#also yes everyone please admire marian's hard work

[fortjester]

I hope you know the cowboy locked tomb art you made lives rent free inside my skull forever. You combined 2 of my favourite things and made me want to be demolished Wake at least 10x more

the market for tlt cowboy art cannot and will never be saturated enough, we need more!!!! also, i can only claim partial credit on the cowboy art - i was merely the brains behind the operation, @b1cr1ptic (the talented genius) brought my vision to life and i will be forever grateful for that fact. but honestly, hard same on wanting to be demolished by wake. already a perfect deranged woman, now in leather jodhpurs and a leather duster + a cowboy hat? how can i even resist? how to be normal about it?

also also, now that my bre fic is all-but done, i'm free to work on other projects once again, so i'll hopefully start churning out dead cav club (for which the cowboy art was based on and made as companion pieces to), so if the universe allows, more tlt cowboy content will be lasso-ing you soon. so glad to have infected others with my cowboy au brainrot :3

[especially-in-heaven]

HOW TO TAME AN OUTLAW - Allan A-dale/OC Fanfic

FANFICTION LINK | CHAPTER 1 |

Prologue: A Girl with a flower crown

8th September, In the year of our lord, 1183.

Wrap. Tuck. Pin. And hope for the best. Be careful not to prick your finger.

Or at least that was the advice Elaine had learnt to making a flower crown. Actually, choosing the flowers was the hard part as the colours needed to work together. Yellow daffodils for the base, Elaine Walker smiled with satisfaction, and for decoration, a bunch of lilac's threaded through. Once she tucked the last pin in place, she held it out to herself, turning and twisting to admire her work. The girls were already playing in the field. If she waited any longer, she'd miss the travelling festival through the village, going onto Knighton and with her mother's strict rules, she wasn't to leave the boundaries of Clun.

Three solid raps on the door followed. Sarah was outside. She always made the best crowns. pink roses intwined with ivy. Elaine was meant to ask where did she find such beautiful flowers inside the village?

"'Lainey, are you coming?"

"Just two seconds." She called back, firmly placing the crown on her head and twirling. Before she left, she caught her reflection in the edge of a kitchen knife. Lovely.

She was just about to leave when her sister hobbled up behind her. With sticky fingers, she grabbed the ends of Elaine's white cloak and begged in a whimper, "Can't I come?"

"That's up to mother." She dismissed.

"Mumma says I can come if you'll look after me."

"Ugh, Meghan. I just want to go to the festival. I don't have time to make another crown."

She could see Sarah waiting outside. They planned to go together; she didn't want to keep her waiting so shoved Meghan aside and fled. The festival music chiming from the hills where the cherry trees grew. In the soft wind, the air infested with a confetti of pink petals. For once, Clun Village was charmed with banners and music.

Arms wrapped between one another, her and Sarah giggled together until their legs beat their heads and they started racing to the top. Elaine won, only because Sarah's dress held her down. They joined the fray of other girls dancing merrily to the tunes. The long grass not fazing them, nor the mud already worn down on her white silk dress. Sarah was quickly dragged by the elbow, a nice man with a nice beard twirled her around. Elaine continued to clap to the beat, forgetting completely -as the band continued through the village, up past the cherry trees and into the trees - her promise to her mother.

"This is brilliant!" Sarah found her again, beaming merrily. Her face red from dancing with the stranger, and new addition of rose flowers prickled in her hair. "Why don't we have festivals every day like this."

"Because not every day is Prince Richard's birthday."

Flutes played - Oh god, how she loved flutes. Dancing to its mellow tune until she'd spun so much the world did also. Nothing felt better than the forest pines under her feet, watching as the leaves twisted in circles as she moved her body.

The trees parted and Knighton hall appeared on her left, Elaine jolted to a stop. She'd only just realised how far she'd gone.

Never had she travelled this far without her mother or father. They'd sometimes come to trade her father's crops for wool here. She recognised the market stand. The Apple tree looked familiar. And Maid Marian of course, everyone knew her. Rosy cheeked and gorgeous, merely thirteen years of age. She didn't join in with the dancing, simply observing with a smile until a young boy took her hand. Sir Edward, her father, rolled his eyes and she giggled, already swept away by the boy into the crowd.

