and all of them are superficially similar to the first origin we saw laid out in his debut (Kid Colt, Hero of the West #1) but they ALL miss the POINT of the character.

In the first year and a half or so since his debut in 1948, Colt was written by a specific author, Ernie Hart, and he establishes over and over again that Kid Colt is, a violent, traumatized young man who has chosen the life of an outlaw and has no regrets about any of his decisions.

In the first Colt story, we learn that he’s very skilled with a gun, but chooses not to wear guns because he knows his temper means that he would probably draw and kill someone if he had them on him. He endures the ridicule of the other townspeople and even his own father, who doesn’t know his reasons for refusing to wear a gun. But his father is murdered by law enforcement to steal his land and cattle, and Colt is framed for it. He takes matters into his own hands, kills the lawmen (beating one of them to death with his own whip in the process), and leaves town.

For the next eight issues, and the other Western titles he appears in at the time, Kid Colt rides alone for the most part, but consistently goes out of his way to help other outlaws who need it, and affirms over and over again that being a criminal does not make you any less human or deserving of dignity- but he is merciless with lawmen and judges and sheriffs who abuse their power. Sure, he is sometimes lonely, and once or twice considers settling down, but ultimately embraces his new life as an outlaw, and enjoys the freedom it affords him.

The only times in the Hart run, iirc, he considers settling down is with an entire community of people who show him love and concern (particularly, and notably, there's a young man who tends him back to health, though this ends in tragedy). Colt also has no problem getting help from people because he is a charismatic, kind man- he very rarely finds himself in a position where he can’t get help from a local (unlike, say, Rawhide, who is perpetually a target but that’s a post for another day) But regardless, Colt is popular with ladies, but settling down with a woman for love is something that he can never do, and he says as much more than once. There are several ways to interpret this, but this aspect is another one that vanishes when Hart stops writing Kid Colt.

1950, the year Hart stops writing Colt for whatever reason, is around when the Comics Code Authority really started to get some teeth. You can even read letters in the actual comic itself in the lead up to 1950 put in by the publishers talking about the ongoing debate about the moral content of comics, and one of the first things the new writer does (Leon Lazarus) is revamp Colt’s backstory. On the surface, it’s mostly faithful - but it changes the fact that Colt kills both the Sheriff and his deputy to one shooting the other and Colt accidentally knocking the Sheriff off the cliff. The textbox epilogue says he was “accused” of murdering lawmen, implying innocence. But it also completely removes the rage element from his backstory- in this version, Colt doesn’t carry a gun because he doesn’t want his skill to draw in a bunch of gunhawks, claiming he had a brother (who had never been mentioned before, of course) who got shot in the back because of his skill with a gun.

Needless to say, these two changes remove the most compelling things about the character. Crucially, unlike a lot of other Western heroes who find themselves in this predicament, Colt as written by Ernie Hart has no interest in proving his innocence. Colt becomes an outlaw because he sees no other way forward- but he never looks back. He honestly does not believe he did anything wrong and has no interest in justifying himself to the world. But under Lazarus, and pretty much all the later writers, suddenly he hates being an outlaw, and wishes he could prove his innocence, except it’s impossible. He pines after women he meets once. He is suddenly respectful to lawmen and judges and won’t raise a gun against them even to save his life or the life of another. He says shit like “I might be an outlaw but I don’t act like one.” They might as well have just made a completely different person.

Don't get me wrong, there’s some good stories that show flashes of who Colt was in the beginning, but most of the life is leeched out of him, and this is definitely true in all the modern versions of Colt that we have. In The Sensational Seven, Colt is for some reason turned into a boorish douchebag who only thinks about sex. DeFalco’s Kid Colt oneshot, in addition to having a lot of Confederate apologism, goes with the blandest, most toothless version of Kid Colt possible, and that asinine “Moving On” oneshot by Tony Isabella in Marvel 1001 is just. It’s not any sort of a satisfying completion for his character arc, and there's untapped ground withi

Anyway, I know this is more than you ever wanted to know about cowboys, especially Kid Colt, but I lov him so much please....