Elaine turned her attention back to her current predicament. She hadn't meant to leave the village, but the music and dancing spun her thoughts away until it was too late.

Needling through the crowd of white, she found Sarah. Two men in either hand and spinning so fast it hurt Elaine's eyes.

"Can I steal her for a second?" She asked, fighting back the panic swirling through her head.

Sarah escaped and Elaine pulled her aside. She urged quickly, "How are we going to get back?"

"Back?" Sarah gaped, "I'm not going back, I'm staying with a friend in Nottingham once this festival ends."

"You never told me that!"

"I didn't realise you needed to know."

Elaine slammed her leg down, in a tantrum of frustration. "Well what am I going to do now? I told mother I wouldn't leave the village and I completely forgot! I don't know how to get back to Clun."

"It's easy. Just follow the path back." But the festival was already moved so far past Knighton hall that the forest edge had disappeared around the corner. "Or come to Nottingham with me and we'll travel back tomorrow with my friend's family."

"Mother won't like that."

"She'd rather you be safe," Sarah reasoned sensibly. Rather rushed, Sarah looked back at the festival. It's music and colour radiating the air, and Elaine knew she wanted to get back to it.

"I should start walking," Elaine decided. Already, she'd held Sarah back and her many suitors would be waiting to twirl her around again. The girls were moving fast into the age of trying to find husbands, and for Sarah it was paramount with her recently deceased father to secure financial safety.

"If you want to do that. Just please be careful."

Be careful. Yes – outlaws and beasts lived deep in the heart of Sherwood forest. Elaine wasn't sure what was worse. The tales of yellow eyes monsters, with fangs, leaching on the innocent. So many bedtime stories, that she didn't know if they were tales supposed to be about outlaws or animals.

Sarah was quick to dance back to the party, and Elaine turned with Clun in mind. The forest loomed closer with each step and so did the spike of her heart. Beating. Pumping. The image of outlaws with fangs and patchy skin came to mind. She was sure she saw one or two peeking around the edge of trees – no, that was just her imagination.

They hadn't turned any corners during the dance, had they? She truly couldn't remember and decided to carry on straight with each turn in the road. The forest grew in an arch above her and she couldn't even make out where the sun was to work out her direction. God. Was she lost? Breathe, breathe, breathe… the skies darkened, trees became silhouettes. The constant thought that her mother must be so worried about her, kept her moving. Every whistle of wind, rustle of leaves and owl hoot sent Elaine reeling. She surely hadn't been dancing this long, so why was she walking so far?

"Tom!" Someone hissed. A human voice. An angry human voice.

Elaine jumped. She hadn't heard anything but animal noises for the past hour. She spun, trying to work out where it had come from. She could only see trees. Green blurred around her as he eyes pricked to hear anything even slightly differently-

Something moved. Startled, Elaine stepped back. Without a plan, her body on instinct dashed to the side of path. Maybe if she got to the trees she could hide. Whatever it was, heavy footsteps followed after her. Pinching her eyes shut, preferring not to see whatever it was. Suddenly, a great weight slammed against her. She tumbled forward, head moving faster than her body. Rush of blood swam to her head. Barely managing to catch herself with her hands before she hit the mud.

Roughly, she was pulled around and something hard pushed against her throat. She wanted to scream, but a strange stillness took over her muscles, paralysing her in place.

"Give me all your money!"

"I don't – I don't have any money. Please."

The boy pushed the object harder into her neck.

"I said give over the money!"

He was only a boy, no older than Elaine. His hair ruffled and dirt smudged into his face. If he was an outlaw, he certainly didn't look like the pictures Elaine had painted in her head.

Behind him, another figure approached. I'm outnumbered, she thought in a stir of panic. Thump, thump, thump – was that the sound of another person approaching. No – Just the sound of her heart. She needed to think clearly. Scrunching her nose up to stop the pulsing, she focused on the scene in front of her.

The approaching figure looked similar to the boy, but older. Muscles more defined and beard growing through. Most noticeably, his eyes were a piercing blue. A brother, perhaps?

From the scruff of his neck, he tugged the younger boy on top of Elaine up, like a dog would their pup.

"Tom," the older one growled, "What are you playin' at?"

"What was I playing at?" The boy – Tom – echoed, "I was thinking about getting a decent bed tonight. Or do you wanna sleep on this floor again?"

"Oi, you were the one who ran away from home. I just followed."

Tom jabbed a finger at Elaine. It was then she noticed a knife hadn't been in his hand, but a very blunt stick. She'd been afraid for nothing. "Allan, we wanna live this way, we gotta steal from the people."

"I didn't want to live like this." the older one snapped, clearly irritation by his younger brothers' behaviour. "But she clearly don't have anything. Do you see a purse?"

Whilst they fought, Elaine considered crawling away. However, as the conversation turned to her on the floor, so did their eyes and soon both of them were staring back at her.

"We don't need money, maybe her cloak'll sell for something?"

"Tom, are you thick?"

"What?"

The older one groaned, his eyes popping from his skull. "She's a girl. How's it going to look if we go into Nottingham with a girl's muddy cloak and try and sell it."

Elaine clung the cloak around herself. Her mother had hand stitched this herself and was the most lavish thing she owned… but if it came to it, she'd gladly take it off and give it to them if it meant saving her life. Grabbing at the ties, she undid it and shook it from her shoulders. With trembling hands, she offered it to them.

Neither of them noticed for a minute, still bickering amongst themselves the way siblings do. Then, slowly Tom frowned and took note of the cloak offered to him. Viciously, he snatched it from her grip.

"Ah, see, the girls got some sense. She knows we'll kill 'er otherwise."

The older one snatched it back. "With what? A stick… here, take it." He offered it back kindly, his voice smoothing out as he spoke to her. "We don't want your cloak."

"Allan. That's good money there!"

Elaine shivered, "You're – You're not going to kill me?"

"No," Allan puffed a laugh as if the very idea was ridiculous and was now crouched in front of her. "My brother's the biggest wuss I know, I doubt he'd be able to hurt you."

Tom heaved a huff, "Shut up will you."

"Maybe don't go around, tackling teenage girls then, you idiot."

I just want to go home. Her father's warm embrace was waiting for her, as was her mother's carrot soup. She promised she'd keep it steaming for her. Edging up, she felt confident enough that they wouldn't harm her again, at least while the older brother was there. She made sure to keep him in between them as she rose from her knees.

But as she went to stand, her heel caught the back of her dress and she tripped again. Expecting the hard thud of the forest floor, Allan's arms instead caught her wrists and she remained standing.

"Uh – thank you."

"Look, I'm sorry about my brother. He's a right pain in the arse." Tom rolled his eyes and sulked off into the darkness of the trees. Elaine hoped to never see him again. "Just – uh, please don't tell anyone about this."

If she got out of here without getting killed, she'd be thanking them. Instead of saying this pathetic line, she simply nodded.

Allan mumbled a quite thanks and turned off the forest path to find his brother.

Almost alone again, Elaine spun in confusion. The fading light had gone now and all that was left was a shimmer of moonlight and stars seeping through the trees to guide her way. She didn't even know what way she'd come from.

"Do you…" Finding her voice, she tried again, "Do you know which way Clun is?"

Allan shrugged but looked around as if he'd find a sign that would give him the answer. "I'm sorry, I've got no clue. I'm not from around here. But there was a village just a bit down there that had these pink trees in it."

Delight sprung through her and every ounce of fear she'd just felt immediately evaporated. "Thank you so much!"

"Uh- don't mention it," Allan shrugged, his face darkening in shadow the further he backed away, "Good luck."

"You too," She sung happily. Not bothering to wait around to be attacked again, Elaine sped off, the wind ripping a thousand miles per hour across her ears. She had no intention of being attacked again.

As Clun Village sunk into her vision again, she looked to the sky and said a little prayer for Allan, the blue-eyed wanderer. His brother would surely get him in trouble if he wasn't careful.