[komicart]

[femmefataleart]

Lady Rawhide and Lady Zorro by Joyce Chin

[ahedderick]

Farm Christmas

We had a delightful Christmas morning. With young adults instead of young children, things get rolling much later; nobody hops out of bed at dawn anymore. I made a big breakfast of link sausages and pancakes. Lady, the only dog we've had who knows how to unwrap gift, got the first gift. She happily demolished the paper and started gnawing the rawhide chew. Chance does not understand giftwrap, and was given his plain.

Everyone had chosen gifts well this year, and there was a lot of delight. The paintings and sewing projects were a hit. K got my husband a weighted blanket that, when unwrapped, turned out to be faintly dusted in glitter (?). As nothing else had glitter, it was a little perplexing how that happened, but he enjoyed the blanket nonetheless.

Once the gift-giving had wrapped up, K wanted to go outside and do a little light trail maintenance. Several of her favorite paths have branches down all over them. I'm always in favor of outside time on holidays, so we got heavy clothes and tools while the dogs went bonkers at the door. Hero watched us alertly as we walked up the hill, thinking that perhaps he should be the center of whatever was going on. He was not, this time. The temperature was perfect for working, and we were peacefully working our way around the trails moving dead branches, clipping greenbriar, and chitchatting. That is, until we saw Lady frantically pawing at her mouth again.

Lady?! AGAIN!!?

I had a new and nicer pair of work gloves that gives me more dexterity than the old ones. Given that we had already been through this once last month (Lady getting a piece of wood wedged across the roof of her mouth), I was determined to see if I couldn't help her myself this time. The last vet visit cost almost $200, and I, um, let's try at home this time. To her credit, while she was highly upset, she wasn't as frothing frantic as she had been the first time. She let me look in her mouth (not without a fuss) and I could see the small piece of wood wedged tightly in there. I tried with my fingers, but it was far too wedged (and spitty) for me to get it out. Yes, that was a bit trusting on my part, with those large fangs flashing, but my trust was repaid.

We all walked home, K and I severely disappointed that our activity was cut short (just when we were making so much progress!) and Lady worried, hurt, and drooling. Baxter was utterly unconcerned and bouncing happily along in kitten style.

Back at the house I could not find my set of pliers (argh argh); K has one in her electrical tool set but it has sharp edges. I tried with a pair that turned out to be too large and unwieldy. Of course, every time I pry her jaws apart and reach in there, Lady gets a little more frantic and snappish. Finally my husband turned up a small pair and I made a last attempt. Kneeling with the dog stuffed between my legs, K keeping her from backing up, and my gloved left hand holding her mouth open, I grabbed the piece of wood and yanked.

Oh, the relief for all present!

K went out to ride Hero (he DOES get to be the center of attention, now), Lady is recovering on a cushion, and I may . . collapse.

Merry Christmas, all!

[nfcomics]

Lady Rawhide no.2 • cover art • Joe Linsner [Oct 2023]

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

“Hollow Praise”

Pairing: Melkor & Nienna

Others characters: Mairon, Eru, Nornorë

AU: Medieval AU

Themes: Unrequited/One-sided love | Angst | Ambiguous/Open ending

Warnings: Heartbreak | Insecurities | Jealousy

Wordcount: 1.7K words

Summary: Nienna’s secret desires and hopes are dashed when another arrives and captures the crown prince’s attention in a way she never could.

This is also available on AO3

A/n : This is a request from a lovely reader over at AO3, and for one of these prompts.

Nienna followed the others onto the royal balcony. The tourney field, already prepared for archers who had put their names down for the contest, had the first targets—thick bundles of rawhide adorned with painted circles of red and white—mounted on wooden stakes driven into the earth. The distance for the first round was sixty-five paces, a trifling matter for anyone skilled with bow and arrow.