[popculturespiritwow]

THE WICKED + THE DIVINE #30: DIONYSUS IN DARKNESS WAITS

The thing I find interesting about this cover in conjunction with last issue’s is how once again the “power” of the god is bursting forth from the box it’s in. Each issue in this arc takes that idea further, signaling perhaps the deepening chaos that can’t be withheld. Just the glimpse within the box here, the number of crows, has a kind of insanity to it. 

#CRAFTSERVICE

Kieron’s notes are always well worth reading, but the notes for this issue are particularly fantastic. There’s this great reflection on the history and strengths of the second versus first page reveals:

“I’m always interested in the history of the second page reveal. Old school comic writer guides normally suggest opening with the big image, to throw people in the world. That – and, I feel, especially in the 00s – got changed into the delayed reveal. Enter the world in a quieter way, and then do the big reveal. That means you can create some context quickly, and use that big impact for something a little more complicated.

(It also means if you go to a 2-3 page splash, you can make the image bigger. If I remember correctly, almost all the New 52 books hand that rhythm, which I have to presume was an editorial guideline. I may be misremembering though.)

It’s worth noting I say “a little more complicated.” I don’t say “sophisticated” or even talk about effectiveness – complicated says nothing about a piece of work’s quality. I just mean there’s more moving parts involved before the reveal. Look at someone like BKV and his love of the opening splash to see how effective the HELLO, HERE I AM, LOOK AT THIS THING! Can be.”

There’s also a great reflection on the fairy tale-like structure of Dionysus in the underworld, the three beats in which a situation is established (”I’m hungry, I guess I should break into someone’s house and eat the already-prepared oatmeal on the table and not wonder how that’s here or whether I missed the Rapture”); the problem of the situation is repeated a second time (“And this oatmeal has too much lemon zest!”) and then finally in a third beat the set up we now expect is subverted, creating resolution (Bears enter, Goldiocks smiles; Cut to: Goldilocks eating three steaks. “Now these taste just right!” Annnd...scene.)

Dionysus faces three challenges – Sympathy: You mean well but you don’t understand; Threat: Imma kill you if you stay; and Truth: You’re going to die soon.)

(Actually it’s very much Christ’s temptations in the Desert, isn’t it, complete with all three temptations actually coming from the same person and the context being darkness and oh God how am I just realizing this now someone please take away my Catholic card stat.)

I love that the third challenge, the hardest comes in the form of the sweet truths of Annie. You think you can save everyone, you can’t and you’re going to die.

That three beat pattern, Kieron notes, is also the pattern used in comedy, which also seems fitting given that we’re dealing with Baphomet, the Pantheon’s Dad Jokester.

THE NEVERENDING STORY

Post-455AD the use of a fairy tale structure makes me think once again of how these characters are trapped within stories. The Morrigan also says as much:

Having said that, even if Dio is in a sense just playing the role of Messiah (hey, don’t those guys usually get betrayed?), I love that the form that takes here is just him sitting here taking whatever suffering The Morrigan dishes out and waiting for his friend. A beautiful encapsulation of the blessing that is Dio.

WODEN GRAMS

Unlike 29, 30 has lots and lots of Woden in it. And now some clear indications of how he’s been playing them.

The little prankster. But played for laughs, the moment doesn’t really alert us to just how much trouble we’re all in. This is basically just what you’d expect from Woden. Garbage gotta garbage.

The one real warning sign is hidden amongst the Instagram images.

Look at that post. “Gig of the Saeculum prep. Dio vs Woden vs Norns, live now, dead soon.” Of course he can post the truth on Instagram: Cassandra would never see Instagram as a forum worth being on (catch her on Twitter), and Dio is too busy to pay any attention. 

God he’s awful.

WAIT NOW

The two pages of people checking feeds also includes one panel that is not like the others. 

Who is suddenly talking here? It’s the same font and design used when Laura spoke to us at the start of 29, so it’s got to be her, right?

But Laura hasn’t even appeared in the issue -- and won’t until the end, when she rescues Morrigan from Sakhmet. So what does it mean? And why is it here?

DOOM WHERE YOU ARE PLANTED

The Baphomet/Dio exchange once again has three beats – first Baph trying to be all whaddup bro and talk down what Morrigan’s done; then a glimpse of what he went through which absolutely changes (and explains) our entire experience of Baphomet -- and particularly his behavior in the first couple arcs.

(Random aside of total admiration: Think about Baph’s arc. When we first really meet him in issue 3, his interaction with the Morrigan is so in medias res it’s hard to know what is going on.

In retrospect that experience perfectly captures the hot mess that is their relationship; Baph and Morrigan are that couple so lost in each other it’s impossible for anyone else to really follow what they’re on about.

But in the moment Baph definitely seems also like White Male Pig, an intrepretation Kieron will make a meal of for issues to come. In issue #30 we finally get the explanation of what that was really all about, and it’s so much more. Baph is being so awful here because Marian has just before this utterly betrayed him, literally doomed him.

Actually, him responding to that by acting the male pig almost seems like he’s cutting her a break, presenting himself as the real bad guy, when it’s so totally her.)

Then in the last beat we get Dio trying to talk Baphomet into facing what happened, trying to free him really, and Baph deflecting by pointing out Dio’s own imprisonment, in love with someone who can’t love him. (The Dio/Cass/Woden love triangle really is such a great thread of this arc.)

But it’s interesting how that also creates for Baph a sense of connection and community.

Much like how Laura will describe her relationship with Sakhmet later in this arc, and how Baph’s relationship with Morrigan clearly works, doom offers the Pantheon the strange flipside of comfort. I am not alone in this impending destruction. You are here with me.

Yeah, but we’re doomed. That is bad.

Yes, but we’re doomed together.

Yeah, I get that. But we are doomed.

Exactly. We.

Dude, you are such a hot mess.

And of course because this is Baph the issue ends with him having to jinx everything.

DUDE, WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THIS IS WICDIV. IT CAN ALWAYS GET WORSE!

yeah but not really tho because we’re together

Okay, I am so out.

[thebroadcastbw-blog]

Post-Election Reflection: Why We Do This

Issue No. 20 | November 18, 2016

A LETTER FROM THE EDITORS

You could say this newsletter started because of Mellody Hobson.

Our discovery of her Vanity Fair profile in April 2015 sparked a habit of sending each other stories of women breaking barriers, forging new paths, and generally exuding excellence. After exchanging our fair share of links, we realized that our mental roster of female icons was far too limited — and that the thoughtful profiles and interviews introducing us to new names were far too hard to find.

Looking back through our notes from when the “The Broadcast Biweekly” was just a fledgling enterprise, we’re reminded of why we decided to turn our initial frustration of this shortage into a celebration instead. Women are underrepresented in just about every industry and position of influence, but stories of women who are changing these statistics are perhaps even rarer. By scouring the internet for profiles and interviews that spotlight the exceptions, we want to start conversations about these audacious people and create space for others to join them.

These conversations, and these stories, matter to us now more than ever. To take a line from journalist Adrienne LaFrance, “Women represent about half the global population, and yet they’re dramatically underrepresented in stories meant to help people understand much of the complexity in the world.”

In the face of a President-elect known for insulting, belittling, and sexualizing women, we need a counterweight. We’re choosing to respond, in part, by meeting this destructive and divisive rhetoric with recognition of how women (of all races, sizes, sexualities, nationalities, and beliefs) are contributing to and shaping society. We’ll keep spreading stories about the strength, intelligence, hard work, resilience, and confidence of women we admire. This week includes: model Ashley Graham introducing a Barbie doll whose thighs are finally touching; set designer Hannah Bleacher recruiting more black women in Hollywood; restaurateur Jessica Koslow explaining her undying love for jam. It’s a small thing, but it’s something.

Before we started this newsletter, the women you’d find on our list of role models were somewhat obvious choices — writers, actresses, CEOs. Ask us about our icons today? In addition to famous and influential women beloved by many, we’ll mention a transgender crime scene cleaner, a midwestern pumpkin farmer, and a teenage monster truck driver. The common thread is female ambition, and thanks to this little passion project, we’ve discovered just how many different kinds of doors this ambition can open (or, rather, knock down entirely.)