“Lady Nienna!” Melkor called out to her. “Come and sit with us, my friend!”

The lady forced herself to smile even as sorrow tore through her heart. Even now, after all the long years of their knowing each other, the Crown Prince saw her as a dear friend. No matter what she did, how she looked at him or tended to him during his troubled moments, he considered her only a friend. He never thought of making her a companion of his heart, and he certainly never thought of making her his wife. Still, she walked over to where the royal family sat and curtsied deeply. Sadness or not, she would not forget the courtesies her mother and father taught her. 

“Your grace,” she began amiably, addressing the king first and then rising. “My prince. You honor me with your invitation.”

“Sit beside me, my lady,” Eru said. He glanced over his shoulder and raised his hand, summoning a servant to attend him. “Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Something to warm the body, your grace, if it is no trouble,” Nienna said. She sat beside the king and drew her furs closer to her, taking care not to look too much at the crown prince. Melkor was resplendent on this day, garbed in dark riding leathers and a rich black velvet doublet. His hair he had braided into a thick plait adorned with golden pins. It gave him a regal yet commanding appearance. “There is an unusual chill in the air.”

“An unusually cold autumn means a most dreadful winter,” Eru remarked, “or so the scholars say.” He turned his attention to the servant who came to him. “Bring mulled wine for all of us. Oh, and fetch some of those pies as well.”

“At once, your grace,” the servant said. They bowed and took their leave of the king. Eru returned his attention to Nienna.

“Have you placed a wager for the contest?” He asked. 

This time, Nienna smiled with genuine pleasure. “I have placed a wager, your grace, on my brothers. Námo and Irmo are taking part this year. It is a first for them both.”

“They will have no lack of competition,” Melkor told her. “My brother has put his name down, as have the Lords Tilion and Oromë. Even the Lady Irissë, Sir Nolofinwë daughter, is partaking.”

Their talk ceased briefly when the servant returned with a tray laden with delicate pastries, ornate cups, and a tall, slender pitcher full of mulled wine. Eru asked that he serve Nienna first. She waived away the offer of food but gladly accepted the cup given to her. The gentle fire that washed down her throat was a welcomed thing; it also gave her the courage to glance at the prince again. Melkor’s gaze was elsewhere for a moment. He was talking to one of his father’s courtiers and passing a small but heavy purse into the lord’s hand. He was placing a wager, she thought, and on his brother, no doubt.

“Not Sir Tyelkormo?” The king asked, taking his cup to hand. He looked at his son, surprised by what he heard. “I was told he was the most skilled archer Lord Oromë has ever taught.”

“He is incredibly skilled,” Melkor agreed and looked back at his father. He accepted a measure of wine and stretched out his long legs, making himself more comfortable in his seat. “But Lord Oromë tells me contests like this bore him. Sir Tyelkormo prefers hunting deer that could outrun him to shooting arrows at painted rawhide.”

“A pity, truly, to not be able to witness his skill,” the king murmured. He leaned over to his son and added, “Tell Oromë Sir Tyelkormo is to join us on our next hunt. I wish to see what he is capable of. If he is as good as his lord says he is, he may find a place among my personal guard.”

Nienna’s pale gray eyes widened. An invitation to take up a position within the king’s personal guard was no small thing. It was a matter of state, for all those invested shielded the king’s person wherever he went. Nienna glanced over her shoulder. Several of them were in the royal box now, armed with finely forged long swords and armored in jet plate adorned with ornate scrollwork of vivid green. One of them looked at her, their eyes filled with curiosity. She made haste to look away. She did not want them to see her looking at the crown prince with unspoken love in her eyes.

“Sir Tyelkormo may be a hunter of great renown, your grace,” Nornorë, the king’s varlet and herald, bent down and said quietly after the servant left. He was standing beside the king’s seat and heard what was said. “His discipline, however, is questionable. He is quite brash, and I fear his nature is ill-suited for a warrior protecting a ruler’s person.”