If anyone knows Mellody Hobson, please send her our thanks.

xx Kate and Maia

WORDS

“Are her thighs touching? HER THIGHS ARE TOUCHING!”

— Ashley Graham commenting on the Barbie version of herself at Glamour’s Women of the Year awards

ART

Champ | Zoe Buckman

READS

"Yes, The Same Woman Dreamed Up The Visuals For Lemonade & Moonlight " | Refinery29 For a production designer with a resume that includes Creed, Beyonce’s Lemonade, and Oscar contender Moonlight, the most critical moment of Hannah Beachler’s career was surprisingly during the filming of a crappy Lifetime television show: "I did the production design for this really tiny horrible show and I was like yeah, I want to do this forever." From there, she toiled away on small indies and horror movies and then Fruitvale Station, where she “immediately clicked” with director Ryan Coogler. It seems no coincidence that Hannah has been involved in creating some of the most important art of the last decade, and she wants more black women to join her: “I’m hoping that maybe I change some minds on the Hollywood side, and also maybe introduce aspiring professionals to this idea as an option. Like hey, everyone! In case you didn't know, there's a really great craft in production design!"

"The Writer Who Was Too Strong To Live" | Deadspin She sounds like a character in a novel: A wild, hard-drinking, hard-living female sportswriter who amazes colleagues and bosses with her skill and stamina. But Jennifer Frey was a real-life whiz kid. She got a top job at the New York Times at age 24, followed by an even more prestigious gig at the Washington Post. She threw epic annual Derby parties and wrote incisive profiles of athletes every other week. She confronted chauvinist baseball players and won. So, what ever happened to Jennifer? Well, for her, drinking wasn’t just a hobby. Dave McKenna has written a deeply reported story about Jennifer, her alcoholism, and how her friends and family were at a loss to save her.

"California Dreaming" | Eater Jessica Koslow has a “jams-to-riches” story. The owner and chef of L.A.’s Sqirl got her start turning California produce into quirky marmalades and jams for a farmer's market stand. Four years later, she’s become the face of modern Californian cuisine. Writer Marian Bull captures Koslow’s charm just as well as she captures the problematic allure of what her ventures represent (“It’s almost vulgar, and I hate how much I adore it, or at least covet it, or at least covet what it’s trying so hard to sell me, which is the idea that I could somehow be a rich happy tan person who never gets melanoma and feels completely satiated after eating a salad.”) That said, you get the sense that Koslow isn’t just trying to capitalize on a trend — she’s genuinely excited about prunes, and wants you to be, too: "These are really delicious foods that are being forgotten about. Those are the things I’m interested in."

"The Life and Example of Gwen Ifill" | The New York Times We had never imagined a world without Gwen Ifill. It just seemed like she would always be here, moderating debates and bringing a sense of joy to stodgy ol’ PBS. So when she passed away this week, it was an unexpected blow. And for columnist David Brooks, it was also personal, since Gwen was a close friend. (The kind of friend who emails you, out of the blue, to say: “For some reason you have been on my mind. Are you well?”) He writes beautifully about what she brought to the world, as a friend, as an advocate, and as a journalist. This is a loss that will be felt by many, for a long time.  

"The Blues Superstar Who Created A Gay Nightlife Scene 100 Years Ahead Of Its Time" | BUST “Before her time” couldn’t be more of an understatement when it comes to the life of Gladys Bentley. She left home at 16 and made her way to Harlem in 1923, playing at parties and small clubs until a friend mentioned a notable club was looking for a pianist. The only problem? They wanted a boy — to which Bentley responded: “There’s no better time for them to start using a girl.” By 1930, she was a bona fide star known for her risque lyrics, pounding piano, and gender-bending signature white tuxedo. This profile chronicles her rise to fame, the backlash of a world that didn’t know what to do with her loud, proud self, and her sudden embrace of societal norms at the end of her life. We could read an entire book about Gladys.

Read a story about a woman who should be our first female president? Email us at editors@thebroadcastbw.com