Eru sighed. “I forget you hail from Tirion and may be of an age with Sir Fëanáro’s third son.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and lost himself to thought. At length, he said, “Invite him in any event. If he cannot comport himself in a manner befitting the station he would be elevated to, I will not make the offer.”

The crown prince nodded. “Lord Mairon,” a page announced behind them, “and his attendant, the Lady Thuringwethil.”

All present turned to look as the adopted heir of House Mahal stepped through the open entryway first. His attendant followed him. Nienna did her best not to stare. Lord Mairon was just as fair as the singers said he was, if not more so. The great wealth of his noble House was amply displayed in the splendid furs and velvet and jewels he wore. Nienna looked at her unadorned furs and simple but well-made gown with envy. She could not afford the finery Mairon wore on his person. Her own House, while prosperous, did not command the vast fortune House Mahal was known to possess. Nevertheless, she did all that she could to fight back her jealousy. Mairon had given her no cause to hate him.

“My lord,” Melkor began, spellbound and full of wonder. It was as if he was seeing a vision unfolding before his eyes. “Come sit beside me, if it would please you.”

Mairon smiled and bowed as deeply and respectfully as he could. “I would be honored, my prince.”

Melkor rose and held out his hand. When Mairon placed his in the crown prince’s, he brought it to his lips. Then he smiled warmly and led him to the others so that he could introduce him to them. Mairon flushed and then introduced his attendant, his hand still in Melkor’s. It was plain to all that he refused to let go of it, and the young lord had no desire to draw it away.

“My lord,” Melkor said, drawing Nienna’s attention to him and the lord standing beside him. “May I present to you Lady Nienna of House Blackgrave. She is a gifted healer; many would gladly attest to it. She has also been most steadfast—the sister I have always desired. She has looked after me many times, seeing to my wounds and troubles. I am proud to claim her as one of those dearest in my circle of loyal companions.”

The prince’s praise felt hollow to her ears, even though it was sincere and generously given. Nienna would have wept had she not cared for others bearing witness to her tears. She chided herself for not being bolder and not uttering a word about what dwelled deep within her heart. Now, all her secret hopes and wishes would have to remain locked forever, for when she gazed upon the prince, she could not help but see how his eyes drifted to the lord beside him and how overjoyed he was when in his presence. The sight of it all pained Nienna in a way she could not describe. She perceived no word would sway Melkor now, and no plea would make him look upon her with different eyes. Her dream of the prince seeking her out and taking her as his wife would forever remain just that: a sweet and unattainable dream.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you, Lord Mairon,” Nienna said, rising. “I hope we can become friends as time goes by.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Lady Nienna,” Mairon said. His golden eyes sparkled in the pale autumn light; they reminded Nienna of bright flames on the hearth. “I, too, hope we can become friends. Are you here to witness the archery, or are you here to witness a single archer in particular?”

“My brothers, my lord,” Nienna said with as much warmth as she could manage. The question asked of her was an innocent one. Mairon did not know of Nienna’s secret love for Melkor. She had spoken of it to no one, not even her brothers. “This is their first contest.”

“I wish them good fortune then,” Mairon said, and he let Melkor walk him back to her seat. “Perhaps we can speak more later, my lady, during the feast.”

"Perhaps we can do so, my lord.” Nienna sat back down, her heart broken into a thousand little pieces. She heard nothing more of what was said. She did not see the heralds taking their places and bringing trumpets to their lips, nor did she see the archers forming a line for the procession, their houses picked out upon the breasts of their tunics in a riot of color and jewels. She resolved to speak to her brothers after the end of the contest and leave. She would not linger for the feast. The sight of Melkor showering Lord Mairon with his attention would be too much for her to endure.

And her all-consuming despair, she thought, could be truly dealt with upon her return home. 

@cilil @asianbutnotjapanese